Only two things are limitless: timespace and stupidity, and I can't prove that about timespace.

It fascinates me, the ways in which we think we know people. How can we find ourselves surprised by anything, when the capacity for changing one's mind is boundless? People change their minds constantly, and in spite of knowing this, all we seem to want from people is consistency. We think, "How can I know you if you keep changing? What can I mean to you if your feelings are constantly in flux?" So, is this thinking selfish? Or is it just wishful? Wander on.

PS: the following poem deals with duende, not death or suicide or whatever. So don't take it the wrong way, ya fools.

[another untitled, in progress]

I am water and tonight I speak

the language of the black tip sharks,

the movement in my ears and skin

like a lover's hands down my body.

I could drown here, stop swimming

and gulp the sea into my lungs.

I want to be carried away, I want

the endless sleep and light of death

to pour from my eyeballs and toenails

and pull me, stretch my limbs and spine

to seaweed, raw and whole, until

I am full and broken like an egg

in the hand, shaken but not cracked.

My organs are melting and my skin

glows like a satellite in the sky,

like a nettle inviting you in. I could

end all the things you know in the raising

of my finger to your lips.