hello dears
let’s figure out how to be around each other, all nervous noises and fingertips.
here is a draw to make you feel at home.
I’ve been temping at this place that takes my fingers and slip-slices them open for no good reason but it does it anyway.
There’s an old man that temps there too. He is about 70. His wife died, so he works because being at home on his own is a difficult thing.
He repeats himself an awful lot, and makes really strange mistakes between his brain and his noises. He calls me boy, largely because my name is constantly escaping him, and he frowns at my elusive ways until he falls upon the back up. Then he smiles his drunky smile and talks about his bad bad heartpart.
Original gif by Colin Raff.
Sat by the sea for a couple of days. Saw some birds and some people, all pink scalped and foldy-fingered. We didn’t talk.
Mathieu Bauer - Lounging Nude II
Anonymous asked you:
please tell me how to carry on, there is so much sadness existing here and i am lonely and afraid.
I don’t know how much of you I know, or could know, or ought to know.
I do know loneliness, of course. Horrid throat-ache, thumping belly-weight, and something loose and liquid baying in the brain. Terrible terrible.
And we do bad things, and think bad things. Anxious fingers tiptap and we gather up the things we think they think and we poke them in our ears and lickstick them to our teeth.
I don’t know how to escape it, my dear, beyond the wee gentle moments. Some otherskin, when they let their smell near and on you. And yours on them. All brief, it is, a tiny significance. When we flew a little. Or we tried to. Or we thought about it and we wanted to.
Until it isn’t, it’s as much as there is.
Here is a draw. Do be ok.
Anonymous asked you:
what do you think of love?
This is an odd thing, big thing, broad broad wall thing. Perhaps you are nervy. I mean, the nights are awful dark these days, and suddenly the leaves are lost, and really what are we to do?
I do not know what to think of love. Do you mean how to love? How to be loved? How to be ok without love?
I don’t know of a heavier thing than a woman’s love. It is a big hefty waterweight. It is a difficult thing to carry around, to care for it, to not drop it in the sea or let it tumble from your pocket as you chatter and grin and fondle-find elbows with your fingertips.
And to be loved? Be passionate. There must be things that make you buzz and whirrrr and worry the windows with your tapping and rolling. Wonder about her, and worry about her, and wake her up sometimes to tell her secret things. And be sure to hate her mother, if she does.
I do not give good advice. Disregard this, dear things.
Study for a series called ‘possibly how things are’.
Today has warmly wounded me, and I am awful and exhausted. If you’ve written me a letter in the last day or so or so, I shall poke words at you just as soon as I’ve figured out this baffling need for sleeps.
Also if you’ve bought a drawing recently then I love you a bit, and if you are planning on buying one then I shall love you soon.
We must meet shortly, dears, because our elbows and noses won’t compare themselves.
(via zbags)
