Nothing but chemicals

I never know which language to use, like I never know which way to follow. Like I never know which country is my own or which person. I could never pick and choose. That was also why I always messing about. I never saw the wrong doing in taking several lovers. I’ve never even ever really seen the wrong doing in lying (unless you look at the big picture, and then it’s awful and it will change your life). Because of this I always tend to broaden my horizons instead of stretching them. When it came to narrowing down my path in life, I always travel the easiest path offered until something or other comes along that slightly (but only ever so slightly) diverts this easy going pace. I found that with you, lover, just as with many before. I commit a series of faults, great flaws in my defect through which then I travel onto becoming the X (the one that Sontag once mentioned). “If there is chicken I’ll take the leg, if there is a draught I’ll sit on it”. 

Lover, I found that, like with many of my tiny faults and flaws, my tiny humanities that I am indeed human. Human and undecided, we shall call it but only because human and unable seems too harsh for a spirit so capable of enjoying poetry and kindness. I found that I am at my happiest surrounded by the scent of culture, endlessly embedded in old books and records, old tunes and conversations. In regards of the mind I found that while on a strict diet of you it flourishes. I guess love and writing like pen and paper have always been the greatest of friends. Knowledge keeps me sane whilst dwelling in a bathe of sole and raw emotion. It is somehow soothing to know that even feeling all of these things I can continue with the knowledge that they’re nothing but chemicals.