Lately, anytime I’m telling someone that I love them or
whatever,
it’s like I don't even know what that means.
I don’t even know or understand what I’m even saying.
It’s like I’m telling someone I love them,
but all it is is like burnt up peanut brittle with a
piece dangling in this heart shaped valentine’s shop
window, with fluorescent lights on somewhere in the
back room ‘cause the store is closed. and you can
hardly see in. and then the dangling piece of burnt up
peanut brittle detaches in a single moment and just
falls onto some tissue paper.
That’s all love is to me these days.
That’s all I know of it to mean.
But maybe that’s good.
Maybe it’s like the arrogance of saying you know what
love is is the same as the arrogance of saying you
know all about God and what God wants or wouldn’t like
very much and stuff.
Anyway I get really wrapped up in myself but at the
same time I have no contact with myself. I haven’t
seen or heard from myself in so long. I’ve just
drifted apart from myself; it happens. We’re all busy.
But let me start taking things away from people
and you’ll see a whole new way.
Not stealing, but confiscating.
Things that people shouldn’t have.
Because it irritates people, like
cigarette smoke
or noisy sloppy iced coffee. Telling people to quiet
down or whatever.
Too much coughing, disgusting spitting and
toothpicking also has to stop.
Just policing them. Disciplining them. I need to do
it.
And I am going to start doing it. Soon.

SYBIL KEMPSON