Many Colors of Desire

twisted sheets and the
slowly wakening city. a cigarette
idle on the ashtray. i think about
how the crook of your arm would feel
on the skin of my neck, if my lips
could meet that spot just beneath
the shell of your ear.

i have understood desire
and its many colors, and i know
that this kind is rare

.

bukowski 

libraries:

I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.

I need a plane ride i need a sunburn

I'm tired of this rain. I can't remember what sunshine feels like on my skin anymore

 "I want to confess as best I can, but my heart is void. The void is a mirror. I see my face and feel loathing and horror. My indifference to men has shut me out. I live now in a world of ghosts, a prisoner in my dreams."


"Is it so terribly inconceivable to comprehend God with one's senses? Why does he hide in a cloud of half-promises and unseen miracles? How can we believe in the faithful when we lack faith? What will happen to us who want to believe, but can not? What about those who neither want to nor can believe? Why can't I kill God in me? Why does He live on in me in a humiliating way - despite my wanting to evict Him from my heart? Why is He, despite all, a mocking reality I can't be rid of? "


" Faith is a torment. It is like loving someone who is out there in the darkness but never appears, no matter how loudly you call. "




The Seventh Seal is a black and white swedish film made in 1957. Very strange and very creepy. I still do not really understand most of the movie but it had some very refreshing ideas. 

Limitless

"I don’t think I am finite. I have my limitless desires. But from the outside I am framed." 

Don DeLillo

“We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. Yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. We manage to function. The feelings are deep and real. Shouldn’t they paralyze us? How is it we can survive them, at least for a little while? We drive a car, we teach a class. How is it no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? Is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? Or do we share the same secret without knowing it? Wear the same disguise?”

 — Don DeLillo

Thursday Morning

In this bedroom

we sleep on sheets so white

turns our fair skin brown

no curtains on our window

shades of gray and blue in the morning

sunlight intruding in on this bedroom scene

so gently nudging us awake

I thought isn't it perfect

how this body compliments mine

how on our sides we fit together

like two things made at one time

this is the only peace I can feel

stolen moments spent awake in bed

these threads remember everything

and for a while i was never alone

a love sorted out in motions

bare walls bare flesh on bare bones

we are already so cluttered with contrasts

there is no need for anything more

he makes me breakfast while i lay in bed

and when life comes rushing back

like high tides one layer at a time

bare feet on the cold tile

I find one egg in the frying pan

and one dish in the sink

after dawn paints us blue all over

this has colored us in shades I cannot see

I can feel them like blankets of warmth

soothing our softest spots

places that we can never touch

but are always the easiest to find