Kurrs' Digital Tapestry of Words

Sleep eludes me of late, the progeny of too many highs and lows. The rollercoaster is indicative, on the whole the lines trends downhill, like the strength of the peaks weighing down with gravity on the average. I'm caught, wrapped as usual, turned about like a top in hastily wrapped paper. Some colours are you, red and full of possibly empty possiblity. Others are you, wrought in finality and absence. I'm lonely, almost brutally so, I call people and am not sure what to say, sitting numb-tongued just wanting to hear a voice.





Currently Listening: Stars - Look Up (listen)
Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 1:07 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here
It was slow building, this one. Drunk and migraine, sleep, drunk again, sleep, wedding, and NOW the hangover hits? I suppose it makes sense, in a strange way...

I love the way you speak and what you say. I love the meter of your words. I love the flow of your thoughts. I love how you devour everything I say, and come back with more. We avoid the rough spots, but I crave, scrape, and demand as much attention from you every time we interact. Thankfully, everyone seems to be a good sport about it all.

You, you I doubted. I paused and slid back, I judged you by the cadence of your words and the inclinations you wore on your sleeve. I was harsh, uncompromising, even when it seemed my words pricked or slid under your skin. I didn't restrain the bile or the self-righteousness. And you absorbed it, processed it, and then slowly wore outwards with your replies. It was fascinating, impressive, and completely captivating as your incredibly sound interpretations and reinterpretations slowly flowed out from you, shaping the conversation like the ocean shapes the coast-line. By the end I was simply captivated, and wanted to simply ask you in. Your brain is sexy, let's fuck.




Come now, of course I didn't.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 1:02 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here

Half-right, the imaginary travel companion isn't imaginary, but the somewhat significant one is apparently local. More sustainable, I suppose.

Where have all my grandiose ambitions gone? Were they ever even there?

You know, I can't even get myself to be upset over you. I mean, not really. Perhaps emergency room trips are a poor metric. I am, of course, joking, but still. You are so very lovely, all I can feel is empty without you. That hardly seems even worth mentioning though, I was empty before.

My goals, they have become so simplistic and self-serving. It feels like failure.

I guess the problem is that I've been there. That I've loved like the world was ending. And its an awful, terrible feeling, both before, during, and after. But I want it. I remember the little things you each did. I remember you pulling on my hood, I remember you telling me you wanted me to be happy, I remember... And then it's gone, nothing, like life itself, fleeting. Unfortunately, unlike life, you have to deal with its absence. It gnaws, wears at you, like phantom limbs.

Maybe I just want to be happy without feeling like a monstrous douchebag. Maybe I will amount to something one day, but I can't help but just want that simple something.

Currently Listening: Amanda Palmer - Another Year (youtube)
Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 12:21 AM | Permalink

I've writhed myself into this one. An unforeseen adversary that I twist and turn to avoid, to outmaneuver. But I'm eating my own tail as I strive towards freedom. The more I fight, the more time passes, the more I find myself consumed.

There is a litany here, of profanity and curt denouncements. Proclamations of uncertainty and statements of false meaninglessness. But it is smoke and mirrors, and sad ones at that. Like the old relics of a carnival long since abandoned.

It doesn't burn, I don't yearn, but there it still is.

Emeralds wrapped in autumn.

I can't look away.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 8:16 PM | Permalink

Alcohol is wonderful.

I hope I'm not too sick tomorrow.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 3:49 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here

I want to the world to unfocus, to slide away into deliciously soft edges. I want the warm undulations of electronic basslines, a soundscape to swim through. I want my mind to thud with the same softness and sound, and I want to writhe like muscle relaxants. To fall slowly into oblivion, and let everything be taken away, one bit by one bit, unless all that remains of sensation is texture.

And I want to stay there.

At the edge of nothingness, not close like the edge of a knife but close enough that the details are gone. Like a razor thin depth of field caputuring nothing. To float in my immaterial rave ocean, warm like the tropics and dry but for the sweat and humidity in the air. So that I can forget. And then, fall, as all the last beautiful pieces are gone. Collapsing into me, first sight, then sound, like touch. Just, nothing.

Currently Listening: Optimus Gryme - Immortal (song d/l)
Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 11:44 AM | Permalink

This is what I wanted. Faultless, unstoppable, like the void between the stars.

I liked your angles, and for a moment everyone wanted me again. My nastier side wants to make statements of the relative depth of pools, but I must admit even on an intuitive level it doesn't feel fulfilling. I am grateful for the pleasant angles of your shoulders, even if I don't actually want you.

I could taste it on your words. Terror swelled within me, that you too would say yes out of courtesy and then retract the offer. Not a situation I'm used to, the phobia of a repeat performance loomed large in my mind. Your shape crumbled to ashes in my mind, and it seemed like I wanted you no longer, and, on queue, you retracted. In your defence, it was all courtesy and openess, and possessed none of the immaturity of the first.

In a way, I am glad. It does service to my previous commitment, solidifies actions into trends and away from single destructive points. Strange that I feel that way now, not consistent except for singularity. Alone, collapsing on myself.

Currently Listening: Stars (listen)
Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 8:27 PM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here

Three colours dance in my head, an old refrain and a bittersweet mix, like tasting honeyed iron. The hole in my head requires my attention tomorrow, and instead all I want to do is drink and drink and drink. Hold me in your arms, my lovelies, but don't hold me to the morning. I miss you and I don't, I want you and I don't... I could roll around the meaninglessness in my mouth like rotten cherries covered in chocolate.

It tastes good, even if I suffer for it.

Currently Listening: Dub FX - Society (YouTube link)
Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 12:23 AM | Permalink