2814.

We, dear friend speak the same language. And it is something so rare from our origin, because you see they will never be - able to connect. It is more than the free love, the creations, the jokes; it's that we are so much more innately sad than they will ever, should ever, comprehend within themselves, for us.


Yes, the richest thirst for stories comes from sadness. It comes out of the wreckage; out of becoming so lost so many times that....you find yourself.
And we've found ourselves....a family. 

The red candlelight above the narrow cabinet stairs.
The sounds of those voices, in that haze of smokes, vibrating into the silence outside.

The city silence.
Our city. 

So joyous. Our moments, and the way that one room feels- filled with beloved eyes, and smiles you can't remember right, ...and closed within all the thoughts that are held in beads of sweat.

...oceanic water pressure with the music and the touch of skin, and lips.

And in my dreams I think I may return back there someday. Walk back there if I might live to be old. Walk along that kitshy street, with woodland trees and chipped wooden fronts, coming as if anew to the same address.
This....that, metaphor of our existence once.
______Feeling that rush of all the chances that lie free.

The love to be made, when we pretend, to be immortal forces. And all the nerves that make you uneasy....the sound of high heels on crackled concrete....places in that place that we have dreamed within. -Dreamed within nightmares and cocktails.

_______Turning on my heels-suddenly-each time right in front...because the door, the steps, the porch, appear as if its 9 and 3/4. Appearing, because we find it still stands somehow. Though its shaken down, and could've crumbled down....a toy hand sticking out of a mug was all that could've been left.

But anyway its anyhow. It's all really something how, the mundane days are so many days of made....art.
So oddly productive.
Really truly falling now, and how, we're so in love with the only "one true love" of--ART.
Art we seek and art we fight and art we build.
And ART actually runs through the high-content bloodstream, to the fingertips, as if its getting drunk......upon the very idea that maybe we can be immortal for just a period.

A period in time of being able to say its falling smoothly, we're treading evenly--no, unstably---into whatever the catastrophically beautiful IT really is.
Damnation on our heads already placed, cause we're the sinners of the normal life!

Dail headphones: Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance", LMFAO's "Shots", James Morrison's "Once when I was little" and Bon Iver's "Skinny Love"