Thursday, June 23, 2011

Who There, Holds the Candle Within My Head

No one knows I am writing these words. Yes, I had another blog. It is a large, vast collection of my various melancholies and transformations produced from the time that I was a fake heterosexual to a horrified homosexual. Not horrified because I thought my love was retched. No. Horrified because my eyes were ripped open from their sewn embroideries, those green lipped tongues that rectify the passing of cars, the shutting off of lights, the understanding that night is night because all brightness has morphed into darkness . . . yes, I had morphed into a darkness never before loved by my heart. And I had loved the dark for so long for so insipid of reasoning. Now I am but this trapped fool who thinks that his problems are that absent of humanity. No, there are other people like me I know, homosexuals . . . but are there other people like me, who stay up at night absorbing the lead within the atmosphere, built up by the breaths of other people, those breaths that feign words of comfort and understanding . . . like a burgeoning asteroid belt, my headache swoons with craters and chunks of dense humanity . . . O how I love him, and how I shouldn't, and how it is all so wrong, so wrong, so wrong, and I am not of his world . . . and not even the world of the great heterosexual void . . . no, beyond that world, that galaxy . . . I am beyond all of theirs. It is not the veins of narcissism, it is the crying out of a boy who is not a boy, who is not a person . . . take me love, I need not the admiration of the world, but just one, one single human being . . .

says the writer as he watches the rain plummet

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