Monday, March 12, 2012

Things that broke my heart

this weekend:

this Neruda passage

like a shipwreck we die inward,
like smothering in our hearts,
like slowly falling from our skin down to our soul.

Not getting to talk to you, 
not adding my abuelito to my graduation list,
knowing he will never have a story to tell me, that I remember.
Not being present. Not being able to help you.
Seven Pounds. Thinking about death and blindness and all the beautiful things in the world.

This letter. 

I’ll Never Give Up


I loved you with everything I was, and I still love you with everything that is left. I never thought the day would come where we did not speak.  I no longer really live; I just go through the motions of life void of emotion.  I walk around this town like a ghost because it’s where we met, and there isn’t a day that goes by I don’t think of you, and look up the sky wishing you were looking up at the same time thinking about me.  I’ll never forget that day you told me “I love how you never give up on me”.  No matter where you are or who you are with, just know that you have a piece of me and I carry you with me everyday. I will never love another person with the genuine, innocent, true love I loved you with.  If only you wouldn’t have walked away and listened to your heart.  I love you always and forever.

E, age 23 

(From "Things I would have said" a blog that breaks my heart every time I'm on it.)

Last of all, and perhaps the most heart breaking to me is not the closing of the Satyricon, that broke my heart a long time ago. (I think about that over thirty Dandy Warhol show all the time, too.) I was thinking about their disgusting beautiful perfect bathroom walls covered in graffiti, and I really wanted to visit again. When I realized I couldn't even visit the ruins of the Satyricon, empty and beautiful in all its glory, and write something on their perfect walls, that moment broke my heart.
It was only torn down January 27th too. :/

Things that bothered me: Not doing art, getting rid of all the broken glass
that lived on my floor. Not dying of my concussion on Saturday,

Not ever getting to relax do nothing without anxiousness.
Not doing all the things I was supposed to do.
Not being happy for one second out of these 48 hours.

Friday was super good though. They always are.

Actually, this photo didn't break my heart at all. I thought it was beautiful and it sort of feels like the triumph of the human spirit. Funny things make me sad, but sad things sometimes make me happy. Like sad movies and cold food and broken dreams and slandered walls.

One last thought: I really want to live in a motel. Really, really.


  1. Your a true artist. We see things so diff than stale normal people. You have such a beautiful soul.

  2. Thank're so good to me. Yes, I accept that I will never be normal. Sometimes I fear that I won't always be an artist. I mean, in spirit, of course.

    I know that most of the time, but at times I think that really isn't enough.