i got a typewriter

which has been my dream since i was 10 years old and wanted to be Harriet the Spy.

tonight i spent 4 hours and tried to write things that would win over his heart and soul,

even though i know
it's not a game
and there is no such thing as losing.

[[ i just want to be the closest thing to you. ]]

i've been working on piece that speaks of sex and desperation.

12.16

tomorrow let’s put whiskey to our lips and a road under our toes

let’s find a frozen lake and fill our lungs with majestic silence

i dream of a house with windows all around,

of standing with naked feet

of looking but not searching

i won't judge your destructive habits if you don't judge mine

-camera
-journal
-whiskey
-smokes
-warm socks
-happy music
-americanos with cream

we sit by his fire and look at the city with these things. he says,
you are my kind of girl.

i say, you're beautiful.



with fondness and blackberry juice,
kiagen

moonlight reminds

awooooo

I NEED TO SCREAM ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE TONIGHT AND LOVE HOT SPRINGS AND HOW I FELL IN LOVE AND HOW I WANT TO WEAR HIS CLOTHING AND KNOW EVERY GRAIN OF SAND IN HIS SOUL AND HOW EASY AND SIMPLE AND BEAUTIFUL

timing.

this,
this is completely new.

''I was born on the Summer Solstice, 92.
I want to be free.''

eat a pomegranate together naked at a blue table
don't care that the juice is everywhere.

connect silently on the floor to Dark Side of the Moon

skip in circles and howl to the moon


embrace the cold of the fire escape, cigarette smoke and a view of the cathedral

a voice that you feel in your bones,


and a very hard night to crawl away from in the morning.