i was adopted.
when i was 6 months old..so long after birth because of cystic eyes...
i talked to my birth parents for the first time last week..my mother yesterday and wednesday and my father on saturday.
strange coming from so much and thinking so little to have everything come careening down into my face...I like them though.
she was 17, he was 19.
now there are two more people to care about and vise versa.
i got a dog on smaturday too. her name is asa. ayy...saa.
she's fun
more responsibility to rock the boat.
i need to go to wizerk now
more elaboration later this evening...
strange it is how people can get so defensive...While it is admirable to stick up for every motherfucker that gets modified as being an intelligent being..I think its wrong to think that the same societal problems don't occur in reference to a community full of modified people...we are no different or better than anyone else and we certainly aren't free of flaws, and the natural echelon of humanity does not make us cooler than everyone else because we are "cool enough" to get modified.
On a different note..things move chaotic-like in my life...and the things I want..the things inherent to my happiness are never really permanent situations but passing waves which rock the boat..I wonder when it is that the plateau of indifference will lock its grip on my ankles again..I believe the time estimate was approximately two weeks...two more weeks of bliss leading to a long time of miss..
your eyes.
I changed my mind late last week, after being surrounded with all things creative..and the breathing and pumping of the way this city breathes..everything in it exists because the whole exists...I tend to think of it as a circulatory system..and it's not my time to go...I found passion wrapped in a package labeled for another time...and I can't complain...or regret...I just want it in me, around me, and being me all of the time...but I can just sit and dream of things I can touch...la la la la la
no but everything is connected by fine strings
which sometimes can be made of flesh
the tearing of the striations into small blocks of days
ending in infinite
sometimes the way you feel is so unique and generic
hoping that the adoration and amazement won't turn into a
small twisted knot of sticky stuff
my time is endless
compounded scary by little broken things
body touch has me craving that climax
elevated and circumvented through the blood under your skin
the only time is now
the only future is yesterday
my only past is the present
moments slipping while my mind keeps tripping
over that small hump
which is but this moment...
