barf

feeling a little shaky, haha, through sheer cowardice. i am technically getting my first (in a studio, performed by a professional) tattoo tomorrow. and even though it is literally three short black thin lines, i'm still having a nervy b. also, even though i plan to get more elaborate things in the future.

BUT ANYWAY

a love letter

there's more fish in the sea, i was told. and i began to think...

although the sea is so full of beautiful fish for me to love, sharks silently haunt underwater wrecks; so devoid of noise, the way satellites float endlessly in outer space. ghostly green water so beautiful below the sun becomes thick and black in its absense. poisonous oozing jellyfish extend probing stingers, so evil and treacherous when they curl around a wrist and tug. serrated teeth are prone to bite from below, unpredictable and unstoppable. slick oily scales will brush against my skin and make me shudder. taken in good faith, plenty of fish are indeed waiting in the sea. when they told me about these fish i could find and adore, no-one specified if they were venemous; carnivores; unclean, aqueous, bastard lamprey. on the sea bed, deep in the caverns of the uncherished heart, the fish are rife with deformity and uncouth from lack of playing (at least, playing with rules) ever hunting, ever searching, only able to see in the dark because they fell from the light. think of them as the sex-offenders in this metaphor. if all these fish are in the sea, then the sex-starved, leering, monstrosities could not be trapped behind bars to keep me safe. my venture into love is thus a terrible and unsafe one.

then, i think about my first foray into this ocean of love: thick, rubbery, half-deadened seaweed in hues of dried blood collects in the shallows, and limpets scrape skin from their rocks. crabs pinch my sore cold little toes, and my teeth begin to chatter. it's a scary business. getting into the sea is just as dangerous as being submerged entirely. not to mention beginning the search for the one.

if you'd like to think you understood love, imagine trawling the sea in search of the one fish you could ever want to keep in a bowl. the beautiful one in the jewel colours that crawls inside your veins and sets your wonderful heart on fire.

if you think about it, it's a really a very fucking stupid metaphor.

but if you continue to think about it, love is not the cleverest beast. monstrous, terrible, all-consuming, insatiable: yes. but not logical, linear, not remotely possible to analyze. matters of the heart have no autopsy to discover what created them; maybe literally, yes. but never, ever emotionally. a concept so over-analyzed in spirit that it's possible only the ghost remains, or the bare sucked bones.

if you've thought about it even further? then, i think you think too much.

for my fish