(Mostly unintelligible)

This friendship is a forehead kiss as an apology for months spent gaslighting me, scooby doo bandaid on a trench of a laceration… My mind is sometimes a dive bar surrounded by miles of light industry and tumbleweeds, I could get killed in the bathroom in the dive bar of my mind, that’s how I built it… Hanging out in Newark these houses make me wanna make ceramics water would come out of, good mineral water flowy curly water that no one leaves on the table, no lipstick and no paw prints, copper as the sky when the oceans run dry and the galaxy contracts and blinks like an eye… I can smell someone’s entire apartment that they carry in their sweater from the next car over on 1 and 9, it makes me yearn for somewhere else always somewhere else, or somewhere I can make feel like somewhere else despite the years of sex and smoke I spend there… When I change I have friends that get to remembering me not as I was, but as I am, and that’s as sweet as a dryer sheet breeze passing warm through a soft autumn rain… I hear a little bell jangling and I know you’re in the hall, rummaging and walking and making something like small talk with the instruments, the light and the lock, then you come in and I’m looking at you over my shoulder through the door like an angle, I’m an angle through which to view how much I love you, I’m but a lens… I know my body is someone’s ideal parking space, seats pushed down to make room for a since-moved armchair, in front of an abandoned bank in an empty downtown at night, until I can find a path to self-love that isn’t brutally ableist, it’s gonna be self-fetishization for me, don’t mind if I mine from me, don’t mind if I mine from me…

When a wound dies it becomes an angel wound, it’s a special little thing, sometimes they have superpowers like, girlpower or proprioception, even the pebbles will rare into pencils, laughing at shapes for ne’er reared into object, it’s so sweet to spend time with something that’s healed, something you thought was gone, spend sweet time with it feeling soft and saved, all your flesh is field and warmth, it’s like when you know that you’ve probably really quit, you can throw one back once in a while, live faintly in nostalgia so gothic, as a fifth birthday picture faint and gluey… I like to imagine music while other music’s playing, something like distraction as nouveau-focus, a thing for people born into a world of overproducing, it brings me to remark the ocean’s light will not corrupt the night sky, the way it cradles stars as though they’re balled socks born in loaves, it’s one in millions of chest-expanding full-circle moments, it makes me feel tiny in a wise and obvious way, it makes me drive at night and too much coffee… I remember I’d old pictures that I needed to sort through, I had to look at smiles so young I’d never have again, decide which ones to throw away and which ones I would keep, there was something so living room, something so kitten chimes, something so entranceway light, something so empowered and alone, and I was back in the delivery room, hovering like a martyred steam of tallow… And without the express desire to create an equivalent on the paper, but to induce, between the hand and the paper, internal pleasure founded on the promise of external pleasure… and so the drawing is an expression of said induction, but only indifferently, reducedly…

El enemigo de mi enemigo no es mi amigo, es un enemigo más sutil, más insidioso, que se aprovecha de mi vulnerabilidad, el enemigo de mi enemigo no es mi amigo… No me engañarás con dichos egoístas y miopes, no con existencialismo ni estrechando mi visión, dejaré esta vida atrás, y la entereza de ti irás con eso… El enemigo de mi enemigo es rupturas entre mí, y los que amo, como el menor de dos males, protege al mal mayor, el puede ser su creador… Por qué debes ser astuto para ser un espacio de dulzura para tu amante, por qué debes estar conspirando para ser el cuidador de tu hermana-- Tienes un amigo erróneo, está explotando tu confianza, no eres un espía, eres un cobarde… El enemigo de mi enemigo no es mi amigo, silencia a las personas que ha lastimado, pretendiendo ser un líder, el enemigo de mi enemigo es un depredador… Translation: The enemy of my enemy is not my friend, they are a subtler, more insidious enemy, preying on my vulnerability, the enemy of my enemy is not my friend… You won’t fool me with self-serving, nearsighted adages, not with existentialism or narrowing my vision, I’ll put this life behind me, and the whole of you will go with it… The enemy of my enemy is rifts between myself and those I love, as the lesser of two evils he protects the greater evil, he may be its creator… Why must you be cunning to be a space of sweetness for your lover, why must you be conniving to be your sister’s caretaker-- You have an erroneous friend, who’s exploiting your trust, you are not a spy, you’re a coward… The enemy of my enemy is not my friend, he silences the people he’s hurt, by pretending to be a leader, the enemy of my enemy is a predator…

I don’t know if you figured it out my friend, but I took that last shit to be a goodbye gift, I’m sorry if we didn’t share that secret pact, to leave some things unspoken, but the way you treated me left me so broken, and to cut it off out loud had me crying and choking, so I let it taper off, ‘cuz sometimes, closure ain’t nothin’... Funny how somebody’s shamelessly self-centered logic, could add up to, this human in front of me barely exists, and even if they do, dare they to be true, I got them right where I want them enough to not give a shit, and the way you spoke to me left me so hopeless, my emotions so misled and unimportant, the next time I see you, it’s gonna feel like less than nothing… I don’t know if you figured it out my friend, but I’ll bet, you did, ‘cuz I ain’t seen you around, I hope that’s not you I hear asking a favor, my ears throw up the sound, the way you treated me was fucking violent, a way that subtly shut and left me silent, let me clap my haunted hands away…

In the foam of the night by the storm of balconies things take on a heaving perspective, roundness becomes bulging, square becomes bludgeoning, shadows pulsate, dead ends become men, peering chirps enough to become endless intestines, grassy blemishes enough to be burial mound… Then as the sun rises our shadows, plucking the fog in tufts from its bed, flies and cereal and pom-poms rolling about in the hay like whirligigs, listening to bells to prepare for winter, yummies flocking out of me like teeth, virginity pouring out of me like coffee… They’re never gonna see you in a human way, they’re always gonna learn you from a magazine, they’re never gonna ask you for your heart’s own words, they’re always gonna take it from a google search, it would be so exhausting to always explain but I sure as hell don’t trust teen vogue to perfectly delineate my trans identity, they’re still doing it to make money… I love touching the hairs on the back of your neck, I love their softness as they quiver like a reef of lips, I love everything that comes out of you, I love your hair and I love your cum, between us we strive for equity, but your thighs could still rule me… Wet and sucked as a priestess I fall limp as a squid, blessed fell’d as a leaflet I fall swift as a mist, wrecked fucked as a meat lip I call brisk as a whip, crept sleep as a brief nap I call dreamt as a bliss-- I love everything that comes out of you, I love your words and I love your laugh, I love everything that comes out of you… Clever in the clumping of platelets, it is I think to a degree, and in the changing of faces, it nary holds deceit for me, because I know what my place is, we fall into what comes to be-- I wrote this in effin’ Keansburg yes I did… bitches we need something better than god, god’s out here playing victim again, god is a white supremacist pretending he’s oppressed by anti-racism, god is a rapist pretending he’s oppressed by his ex, god on the cross here moaning and stealing others’ narratives, god is a cop pretending he’s oppressed by communism, god is bush pretending 9/11 marginalized him, god can suck his own cock so far it’s out his eye, look at him on the cross pretending to die, every cop ever killed just pretended to die, ‘cuz soon as they don the blue they step out of human life, look at god so pathetic just pretending to die, bitches it’s about time you worshipped your own life… All I’m trying to say is, you can empathize all day in your chair but where does that leave you, in your chair, now I am definitely a proponent of therapy, I’m in it myself these days, but the president doesn’t read your therapy receipts and think great, time to stop oppressing people, if he needs to be assassinated, it’s the only thing he needs…

We were all gathered round, imitating christ’s life, held a halo on one wrist, beer in the other, we friends agreed that no day, would ever compare, to the day Absolute Bonkers Man released "Suckle My Schlong" over the radio… Now I went to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror, there was a toilet there and a sink, and there was praise, praise and praise, for this old woman’s face, smiling betwixt the nipples of the bathwater… Now compared to some of you I’ve had pretty hardcore experiences, and compared to others I’m a fraudulent inkworm, but there is just none who compare, in a graze like a day, to the day Absolute Bonkers Man released "Suckle My Schlong" over the radio, using unprecedented technology like they once called the envelope…

I know you stained that historical floor with your blood during that performance art, and I get that they have to restore it, but I think what you did was cool, even outside of love I would feel that, may I be so bold as to know I can tell that… I still feel like I’m sighing out seven years ago, sighing with relief, the sweetest blessest thing, sighing with relief, sweetest sloughing off, harsh things I don’t keep, sweetest out relief, I know you might know but it still helps to hear it, we’re still letting old things dismount us and wander off happier to weigh down nobody…