Sweet Ellipses

[italiceyeball]

There are very few people I ever confess my rare instances of panic to
and even these are torturous exercises in stilted run on sentences.

Or worse, carefully crafted elegance in confusing incongruous prose. Worse because obsessive subtlety turned at high inward angles becomes porridge and

(The real demons are the bumbling parodies I make of myself, and the insinuations that t-that's all there is)

No one wants more, sir. We're fed up. Better, maybe, but not more.

I can't worship the unthing, either. Sure I'm so post materialism, shugah I'm pure x-ray specs. Thing is, I don't see much going for the alternatives. Every revelation lays the ground for revolution. Believing is what's done between lifting veils, between stripping skin from hidden faces.

Certainty? Please. The closest I've gotten is forgetfulness. Numb twilight in wrinkle resistant cotton padding, cephalopod cosplay in soho, l5p, Castro. Suction cup marks all over tundral Minnesota.

It is madness to be sure. I suspect this tension leaks melodrama. Bashful, me.

Of course I am then upended.
Surprise is a subtle treachery. A welcome betrayal of my long misguided faith in sleep as a remedy for life.

I still get tired, though, now... I do look forward to my dreams. Even knowing I might not remember them.

Comments

[keplers_angels]

I like very much how you put that first three paragraphs. I fall prey to that too. But different....or, at my best, different. I have several journal friends who can articulate their most upsetting complicated emotions in these perfect little sentences that are so concise and so human (and almost universal) that I'm just in awe.

I (at my best) am something in between. I can display vulnerability, but not cleanly. I have to start with the prose-y veiled allegory stuff and let it crumble. It's in the falling apart, I think, of the word-structures I erect to feel safe enough, that seems to be the only way I can get toward the simple truths others can do so nakedly.

This is probably because of/why I have always loved songs that fall apart. I love just about every song that starts in one direction and then unravels.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dsB_Hj7Ev98

[italiceyeball]

It's rare that I gain much from confession. My tensions aren't relieved from discussion except in a few instances, with a few listeners. Nothing sounds right to my internal ears, nothing quite captures what I'd like to express. Stuck between trite or pedantically vague I choose pedantically vague and so bravely suffer the irritated incomprehension of most initially eager friends.

The few beautifully deranged souls who are somehow able to distill and apprehend my discursive bullshit. They are treasures.

Starting with the veil, yes. Ablation towards a moment of vulnerability.

Did you know that when siphoning liquid from one container to another, gas from someone's tank for instance, you get the flow started not by sucking on the tube but by blowing into it?

[fredherman]

I don't think anyone is ever really able to express themselves to another; just the babyfied Morse-code version, stripped of all the necessary extensions. So we sound foolish to ourselves, and often others; it gets necessarily distorted and misfiltered on the way out.