Thursday, August 6, 2009
Pix credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/maxbraun/98688824/
On days when the universe is apologizing for my existence, I am learning the logistics of acceptance.
2,190 days of being bereft of your presence has done nothing to dampen my regard for your being.
To the world, I’m presenting nothing more than a caricature of myself. This is me carrying on.
Intentions, though honest by nature will never amount to anything for a woman, who dissembles for a living.
A gift and a curse, it is my belief that an eidetic memory will cease to be the latter when I turn eighty.
Fact: A mastery of rules is necessary before one can even think of flouting them.
If something’s gotta give, let it not be my faith in the Almighty.
There are things that are in perfect accord with my humanity, things that hardly require humility.
Parallel geodesics do intersect in the limit to infinity. Parallel lines—we may be—but let’s not forget hope.
This knack for alienating people is governed by the same evolutionary imperative that makes me give a crap about family and friends.
Though not my favorite sin, lust is one I am guilty of committing, enough to offset all my sins of omission.
A woman must not divulge all her secrets. The woman underneath my skin is still a mystery.
It isn’t nearness I crave. It’s the closing of this emotional distance that grows every day.
An organic relationship has no choice but to grow. I am strong enough to handle it.
Aren’t we all in one way or another, permutations of a poseur? I ask you to excuse this poseuse.
Quid pro quo is logical, except when it is confined by a zipper or some disturbing underpants.
There is a sieve you use to separate my reality from my rendering of it. It will be my redemption.
Without meaning to, surviving you has become part of the plan. To soldier on is my daily task.
Everything about me is strong enough on a theoretical level. This is why theories need to be proven.
Nothing irritates me more than armchair moralists spouting some form of utopian bullshit.
Every time you recognize the difference between vindication and absolution, a kitten goes to heaven.
Applying distrust to everything, I am following Galway Kinnell’s instructions to the letter. I’m waiting, for now.
Clearly, you have underestimated the power of xenophilia. Cultural appropriation is missing the mark.
Pine, languish, ache, yearn…not enough when I’m looking for the troponyms of yen.
Philosophical zombies: logical. David Chalmers is right up there with fug hat 2.0, Spock, and Jim Halpert.