A COMMUNAL EXPERIMENT IN SELF CURATION

a Soul Project

archival : my own notes 1 :

I'm tired.
Today, like most other days, I find myself exhausted by nothing and everything.

An endearing old man makes an endless toddling shuffle to a table nearby and I can barely look away. I hate that all I can think of is gerald, and how he's the only one I feel I could have ever loved as a shuffling old man.

Those days are over. Arrived are the days where I turn on him and on myself, and learn to despise every happiness I've known for the past 4 and a half years. The bitter years are here again, blacker and more brackish than ever. I hate you gerald. I hate where you brought us. I hate that you let my flaws define your feelings for and opinion about me, where all I could muster was hope, forgiveness, and care.

In a few weeks I may or may not come say a few words to you, but don't mistake my apology for crawling back; I hope this time, beyond a doubt, that you never intend to contact me again.