"This journal is not a mere literary diversion. The further I progress, reducing to order what my past life suggests, and the more I persist in the rigor of composition--of the chapters, of the sentences, of the book itself--the more do I feel myself hardening in my will to utilize, for virtuous ends, my former hardships. I feel their power." --Jean Genet
Showing posts with label pills. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pills. Show all posts
02 April 2012
Epicenter
I am weary, furious, the first in line to criticize the bitter pill, the last in line to swallow.
31 March 2012
Popper
Time has become the progression of pills: the powdered hope that you take at the end of the day, the courage that you muster in the morning. And sunlight swims in the molten gold that is your orange juice, a swig, a swallow. Your blood, a richer red, conveys the chemicals into the background of your brain. Each day is measured by the antidotes, and by the hours in between. Days, weeks, months. These moons are full, or half, or hardly visible as they dissolve under the tongue. The crumbling eye. The erosion that comes with seeing. There is poison on the tip of your tongue.
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