betty boop's cult

song in progress for whomever

(currently capo-ing it on the fourth fret: G/D/Em/C/C/Em/D7)

Don’t you say I caused all your pain, because I made you feel like you were less alone

I hate to say it’s true, im still in love with you, I just needed to make my life my own

And baby don’t you think that we were out of sink, your eyes were much larger than mine

And I know you’ll say, you got it the wrong way, your promises were vain and so unkind

But I cannot begin to help you move within the complex fields of all the doubts I know

And thoughts are not to blame they never were a game, they drew me on until I just had to go

To give an adequate account of my desire for words, right this minute, would already require I diminish the satisfaction the current experience writing has been kind enough to offer--and, laughing, I have this fear of where I will return for it is not at this current moment, on this current moment, that I will forge new ideas or return to sensations and feelings I once had, because though such creations have the benefit of endurance, I am in no state to conquer my will, and thus I know that it will be brief, my daillance with the pen, and I will be back in the hallways of my home wondering why I have not been able to fabricate some concept which will distract me from my inconsistencies, and the recycling of my unease--as if I have become this dull container, or that the distillations I produce fizz out in a hurry, or far too slowly to distract me from my impatience to hear a knock on the door.

Hannah Montana

Golden Days

obsession's fuse

Her demand must be present in my mind for me to want her, if she recedes, time itself will create a whimpering end to my desire. This does not mean that she is absent, her absence can perpetuate the notion of her demand--especially if I invest her absence with the marketing of her demand elsewhere. No, recession speaks to her demand itself, she somehow loses confidence in it, or forgets to remind me of it, and then her image goes flat, whatever imperceivable nuance once ignited her image with all sorts of consequences and possibilities, disappears. She loses herself when she cannot fire my obsession. And if she is still alive, what she does with her time is of no interest to her or to me.