grey[dot]matters.

the [s p a c e s] in between.

‘time’.

09 SEPTEMBER 2008

time.

time is so fragile. so precious.

at times, i feel as though time has escaped me. patience is needed to accept all in which time entails and while my patience has grown and blossomed since that of my youth, i am growing restless. i feel caught, trapped in a web that is suffocating me and preventing me from exhaling and fully…releasing. my shouts are unanswered and my silent whispers are ignored. i need an embrace from a mother who forgives. a woman who understands. a man that loves. a god that interprets the unexplained. time does not heal wounds well enough for me, because thoughts still manifest from my past manipulating where i place my feet to walk towards my future. i am tired. my throat is sore. my eyelids are heavy, but shoulders are heavier.

my dick was heavy with guilt as i held it in my hand. this time, my conscious told me that the scents permeating my nose weren’t pheromones, but the stench of shame. cum couldn’t erupt and an erection wouldn’t last…because they aren’t—with you. this time, i needed you. i thought of you. i loved you…within the pain in which was an anonymous sexual encounter. how perverse. to love you within my promiscuity. pornography. masturbation. oral fixation. penetration. all of it…none of it—traps me, as i drown. i am drowning within this space, within this time. i desire to defy gravity and to defy physics. to defy what is considered truth and just live. i am trapped and held down by expectations i never expected. tears don’t flow like i want—like i need? i need to wash away so much. i need to wash away spiritual frustration, sexual deviation, and human confusion. there are stories of a sordid past that i’ve shared, that have freed me, and yet i am still held— still captive.

time is so fragile. so precious.
so is my heart.
& right now—like my head. like my soul…it is hurting.
time has fucked it…raw and it is bleeding. bleeding. bleeding.

i see my self pulling back—burrowing in a hole and finding ultimate silence. a silence that doesn’t speak with motion or words. a silence that can’t be interpreted or understood. a stillness that frustrates and leads to the dissolution of friendships and relationships—one’s that are being made and ones already in existence. i can see my retreat with my white flag, not due or in response to being overwhelmed, but due to
the underwhelming care—this time.

time is fragile. so precious.
so is my heart.

so is…am i.

==========
listening to:
“time”
by: billy porter
from the album: “at the corner of broadway + soul (live)”

listening to:
“floatin”
by stacy epps
from the album: “the awakening”

listening to:
“melt my heart to stone”
by adele
from the album: “19″

listening to:
“nothingness”
by georgia anne muldrow
from the album: “worthnothings”
==========

Filed under: for nostalgia's sake., writings.

‘earn my affections’.

“i’ve fallen in love with myself and i want someone to share it with me.
i want someone to share me with me.” —eartha kitt.

Filed under: videos.

‘just above my head’.

“Memory, especially as one grows older, can do strange and disquieting things. Though we would like to live without regrets, and sometimes proudly insist that we have none, this is not really possible, if only because we are mortal. When more time stretches behind than stretches before one, some assessments, however reluctantly and incompletely, begin to be made. Between what one wished to become and what one has become there is a momentous gap, which will now never be closed. And this gap seems to operate as one’s final margin, one’s last opportunity, for creation. And between the self as it is and the self as one sees it, there is also a distance, even harder to gauge. Some of us are compelled, around the middle of our lives, to make a study of this baffling geography, less in the hope of conquering these distances than in the determination that the distances shall not become any greater. Chasms are necessary, but they can also, notoriously, be fatal. At this point, one is attempting nothing less than the recreation of oneself out of the rubble which has become one’s life…”

- james baldwin
[excerpt from “God’s Country” - a book review by James Baldwin for,
“The Arrangement” by Elia Kazan] [March 23, 1967]

Filed under: quotes.,

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