The World Is Too Full to Talk About

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Prison or nowhere my body is a museum of attempts stretch marks from that month I gained 7 kilos because I was becoming someone else and it shattered everything I tried to stay put, stay calm. Ugliness is a byproduct of survival, ignorance at times, a byproduct of a physical or psychological inability to learn. I cannot be around you because its hard to sit in a chair amongst chairs and speak when addressed and march at the same pace the same tempo, follow the unwritten rules of the human society, it’s hard not to be outwardly overwhelmed. Today I realised in full burning colours the predominant nature of life, the animal’s instances, the bleakness and unlikeliness, how much love is for the most part a nice feeling prison and how it’s even harder to live outside of it. Very few people get to have homes, most of us live in prisons or in the barren nowhere 22 of 44
Sea and Solitude (1) in the 90s, you and I are children you by the sea, me in the city your mother holds your hand, my father carries me on his shoulders could I somehow conjure up some word, some thing to explain this wordless sensation where your skin becomes my skin? (2) I had waited so long to live I thought something larger was sure to happen but I was already living, laughter was all one could hope for something beautiful every now and then and to prolong periods of painlessness or at the very least, a pain which was bearable I woke up alongside corpses of desire yesterday I wanted you to be mine I wanted to be yours and the want was woven into my muscles the want was seen on my skin the liquid coating my eyeballs was full of wanting still it never happened I, like a fetus growing outside the womb could do nothing to stop the natural brutality of living trapped within this shapeless unshakable inertia, I remain the same all the cities on the island too look the same, built the same way to be cages, cycles of subjugation, midnight monsters that swallow you whole the workers under the afternoon sun, their skin and bones turn to stone the women falling inside of themselves, occupying only the corners of every room I felt with you I could speak this language born inside of me which I have uttered to no one this overwhelming tide, rush of heat to the head, the chest suddenly becoming soft all taste in the mouth turns to ashes. I thought I could break through this unbearable flesh 23 of 44
Page 1 and 2: 1 of 44
Page 3 and 4: “to be lost is a kind of leaving
Page 5 and 6: Book I: The Worst is To Sleep Throu
Page 7 and 8: Recurring Self Portrait I seek beau
Page 9 and 10: Born To Die In our backyard I am a
Page 11 and 12: Every day I carry my mother like a
Page 13 and 14: change my tongue become something a
Page 15 and 16: Birthday Song Sitting on my chair,
Page 17 and 18: a terrifying question, to be loved
Page 19 and 20: The Insistence of beauty it appeals
Page 21: Mishima I am a seed incapable of gr
Page 25 and 26: I am not sure what made you so arde
Page 27 and 28: and this death is seen all over my
Page 29 and 30: Book II: This Is The City You’ll
Page 31 and 32: Cities of flesh Like a falling leaf
Page 33 and 34: Waiting for the sun which cannot se
Page 35 and 36: Bodies and words. Beauty is not nat
Page 37 and 38: the sun is crueler than ever he hol
Page 39 and 40: Self/ home My existence is very sma
Page 41 and 42: To B, before he has left I do not k
Page 43 and 44: so small almost a hiss almost a whi

The World Is Too Full to Talk About

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