outwait outrun outwit


an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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Ha. I constantly trick myself. Emotions do not run on cycles of demand and supply; economic rules cannot be applied to the vagaries of a labyrinthine heart, the sort of heart belonging to a person hectic with fictions, myths, experiments involving the chemical desire. Try not to miscalculate the desires of others--or rather, don't resort to calculation anyways, unnecessary equations to whittle away the hours between the beloved and you.

Where's the urgency? Instead, a (ir)regulated heart ticks and tocks, oscillating between excess and then austerity, recessions in the wake of new scandal, always heart-trouble.

Instead, think of your relationships as something to be cultivated, requiring commitment and concentrated thought. Start in darkness, blind, thirsty. Then seed, bury deep in soil, doesn't matter from where; the fact that it's soil might just be enough. Now nourish: you know exactly what is needed.

p.s. I am valiantly resisting the urge to edit, edit, edit recent missives. I can't help but wince at the too-easy urge to gloss; writing should be all about the complications, non?


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