jane austin syndrome - a life ruled by irony: that the grand beautiful inner intricacies of my mental life will never live up to this tragic shack of a world that daily spins introversion around me.
i fear the cost of totally understanding something is to live without it, outside of it, motivated by constantly desiring what will always be denied again and again and still rabidly perusing for the sake of its truth.
it fuels the urge to compose alternatives, a magical reprieve of obsessive-compulsive connoisseurship that soothes my mind in the company of the dead whose words i consume like manna. yet their voices to my ear are a silent mystery that absorbs my spoken rage, their tactile qualities now ashes, distance or toxic sludge underground and congeal an absence i wear as heavy aura.
last night prince says to b: do whatever you want after i'm dead, but i will be here to make you happy. the door breaks open and he is there.
i'm being a man, i'm keeping my cool. my delusions for the good of the rest of the world.
vous? vous yourself.
