Saturday, January 30, 2010

Amanda Parker, Letter

Dear Runner to the right,

Running.  Running.  Running.  I have barely moved an inch.  How did I get so tired?  Who am I?  When this smoke clears will I be able to tell your ashes from my own?  Something will happen, something must happen.  Some people have God.  Some people have sex.  Some people have money.  Some people, some people… I have to have this.  The idea that the magic of this moment is what all the running was for, is for.  I'm here and in this second, I am something.  Do you hear me?  Sometimes I don't even hear myself.  I've been trying to make it for so long I need to believe there is a reason to make it.  Do you believe?  Clap your hands if you believe!!!!!  This isn't about God or sex or money.  It's about me and you and knowing that none of those things are really anything if we don't want them to be.  This is a big FUCK YOU to everyone and everything that has been trying to break us.  This is for when you are tired and lonely.  This is for when the loss is a little more than the gain.  I am here with you.   I am clapping!  I believe.  

Love,

Me



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1 comment:

  1. fog on the lanes
    can't cope wit my brain
    seing stars out the night
    cocked the cock
    justify

    -

    we cannot continue in this wayward fashion
    you look drunk
    that smile will be the death of me
    you make me afraid of all the best things
    you make me afraid of all the best things

    -

    without you there is no other
    with you there are all others
    i speak and i talk
    no the difference
    use your own fucking discreation

    -

    runnoff

    -

    hide that shit NOW

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