THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE

21.09.08 . 1:58 am

I get filled up with it, like poetry, and it fills my whole throat and it wells up behind my eyes and it paralyzes me- Every single inch, every single part, and I try to move or write or talk, but I can't, because if I know that if I did, it wouldn't come out like words, I would just be speaking in tongues, flailing wildly, writhing about and I wouldn't be a person, I would just be a creature- Because it feels like, what it feels like is like having some language stored up all inside you and you know that you did not create it and you are not the only one who speaks it because sometimes it slips out of people too, you hear it or you see it and you know that it's true-

She used to tell me so. She'd say, 'I wish that you had been there because I know that you are the only person who could have felt the things that I did- I know you're the only one who could understand.' And she would know it was true and I would know that was true too.

Because that's just the way it is. The way it's always been. I remember once, we were seeing a concert at the Greek Theater, a warm night- Dark and warm and soft and the sky was purple and you could see the stars, the myths, they're just myths, which you never can, and the city was just peeking out behind the hill, bright and orange and angry- And the music was so, so, so sad and so, so, so loud and all caught up inside things, I could almost see you beside him, and I know that you are the only one who could feel it like I could feel it, who could hear what I hear.

And I can still feel it sometimes, I can feel everything nine thousand times more than I ought to and the colors are nine thousand times brighter than they should be, and every single part of me is bristling and electric and the language I speak is no longer one than I can hear- And I need you because I need you to speak to me.

And I needed you last night- I think it was last night- Because I needed you to understand how it was beautiful and how it was magical but how I could be filled with absolutely nothing but sorrow. And the seats were velvet and the walls were gilded and the saint, down on the stage, said absolutely everything I needed to here, Jesus etc, and I came changed as I always do, but I needed someone next to me who could understand the hole in the center of it all.

Nothing is kind here. I look for it everywhere, for the secrets and the glitter and Jesus and Mary and Joseph and witchcraft and cowboys and indians and princesses and diamonds and everything, but it isn't here. There isn't anything here.

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