[Ed’s First Blog Post EVER imported from Livejournal]

it came to me as I coughed
up the stairs
I came to me
in the stale-smoke boozebottle
smell of my room:
nothing is coming to me.

There’s a paper to be written.
it’s 6:something in the morning and the
drugs have only spun me in the wrong directions
I can’t get moving, just like usual. I can’t get myself to get un-stuck.
So this is the first entry. This is the online life I never should have started–
probably. Anyway.

The words of the day
RUNNING FROM THE FURNITURE:
Inmylife the furniture eats me
It will eat me
Alive
I cannot write
The room wants my mind
For itself
This room will have my soul
The souls
The many souls I have and will be and were
And are I a To Be or a Was?
Were I a You or an It?
Will I be an A or a The?
The the of your is is
Without us
There is nothing
Within us
We are not the carriers of light we
Imagine
Our
-selves to
be
We cannot c o n t a I n
This us
This us
Is not in us
It is not just
that
We have some blood
Under this skin
Some gooey
Mess of function
I am not a The
I am the Not
I am a ‘not a The’
I cannot be digested
I refuse-

I am made of ref-use
I am built for use
I thrive on the uses
Of my use
And there will be no use for words
Words
They
Are empty
Like ours:
The helpless
Crust of
Skin
Over the crossbeams
And bolsters
Of bone
Structure
To keep it all
Safely inside
To keep us
From collapsing
Into piles
Of useless
Mush on
The bedroom floor

We have a use
A use for the useless
Our bodies are not hollow
Though it comforts us to think
So

We are simply alive
And our lives devour
Us
Piecemeal, the furniture
Of the
Plush houses
Or the bleak boards of the crack-houses
Holes to the rain
And newspaper windows
It devours us
These bodies
Are tangled
In grace
Like a web
These bodies
Are tangled

In grace

god its pretentious and everything sucks Im not in the mood for life right now put me to bed put me inside put me away.
FRUSTRATION
Hell of a fucking start

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