“What can I say, I’m a sucker for abandoned stuff, misplaced stuff, forgotten stuff, any old stuff which despite the light of progress and all that, still vanishes every day like shadows at noon, goings unheralded, passings unmourned, well, you get the drift.
As a counselor once told me -a counselor for Disaffected Yought, I might add: “You like that crap because it reminds you of you.” Couldn’t of said it better or put it more bluntly. Don’t even disagree with it either.”

-House of leaves, Mark Danielewski

This that you gaze on, colorful deceit,
that so immodestly displays art’s favors,
with its fallacious arguments of colors
is to the senses cunning counterfeit,

this on which kindness practiced to delete
from cruel years accumulated horrors,
constraining time to mitigate its rigors
and thus oblivion and age defeat,

is but artifice, a sop to vanity,
is but a flower by the breezes bowed,
is but a ploy to counter destiny,

is but a foolish labor ill-employed,
is but a fancy, and, as all may see,
is but cadaver, ashes, shadow, void.

                                                                   -Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz

                                                            (Translated by Margaret Sayers Peden)

I always thought truth was somethig you could hold in your hand, or put in your pocket. Like a stone, or a coin, or a picture of your kid inside your wallet.

Never did i know, the TRUTH

I didn’t once question whether the rancid words that slipped off your tongue were merely parables, or hand crafted myths, which bore not substance, but holes into my soft brain which was, and still is developing

I swore up and down that the history books didn’t have me fooled, as your slick lips kept moving and moving           

-JD                    

(it’s so strange I wrote this several months ago and now it holds greater significance than ever)