"...

At the end of a life that has meaning, the point is not that one is

perfected, but that one will still carry a view of self and the

world that is divine—and not just some kind of lazy drift. The

point is to have enough stories that guide —that will allow life's

closing act to end with one's heart still bright, despite the gales

that have passed through it —so that it can be said that one has

lived with spiritual audacity.
..." 
Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces.

Yesternight, I cried.

3rd Night

of successive dreams.
*1 or perhaps--- it has to do with your boyfriend sharing my same interests.
What's worse of all this, is not the dreams, but the fact that every bit of information you provide, are things I've already checked out, as if your mind and mine are somehow arriving to the same information in a strange delayed way.*1


And you keep appearing, haunting me. I am haunted by my own mind, with a external image. Bount to that image...

recaida#1

Sigo teniendo recaidas, las llamas del presente solo hacen saltar mas alto las sombras del pasado.

Ya no necesito mirar tanto tus fotos...

Se que tu recuerdo me trae todos los sentimientos que puedo tener.

Solo quiero oir tu banjo reverberar en respuesta a tu recuerdo, quiero libertad, quiero volver a sentir la intensidad de esa vibración.

En la oscuridad extender mi brazo tocarte la cara.

Me encantaria hablar con vos, Laura.

Pero no estoy listo, cuando sea el momento cuando la funesta fecha caiga, haré el viaje, solo.

Solo puedo confiar en que tengas tantas cosas en tu vida para evadir el dolor como yo. Eso me gustaria pensar, pero no puedo evadir la sensación de que no lo necesitas, que adolesces nada por mi, blah blah blah, puedo seguir hablando, pero tengo tarea, mucha, siempre. Es lo unico que tengo. Tarea.

in my dreams

we fly away from all the pain and schoolbelt bridges (sic)

... and i can see you smile all day...

somethingabout shoes(?)

wisest words

you can stop me from killing myself.
you can't stop her from killing me.

My little Sailorette

I want to tell her so much, yet it wouldn't make no difference, for she has sailed away; my little Sailorette has moved to another port, and alas here my infertile land stays, waiting for the tide to come back; and the wait bitters my spirit to oblivion, and I enjoy the sickness unto to me, for I feed on it, and my resignation has crushed my spirit and I dwell upon it, and drink the putrid drink one more time until my lungs are soaked in it, I can't but punish myself for it's the only thing I can do.

And so on, and so on, and so on, and so on, until the I am drown by the tide again.

Gods

they shall bringeth forth the end.

Heresy shall doom us all.

Why did you worship the statue?