maybeillwrite.blogspot.com
maybe i'll write: last night
http://maybeillwrite.blogspot.com/2009/04/last-night.html
Saturday, April 11, 2009. Fills up the space. Takes up the time. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Ghallo. The content of this blog is entirely original, so please don't be hatin'; don't copy and redistribute any o' my kaka unless you've asked me and I've said "sure", kapeesh? Have a gander at these. Count on us all falling on our own swords tonight. Somerset West, Western Cape, South Africa. View my complete profile. When we were 16. Finally we are no one (Aug 2008). Me and jess in mystic's loo.
maybeillwrite.blogspot.com
maybe i'll write: see.
http://maybeillwrite.blogspot.com/2009/04/see.html
Saturday, April 11, 2009. Look at this beautiful thing i have made for you. Look at my beautiful feelings which i pour so willingly. All over your wounds. And all over your short-comings. Look at what i have given. Of myself for our joy so that we may be what i have always hoped. And have had, found but not. Look at this foolish girl. Who may have been there in the moment. When you saw yourself so. That you might scream and yell for the pain of loving one who is not yourself so very hated. When we were 16.
maybeillwrite.blogspot.com
maybe i'll write: April 2009
http://maybeillwrite.blogspot.com/2009_04_01_archive.html
Wednesday, April 15, 2009. Saturday, April 11, 2009. Fills up the space. Takes up the time. Look at this beautiful thing i have made for you. Look at my beautiful feelings which i pour so willingly. All over your wounds. And all over your short-comings. Look at what i have given. Of myself for our joy so that we may be what i have always hoped. And have had, found but not. Look at this foolish girl. Who may have been there in the moment. When you saw yourself so. That you can look only through the keyhole.
maybeillwrite.blogspot.com
maybe i'll write: car parks
http://maybeillwrite.blogspot.com/2009/04/car-parks.html
Friday, April 10, 2009. Maybe its the wind that bothers me the most. the wind that sings of when we knew each other and when we fought to keep our heads afloat. In warm and clammy silence i damply whisper close to you the softest of things, i want to i want to. There would be seagulls and salt and solitude, i wonder if that would finally drive me past the point of no return. vast, empty days spent doubting the existence of the past, as now, here, i sit cramped up in a deep green cocoon. When we were 16.
maybeillwrite.blogspot.com
maybe i'll write: June 2009
http://maybeillwrite.blogspot.com/2009_06_01_archive.html
Wednesday, June 10, 2009. I lack creative drive. What I say feels recycled. Like how cows re-chew their food,. What I say feels processed and flavourless. I look at what I've written and I simply tear it apart,. I just delete, in a literal sense. I do not see worthwhile thoughts drifting around which I can elaborate on,. And I don’t have a story. I feel like I am unable to tap into my pool of originality. And even that sentence disgusts me. I am not unhappy. I am just uninspired. In a bit of a rut.
maybeillwrite.blogspot.com
maybe i'll write: finally we are no one (Aug 2008)
http://maybeillwrite.blogspot.com/2009/04/finally-we-are-no-one-aug-2008.html
Friday, April 10, 2009. Finally we are no one (Aug 2008). I rate sometimes we are just so. Sometimes we are just so close. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Ghallo. The content of this blog is entirely original, so please don't be hatin'; don't copy and redistribute any o' my kaka unless you've asked me and I've said "sure", kapeesh? Have a gander at these. Count on us all falling on our own swords tonight. Somerset West, Western Cape, South Africa. View my complete profile. When we were 16.
maybeillwrite.blogspot.com
maybe i'll write: lack
http://maybeillwrite.blogspot.com/2009/06/lack.html
Wednesday, June 10, 2009. I lack creative drive. What I say feels recycled. Like how cows re-chew their food,. What I say feels processed and flavourless. I look at what I've written and I simply tear it apart,. I just delete, in a literal sense. I do not see worthwhile thoughts drifting around which I can elaborate on,. And I don’t have a story. I feel like I am unable to tap into my pool of originality. And even that sentence disgusts me. I am not unhappy. I am just uninspired. In a bit of a rut.
maybeillwrite.blogspot.com
maybe i'll write: when we were 16
http://maybeillwrite.blogspot.com/2009/04/when-we-were-16.html
Friday, April 10, 2009. When we were 16. When inspiration hits like a impatient passenger, on a sunday bus. I take him to place for us. I take him up and down this tiny town. To places far beknownst from you. I take him to my own corners of this non-Timbuktu. We sit a while and ponder things. Make love on the swings. I pretend he is you, with your sandy eyes and honest mouth. Hands that make me think of trees. I am not really here, you know. I am wherever you decide to go. Can i tempt you with a breast.
maybeillwrite.blogspot.com
maybe i'll write: wednesday
http://maybeillwrite.blogspot.com/2009/04/wingerd.html
Wednesday, April 15, 2009. April 19, 2009 at 6:46 AM. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Ghallo. The content of this blog is entirely original, so please don't be hatin'; don't copy and redistribute any o' my kaka unless you've asked me and I've said "sure", kapeesh? Have a gander at these. Count on us all falling on our own swords tonight. Somerset West, Western Cape, South Africa. View my complete profile. When we were 16. Finally we are no one (Aug 2008). Me and jess in mystic's loo.
