i can change / if it helps you fall in love

--reading someone else's love letters, language, being sneaky and getting it right back because I didn't recognize they were in love until she said, "Yes it's frustrating! We share that."--

::writing love letters and receiving none back they've started like this::
>to l'etranger
>to her
>to hjv67
>to Laura
>to a
>to A
I sent them to myself, well most of them, and I can't remember now if they were all meant for one person, from different me's.

***

<<listening to lots of LCD soundsystem, and thinking about when he moans "TAKE ME HOME" in All I want. Is home the pity he keeps referring to? It is for me. I do not pity anyone until they lie, it's not even pity, it is understanding, cleptomania but the untruth version, I used to lie so much I honestly cannot remember half of my memories without them. I have to remind myself this is okay to put here. Is it okay to put out into the world, that a child--because it's excusable here in most developmental books or dsm-iv manuals--lied; of course it was a coping mechanism, but also, what I fear, a personality, am I branded by the title. I won't put it here, I mean, I cannot put it here.

and nowadays, i go over history with a woman older than me, who does not know that when i'm speaking it's with an uncapitalized i, it's me avoiding eye contact, the admittance that i was--am, ouch--these versions. it could have been simple, i have four grandpa's, it could have been monetary, my dad has a porsche too, it was mostly racial, no i'm not, look! i'm not the color black. was my sister lying too? is that even lying, maybe i should share the others, not here, not now.

shit, of course i'm thinking "are we human, or are we dancer"

lying of course, is fear, i wish i had shut my mouth, and followed my bodies directions liberally. what a fight it is to be in a body, what a war!

i favor numbness, pass the trigger, the content, the modafinal.