Devious Journal EntryLove,
Sam
What is the inverse...What is the inverse of annihilation? How can I speak of the sweetbitter surge that sweeps my spirit through my body nerve by nerve in violent invigoration when I conceive of you – or rather fail to – and leaves me some ill-sublimated urge, of which the scattered rivulets converge into a tightly channeled agitation?What is the inverse...
I'll not give Gregerson the satisfaction of answering "love": in this I shall preempt her; having composed such tidbits as might tempt her, I stand aside, though driven to distraction. My love is known and spoken and confessed: my love pr
FacsimileIn some scorched-earth facsimile I have annihilated my articulation. If I miscomprehend my desperation, there's no-one I can blame, nobody save only myself. Ah, let us therefore laugh: laugh at the chest's untimely irritation, at the disparagement and dissipation – the vacuum and the senselessness that chafe. Let him enumerate, let him describe, let him escape the chain of bleak abstractions: ah, let him versify his diatribe who touches sorrow, whose reality and its expression still have the connections that long ago were severèd in me.Facsimile
Not a translation.Among the agèd tomes, replete with dust, I tire of conquering the countless hurdles, While every molecule of self-love curdles, Into its stilted mockery, disgust. The flower whose splendid form and subtle must The learnèd Greek compared unto a myrtle's, Which is the origin and dread of mortals: For this, and this alone – for this I lust. As to the text, the text on weary text, Outside of which (the claim goes) there is nothing, Ah, let me once more harbor the illusion Of some impossible escape: its loathing Has left me in despair and dissolution, LappNot a translation.
Chapter 11: Cell Communication Section 11.3 - Cascades of molecular interactions relay signals from receptors to target molecules in the cell.Chapter 11: Cell Communication
I read somewhere that people always get their inspiration from outside. It doesn’t come from inside your head, not really, because what’s inside your head is a mess of neurons and synapses and gray matter and white matter, and each one has a nucleus and mitochondria and an endoplasmic reticulum and lysosomes and ribosomes and other tiny things too small to see, so how is it that we know for sure they’re there, anyway? I think you’d be a Golgi body, because you’re always taking
MovingMovingMoving
As summer fades and slowly drifts away, I wonder why I cannot seem to cry When I’m supposed to, wonder what to say, And wish there was more time to say goodbye. I try to memorize the things I’ll miss. I’ll bring them all along when summer’s passed. Recalling every gesture, every kiss, As if their memory can make them last. But though the newly painted baseboards glare, And paper now adorns the bathroom walls, And San Francisco hangs upon the air, I haven’t seemed to register at all. I think that all of this was a mistake.
Thank you for sharing them with us.
Sincerely,
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- Mathias
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You're just jealous 'cause I have more fictional boyfriends than you do.
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Where the rooms are a collection of our lives.
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Where the rooms are a collection of our lives.
More is on the way.
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