jennyalexander

don't question my authority, don't you just know it, how hard i fight.

i am at the point my head is spinning so fast i don't know where my heart is or might

filled with so much conspiracy and unwillingness there will soon be nothing left but fright. at the same time i feel optimistically up for the fight.

have decided i would rather be hurt with the possibility of something that’s often missed
rather than deliberately pretending i feel nothing which results in.. well nothing in the end.
pride intact i suppose.
though pride is not to be underestimated, the cost is greater than the reward.
in psychological terms, living in non-punishment rather than positive reward.
maybe it was called positive punishment?
so the choice stands between non-punishment with non-reward.
or reward-possibilities with punishment-possibilities.
with all honestly, it is the possibility of the punishment that makes my stomach flip.

 

i only ever even consider the options the propositions pose as for my private life. if it were not for my fragile state of standing on the line towards regrett that is such a pain i would throw myself out the window every day, no questions asked about the possible outcome.

 

why standing on the ledge summons such great expectations and longing for living

Im going hunting in the concrete jungle. Im writing a list on how to behave.

im playing with fire. but you know you gotta fight fire with fire. so you seem to be too. im sorry i lit the match. but i will not regret it.
sleep with myself to find the fire inside when it gets too hot to quick after a long summer and short winter. but how to keep out the cold? the surface turns to ice first, and repels compliments along with the commands from inhabitants of the surroundings. sun come melt me down.
atleast there is no dust gathering on my skin.

its vibrating through my veins, the membrane: insane.
the strangled rainbow warrior cannot vibrate through crisp air, the kind in lungs unwashed, yet still untouched.
saying yes is like pretending nothing has ever been in you sweeper boy, yet the itching pulsation proves your sin.
run after your kite - my mind will follow till it falls, so keep it up.
the man's unconditional love licks him in the face, and resumes its position on the seat adjacent.
her child plays in the basket while she prepares detergent, willing the stains not to reappear, and the electricity falls over heads like rain, but blessed, while they clutch for meaning.
wear a hat in effort to keep my mind inside my head, just a little longer, still it wanders and will not read the map. directions might as well be arabic, yet everyone expects expressions of comprehension. and that’s all the dialogue will amount to.  
at least it keeps my eyes down low.

we, as in i, have become used to throwing it out there, our thoughts like garbage.

ibland får jag för mig att saker har placerat sig på speciella platser för att jag ska se dem. speciellt när jag inte minns varför eller hur de kom att vila där de gör. de står där liksom meningsfullt. fulla av mening, och vill att jag ska tyda dem. som en tyst telefon som kallar. eller ett par skor en fredagskväll.
nu står en inbjudan på mitt bord och vet att jag tittar på den. den är stolt, för den vet att jag kommer gå, på något vis. och att det kommer att betyda något, tror den. alla ting runt kring sover. vissa är helt döda, och har inte rört på sig eller försökt kommunicera med mig på år och dagar, andra slumrar med ena ögat öppet, men den, den färgglada pappersbiten, den retas. och jag kan inte bestämma om det är djävulen som leker med mig, eller änglar som klokt viskar att jag borde riva den med ens. och vill jag veta? knappast.
jag låter den stå. för att ta till akt är något av det läskigaste när det möjligtvis skulle kunna betyda det minsta. allt på grund av sin oförmåga att återvända och glömma. sin förmåga att växa till något oförutspåligt, på samma gång.

the things that promise imidiate satisfaction hold so much more temptation than those that imply long term benifits.
i am endlessly thankful but have no energy to repay. so expect nothing from a pretty surface, no matter the texture.
texts and warmth provide temporary satisfaction, while still restless, though wishing not to be.
i envy the paranoid and the truly lazy. the paranoid know someone is thinking of them, constantly famous, and the lazy can relax, sleep, and reboot. i reboot over and over, ignoring lack of rest, reboot endlessly to upp for the test, in hope of new something. still nothing comes knocking, and when the knock comes the door will not unlock, because the key is under lock. the lock is undermined, and the undermined come to mind, and again all my inner ear hears is ❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❚❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❙❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘❘

en mysterisk rulle film hittades hemma hos familjen övergaard. den famkallades och visade sig vara från när vi bodde i usa, alltså var den ungefär åtta år gammal. bilder från mitt förflutna.
: SLC, UTAH, USA