our friends and lovers and ex lovers are not these false beautiful creatures, like butterflies and june bugs that are put in kill jars, then put on display for fictional memories. we are the lovers, kindred in spirit and compassion that hurt and laugh and loved and learned from true experiences, the give and take of heart and flesh.
i can't stop sweating, the heat in these cities is melting my brain. Go to location A, go to location B, go to location C...half the time I have no idea that I have no idea, and I get hungry, but not for food, for stupid shit. The people I meet are amazing, but I'm still hungry, and I confuse everyone. Sometimes, no all the times lately, I just want to talk to strangers I've met about my therapy.
For me, these things of abandonment are few and far between, but noted because I blog the shit out of my life.
I am lonely. that is an anchor point A. sometimes I screw up, a lot of times I screw up. that is an anchor point B. I have a faith, and it cost me friends and aquantainces. that is anchor point C.
I do know that, once I am dead, my conscious will be gone forever. My digital fingerprint will dissolve, my voice will be forgotten. There are too many 'erotic' or 'nude' or 'whatever' photographers out there, our dust will blow away in a mild gust, then....gone.
Strangely though, there is a different voice, a tiny voice, put on trial daily by the angels on my shoulders. This voice wants to praise the women who taught me to love, who taught me about freedom.