they say you don't really get over your first love, your first hearthbreak, 'til you meet someone new. til you fall in love all over again. no, not really sure who "they" are, but let's not digress right now with these little meaningless... what's the word for it? that in itself is a damn digressing - seeking that word girating rudely and arrogantly at the tip of my tongue....

maybe I need to be just kicked in the balls. hard. dunked in a tank of ice cubes. smacked the fuck out of it already. most of the time, I swear it, I'm a very good droid. void of love. void of love. void of glitter and rainbows and chirping birds and all that shit. But then I get a tap tap tap out of nowhere.. k, pause, no, not quite out of nowhere. After all, I instigated it. with my blabber about my stupid new hand blender (two soups in one weekend already, just a side note). sorry hand blender, didn't mean to shatter the romance. I still love you. sorta. maybe more if you vibrated a bit and your blades were removable. actually, scratch that. noémi, you damn well know you were never into mechanically aided pleasure. not my thing.

I've digressed away again, haven't I? maybe deep down I just want to. part of me just doesn't want to dream or feel or... why waken the sleeping monster? took long enough to pacify. so many weapons, so much time... heavy and fat, drunk and smoked out. finally stayed down on its own without further substance. or pain. but. then this flock of seagulls comes in. exactly a week after my blast from the past in Istanbul. I remember my first raunchy dream. shower sequence. fun. you starred in it. that's when I knew this was big. next the smile. the AGO. the greek hat, bustop, skate by, smile. swoon. gone. lost.

but I'm bigger now, aren't I? far too cynical and far far to hardened by life. but part of me is still preserved. like the tiny bit of a pickle that is a bit greener than the rest - a bit less pickled than the rest of the pickle. a bit brighter. anyways... digress. but perhaps this whole thing is just one giant digression. infact, here the point is becoming the digression. and the digression the very point. clever. I know. imagine if I was smoking pot. which I'm not. because I don't know anyone else here that does. damn sticks in the mud.

you. I know you. it sort of drives me crazy, because I also know that, well, there's a whole lot I don't know, but I feel. is it horrible for me to to want to try again? part of me doesn't. part of me does.

nuff
this is gay
i know why I don't write much anymore.
far too cynical
far too blank