there’s too much value involved in relationships, to their ruin, and there is something affectionate about the thought of arranged marriage; at least then, I suppose, there is no illusion.
and all I’ve ever wanted is safety and disorder
and what cruelties have we imposed on one another? what rumors, what assumptions, what deceptions? I remember my surprise at all the petty betrayals; but I had nothing to say for friends or myself, because the treason, the loss, was such a shock, that correction seemed almost meaningless in comparison.
all these lives on the planet; and what kind of adulthood were we giving to all these children? are we still animals, rolling the dice on survival?
there’s a kind of intimacy about brutality, and so I say love could use a little more brutality, a little more power
ah but some pictures are necessary for their own sake; we must be superfluous, or risk becoming inhuman.
I like a little honesty; I can love a demon, but I hate all these monsters with plastic-smile masks; let me see the fire, hate, love, rage, lust, lust, hunger, desire or at least something more than all this etiquette.