Inside each word that touches you, darling, my darling, know that something opens and closes. And opens. Keep that feeling to yourself and love each letter, each tiny phrasal combination, each fullstop and all, all commas. For — and keep that beautifully clear and simple inside your head —…
Excuse my angsty teen self that will most likely emerge now that Skins season 7 is coming out. I am excited beyond words, thoughts or even proper emotions. My girls, Effy & Cassie are both getting an episode (Effy’s titled Fire and Cassie’s Purity) and I am absolutely thrilled. Plus I can’t wait…
I love you in a starless, moonless, completely dark place. I love you in a place where we are the mad ones and tend to mock the “sane” ones because they don’t make us much of an impression. I love you in some place of formless grace where beauty and ugliness coexist so rhythmically you can only focus on their flow and never on them separately. I think I love you in a place which is no place; rather a winter-scape so honest it attains automatically profound warmth yet still manages to remain crystal grey and beautifully solid. It is no place; it is rather a multitude of tears I so efficiently confuse with raindrops because at first I mistake them for transparently hopeful water pieces. But I know I love you only in a place which is dark, very dark — and transparencies or misconceptions have no place there.
I love the natural warmth of some people. I love their discretion, their gentleness. Some people simply seize you from within; their inner space is uncommonly distinctive. Think about it: Mostly, you are going to be devastatingly alone. You will barely be able to carry around your thoughts let alone come to terms with the impossibility of sharing them with others. But in case you meet someone whose mind will attract you — do not be afraid of opening up to them. If there is something glorious about the human race altogether, it is the ability to connect. We are most fearfully simply existing until we slowly and steadily develop the need to preserve our innocence and at the same time break some boundaries; Until we responsibly crawl outside of ourselves without losing ourselves and commit to some form of beautiful connection. Whatever happens, I always seem to need this kind of reassurance that I will maintain my self-sufficiency as well as open up enough, in order to connect. I need to be self-critical but I also need to remain soft; I need to keep my distances but I also need to show people more often that I actually do care. The best moments of clarity come to me when I am alone in bed drinking my black coffee and experiencing the very second at its fullest as well as genuinely embracing my current mood and its flow. I feel so purely honest with myself and consequently with all the rest of the world. And most of the time that alone is enough. The moment is whole; something is unbreakable. Something fits. But talk about an open landscape. Talk about intimacy. Talk about wordlessly wonderful communication and the unsurpassable sense of twoness, togetherness. It doesn’t have to revolve around romance; It might be utterly friend-rooted or not rooted at all. No definition might fit it but I still name it intimacy. And it is so strange and spectacularly profound.
Soul-commitment: I’d only dare traverse that forbidden territory with a person whose strangeness would fly in and out of me. She would have a tongue of sea water & she would eloquently speak of fluid worlds. Her utterances would resemble celestial echoes; as soon as they’d come out of her mouth they would look like abstract lines of unreachable thought. Yes; she would be lyrical, windblown. The texture of her skin would bruise the sun. She would be a work of art in progress, still profoundly programed to remain unfinished and I would have ended up with series of shadows in the brain from beating my head on what is clearly transparent. Loving her would take me beyond love. Obviously. Catastrophically. Funny how…clearly.
You leave magnifying impressions on torn pages. You’d never climb on a star empty-handed. Such is your grace. You like word plays and you like poetry storms. And everything is in your head, everything; silence, misty days, a plenitude of distinctly coloured autumn leaves, folk songs, ink pens, jazz musical organs and old typewriters. You are walking up and down in front of coffee-houses without entering; you love the purposeless, the aimless, the eternal. And you love to feel the atoms of the air and not merely the air itself as a whole, you worship each rain drop separately as much as you love the sublimity of the rain in its entirety & you do not fear death; you only fear each and every abstract shadow behind people’s washed off, vacant eyes. […]
They say you’ve got issues. You think of “issues” as flaming snowfalls. Mercifully you do have extraordinary issues. You do not know that. It’s probably in your head even without you having to perceive it: a subconscious, unintentional form of human eloquence. That is what you are. A tissue of lies and preconceptions. (That is what they seem to be.)
I was made to meet the sky. So, come, pack all of our clothes, take me to a mind-flight; take me somewhere I shall be given a chance to feel as soft as a cloud, horizon-edged, graffitied with serenity. I want to lean out of a luminous word; it might be the word “perhaps”, it might be the word “shapelessness”. I want to lean out of it and gently float across a virginal breathing space no-one has stepped upon. I promise I will not seize it; I will carry its invisibility through my cheekbones and let it slip aimlessly underneath the pores of my tongue. It will be swaying over my interior hall silently, it will be carting heavy Egyptian cutting stones filled with muted whispers and volcanic echoes of half-heard outcries and…and two diminishing seconds before reaching barren land (land - that might as well be a foolish connotation suggesting the existence of a petal, or a soul) it will turn into a high-shifting airy ball and explode inside of its already visible remnants.“What an unfortunate journey!” - you will exclaim in terror. I’ll laugh. I’ll then mutter to myself: “That is how a sky-scape transforms into a lovely lava-scape.” The whole sky will burn faster than the sun; it will thin out finishing all unfinished sentences: a close business. Eventually, in excruciating agony, it will blaze away and then bow. I was made to feel the sky.
How great are these self-revealing moments; the light dim, the central point of your palm transfiguring my fingertips, wandering inside of them and filling them with arrival; altogether making your touch increasingly invincible, almost glorious. I got terrified tonight. You were paying attention at every word that was coming out of my mouth and so I had to a) be attentive to what my soul momentarily evoked, all in all be truthful toward the intensity of the moment b) attempt preciseness not through words themselves but also through the shy gestures my body language performed at the time. I wanted to make you understand but not make you, quite. I simply wanted you to see through it all: My inability of loving due to eternal self-suffocation and overall self-indulgence, my need to let you know indirectly; let you suspect, probably, but never quite assure you. Words were floating out of my mouth and vastly disappearing toward the ceiling; I did not strive to say anything witty or interesting for your eyes were enormously present. No need for me to gain your attention: You were looking down but I knew you balanced every word; filtered it inwardly, thought of it. Some fragments perhaps reached the outer texture of your skin, others were reduced to transparent vowels, others to insipid silence. Still, there was a moment when I saw your left eye temporarily being possessed by vacancy; Light blue had been replaced by an undefined colour. You extinguished delicately - yes, even during such moments there is poignant delicacy in anything that you do - your cigarette inside the ashtray and pressed it down forcefully, never lifting your eyes; you lowered your head even more. I stopped talking and intended to grasp the glass of water I had in front of me; I pretended to drink. “I don’t think you are incapable of anything. Do not lose yourself. Just let loose of yourself.” (More than ever, I wanted to lose myself. I wanted to accept existence only within your common ashtray, or your familiarly greyish ashes or the last fumes of smoke surrounding your sitting position or you.) “Yeah I shall relax. I shall breathe and take it easy.” Your smile was back on; the light-blue of your eyes triumphantly shone and the avoidance of our glances faded, melted, instantly self-sliced itself and kissed us goodnight.
I always seem to find something in my mind that strangely connects you with me; It might be the simplest, tiniest thing; a movie recommendation you made months ago, some flower I’ve kept out of the numerous ones you bring yourself to randomly give me on cloudy days. I carry parts of you even in this entirely silent place I occasionally immerse myself in. I don’t know why is that. Oddly enough, I still trick myself into thinking that I am free to go into myself any time and shut you off for a bit. Yet I know that It is no battle: My individuality versus me as your emotionally attached little prisoner. I like to think of it more like a form of co-existence. You surround every thin layer of air I inhale but what you do is non-perceivable: Your effect on me is half-conscious and peculiar. Your words overflow my brain; “You are the first person who leaves me pieces to myself. You do not take everything at once. You do not wish to impose yourself on me or “conquer” me. You leave me be, I like that.” I reply back that it is just how I’m made. I would hate myself in case I felt I put anyone in a cage…be it a beautiful cage surrounded by passionately significant moments and beauty or a cage made out of fear of losing you and filled with personal insecurities in combination with all sorts of chaotically awful elements. A cage is a cage. Everyone has his/her way of loving and I ought to stick to what is not out of character. I am glad you are left with this sensation; I am not your captive and you aren’t mine. Why the paradox though? I will never be clingy - it would be the ultimate self-betrayal. Then why each time I feel you not close enough I adopt these tendencies - tendencies I reveal only to myself when I am alone - of bringing you back to me? A voice backs me up against the wall: “Because you are a person. Because when you are alone you are perfectly free to float and drown in romanticizing with the person you adore.There is no purpose to that. It’s what you do. What distinguishes you from the rest is that you keep that part to yourself. You don’t have the need to express it; you feel secure inside of it. It is merely an inner need. Surround yourself with the innocence and purity of your own intentions; see through it; Let go.”