The life of a man, burn it with fire. The life of an insect, throw it in the flame. A fortress within a floating world. Hidden and floating. Ponder and you will see the world is dark. And this world is a dream.
“I believe that words uttered in passion contain a greater living truth than do those words which express thoughts rationally conceived. It is blood that moves the body. Words are not meant to stir the air only: they are capable of moving greater things.”
~Kokoro, can translate into “the heart of things” or “feeling”
i’m cursing loudly and squeezing my eyes closed as hard as I can. I’m yelling about alcohol being in my blood and in my body and in my heart. but it seems like you can’t hear what i’m saying over my obnoxious sobbing so I go into a fit of repeating myself. I said that Alcohol is the only thing that belongs to me and my blood flows faster and smoother and more beautifully when I’m playing with the ice cubes with my lips and keeping my eyes closed real tight. And you. You are so much stronger than i am and you can see it when you watch me from your chair. I’m reaching for the bottle and pouring it, thick and brown and so much stronger than me, into a glass that becomes my magnificent excuse to live in apathy, my connection to everyone I’ve ever known, my justified resentment towards my mother, my self-hatred.
how can you say I don’t need you when it’s you who replaced everything that I have been clutching with the fear of god since the day I was born? you, who burns brighter than the god damn sun and me who can’t stand to wake up to that clear-as-the-virgin-river truth of it all.