SICKSICKSICK

in this tiresome reality that i do not belong in, i take the form of perin.

i am the face of loneliness and misery,

of isolation and anger,

of exhaustion and anxiety,

of anguish and grace.

"i love jesus!" "i love jesus!" shut the fuck up! what would jesus do? what the fuck would i do?

brooding on the fact that there is no one even for you to feel vindictive against, that you have not, and perhaps never will have, an object for your spite, that it is a sleight of hand, a bit of juggling, a card-sharper's trick, that it is simply a mess, no knowing what and no knowing who, but in spite of all these uncertainties and jugglings, still there is an ache in you, and the more you do not know, the worse the ache.

1999 - the nobodies