2002-02-11 - 1:27 p.m. - read this out loud.
outside there is wind spitting pre-fallen snow at our faces. wind etching new faces over our skulls. sculpting new weariness from old joy. we are sculptures. we are gaunt and pale spitting tiresome words about how many more news magazines we can read. how much more violence we can truly stomach. we are violence. we are breaking up in the morning sun, dissolving in fingers of pink light. our bodies forgetting the imposed structure of bones. the memory of muscle broken one link at a time, a softly fading chain. a chain that binds our ankles to our wrists and our hearts to our teeth. we spit between our teeth. no motherfucker dentist or politician is going to change that. no motherfucker, period. we wrap our fingers together with bandages and try our hardest not to piss away all of our dreams with kisses and hugs. its fucked up the same way you make love. hanging on wasting all your energy on another person. you've gotta horde that energy. clutch it to your chest and save it all ofr yourself until you can't clutch it any longer and you spit right back at the wind in the form of a song. in the form of a fist. we twist our lonely hearts until they break. and then we put the motherfuckers back together. the sound of that reconstruction is louder than any construction site you've ever heard. so loud it makes people's ears bleed and they crumple on the floor polarized by their need for release or peace or something in between. our voice will never falter. our bones will never break. i am convinced that we are invincible.xoxo
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