I begin to hate you for your face not just the things you do

I begin to hate you for your face, not just the things you do

I saw a couple waiting for the train the other day. Actually, I wouldn’t even call them a couple; they were more like a severely primitive form of a raw relationship between a man and woman. I can sense the desire to control and be controlled simultaneously. I can also sense the ridiculously strong fire that burns them both…almost to the point of feeling pleasure after extreme pain…simply by being in one another’s presence. That is something that I don’t have a name for because it’s not love, infatuation or attraction. Perhaps barbaric would be fitting. It’s something so rare that it’s like seeing a creature of an extinct species walk past your front door drinking a coke from BK.

The city is like a multitude of steps that ascend and descend in no particular order. They are like the world at large…everything at random without patterns or continuity. Our purpose is to make sense out of it all.
I can never look at Classic Architecture the same way. Because of the text I’m reading, I’ll never be able to think that everything that has columns, colonnades, a nave or bay, flying buttresses and some sort of lion or ghoul isn’t a carbon copy of a previous structure that uses the excuse of “integrity” and faith to the founding fathers of architecture.

All I can do is laugh now because no one and I mean NO ONE has ever proven me wrong in terms of expectations. Some have come close but eventually fuck up. And yes I understand people fuck up because of course we’re all human and don’t reproduce asexually so I forgive…and forgive…and effing forgive. But what happens after my forgiveness supplies have been exhausted and there’s nothing left but NOTHING? Apparently, it just continues which is why I just can’t be serious about it anymore. I just can’t care because it’s taking too much of me away.
love is reverence, and worship, and glory, and the upward glance. Not a bandage for dirty sores. But they don’t know it. Those who speak of love most promiscuously are the ones who’ve never felt it. They make some sort of feeble stew out of sympathy, compassion, contempt and general indifference, and they call it love. Once you’ve felt what it means to love as you and I know it–the total passion for the total height–you’re incapable of anything less.’

Can one love another love much? Reverence after love possibly?

“It is necessary only to hate, to hate blindly, to hate patiently, to hate without anger, only to hate and let nothing intervene, and not let oneself forget…..”
Every step I take shatters a tiny part of the Earth below me. I wonder if possibly one day, it’ll just break apart and I’d fall into the abyss.

You will never know but I want to be the catalyst behind your downfall. I want to be the reason why you don’t walk down the isle because it’ll be right. I want to be the reason you can’t type the letter J without instantly thinking of me. I want to be the face that envelopes every. I want to drown you in guilt, make you the subject of “pin the tail on the fool”, make you trip every 38th step…I want you fall on your knees and feel lower than the ground you’re kneeling on. I want the word shame to form in your cereal. I want you to forget that anything besides your own tears exists. After everything…I want you to live and be reminded by the scars on your poor soul.

Every single one of us is racist. Anyone who denies it is in complete denial.
I think Polaroids are beautiful. I want to cover my room in them. Every inch of it. Even the little corner in the back of my closer that’s hard to get to because of all the shoes I don’t wear anymore.

Semiconscious delirium

mental deterioration

hypnotic environment

LALALA.
I’ll knife you. Barbaric primitive