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Tuesday, 5 October 2010

intentions

If am to reveal all I am to, in the name of love, or some such higher ideal, commercialized into a non-recognizable bitches brew, then respect the risk you foist so carelessly. The same risk when you take, then breached, you complain bitterly so about.

The body corporate tired and fading, carefully yet  constructed thoughts and feelings, laid splendidly on a finally wrought platter, by neglect tu rn cold.

It wasn't just an sms, an electronic communique, the thing you brush it off as, when otherwise you scrutinize assiduously in your fine communications purse, twenty moments robbed with intent in the space of an hour that is ours?

It's like,'water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.  email, sms, facebook, phone, chat... so much communication, but nothing real gets through. Why bother at all then? It's easier, no? No expectation of a reply, a call whatever. I don't know. It's just all ridiculous to me right now. it's all fragmented and unpredictable, chaos. So, let's not set each other up then? When we're together, it's real. The rest of it surreal. So let's not get het-up about communications, and see it for what it is, a psychotic, desultory playground