FUCK

Double Ketchup, Ralph Goings, 1996-97

I do not know the name of the feeling that I have for you. But it is a special tenderness, something I have never felt until now, not for anyone.

and running yourself into the ground because the back of your throat tastes like rotted fish and yet everybody wants you to get up and make a pretty dance about it and running yourself into the ground like a matchstick because if you're going to have to be here you want to blaze about it and running yourself into the ground like a darkened landing strip so the plane wheels spark up and your hometown finally disappears in the distance good fucking riddance

and running yourself into the ground because of some fucked up great-great-grandparent's hard work aesthetic and because you somehow owe it to your parents, who owed it to their own parents, because owing things is normal in your family, like love is a cost-value analysis and running yourself into the ground and getting up and pretending that, like, this isn't burning the candle at both ends. two days is plenty to get back into it.

you're not spiraling, you're just manifesting wealth and happiness. you're not spiraling, the radio in your chest just has low batteries. what do you mean that's the sound of distress. when they went out looking, they never found your pilot. you haven't been in this body for years now. you found yourself and put her into a box and then put her up on a shelf. she's still safe up there and she's still a kid.

“Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling”