hours continuing long…
Hours continuing long, sore and heavy-hearted,
Hours of the dusk, when I withdraw to a lonesome and un-frequented
spot, seating myself, leaning my face in my
hands;
Hours sleepless, deep in the night, when I go forth, speeding
swiftly the country roads, or through the city streets, or
pacing miles and miles, stifling plaintive cries;
Hours discouraged, distracted—for the one I cannot content
myself without, soon I saw him content himself without
me;
Hours when I am forgotten, (O weeks and months are pass-
ing, but I believe I am never to forget!)
Sullen and suffering hours! (I am ashamed—but it is useless
—I am what I am;)
Hours of my torment—I wonder if other men ever have the
like, out of the like feelings?
Is there even one other like me—distracted—his friend, his
lover, lost to him?
Is he too as I am now? Does he still rise in the morning, de-
jected, thinking who is lost to him? and at night, awak-
ing, think who is lost?
Does he too harbor his friendship silent and endless? harbor
his anguish and passion?
Does some stray reminder, or the casual mention of a name,
bring the fit back upon him, taciturn and deprest?
Does he see himself reflected in me? In these hours, does he
see the face of his hours reflected?
— Walt Whitman —
rethinking the rulebook…
I’m pulled to her,
like air when I’m under water.
into space like a kite…
Suck.
My finger in your mouth waits.
My clit trembles to press deeper against your tongue.
Show me your hunger.
My cheeks burn with the delight of your voice
My hands clench with the need of your weight
Taste me.
Unglue me from gravity, from the constraints of “No.”
Unleash the force of your name from my moaning lips.
Hear me, be with me again.
Like you are now.
Please.
before the irrevocable (or, what happens on 12th st)…
the once and future king…
The best thing for being sad … is to learn something. That’s the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.
– T.H. White –