mcavoy sad

(no subject)

i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable i am capable
mcavoy sad

(no subject)

i am stature, ripping the thread of this body.
"Their chest will be prominent and when afflicted, they become weak."
tonight sounds young.
mcavoy sad

(no subject)

before;
a child then, foxless
untruthed and unlied
then loud day
in the sand dream
assumed beyond atomic law
yet
when Ocean spilled between
smiling face
and imperfect fingers
prematurely
still on the fringe of the shore
before
it would fulfill my rocket ship moat
a child then
after;
so afraid, raccoonless, now.
mcavoy sad

reality screws my notions; doesn't call back the next morning.

let's run through this nudist colony train wreck.
funny how these things turn out and round. once becky is a friend of mine.. and now becky was a friend of mine, and i'm left completely doubting my childhood. i'm left yearning for the validation of its sincerity. when did our conversations become viral? when did things get so pornographic?  perspiring and you're trying to recolor your anxieties, but you're still naked. and now i'm just as dirty as all of this insinuates, like getting caught with my dick out. but then i stop for a second and think maybe, just maybe, WAIT, maybe becky is a metaphor, maybe it's satirical, an offset of my quirky co-existential perception! but then i remember that this is my life, with becky was a friend of mine. why the hell did i delude myself, did i really think my friends were exclusive to me? what do i expect after the 9 or 10 years we've known each other? people get bored, i know, because i'm people too. and then i feel really very self involved, and the heat of the sun is biting as it doses in tighter with each revolution. around me of course. because i'm so self involved. and it's just ridiculous how the sun turns, because it's all relative really. to becky, i might just be pluto, so self righteous and indulging in my technical planetary acknowledgment, but then she knows that i'm really small and insecure. but who the fuck cares. becky was a friend of mine not because i don't trust her anymore, it's because she thinks she has my genomes mapped out, but what the hell does she expect me to do? the stars will die out and the earth will revolve around the sun, and the DNA of the universe isn't going to realign because someone thinks they've figured it out. and then becky was a friend of mine because she forgets and avoids the risk of the cosmos collapsing on itself if it becomes self aware. well i'm not the earth, and i'm not pluto, and i'm not the universe, and this is definitely not a metaphor. so why doesn't becky be as real to me as she wants me to be real to her?

and becky was a friend of mine, and now she's just another synechdoche. and she's not beautiful the way she was.
mcavoy sad

(no subject)

have you ever wanted.. a song to just rape you? to tear you up, like it should, and you insist. but it won't, and you feel indifference forcing itself into you, pinning you down to a moment. into the vigor of sloth and lust and again.. apathy. my sleep pattern isn't circumstance, it's refusal-- fear, really. tomorrow takes its glance, haste exponentially throbbing larger by sunrises. glory is in priority. shaken gossamer conviction, once threaded by roaring dulcimer, now just a silent boom of an instrument. what i really want is to postpone priority, but action is suppressed by conscious. the dillema is that the ancestor inside of me is warring against the grandchild inside of me, and i'm suffering. the present me feels thinner. paler. violet rims underneath each eye. where is the red on my lips, the gold in my eye. my fingers, once great ambition-tendrils, are ebbing back into a loose fist. i'll throw this one out there.. my head demands tragedy, the solace of epiphany.. in lyrics. the dilemma is that my head is reacting prophetically to the poetry, but my heart isn't wired that way-- it's painted the stubborn blues of youth. damage. that's what it is.. damage to the wide scope i've always prided myself on. i wrote this on the day of new years 2009:

"that's you, always thinking one step ahead; you're gonna trip over your own feet if you keep it up."
i'm referring to me of course. 2nd person narrative is always just you lecturing yourself.

i've tripped. and in a nutshell, my head wants up, but my heart is knotted to the gravity.

the greatest.. by cat power.