where does the intensity go?

saturday awful for reflection among everyone you spend all week with on the phone, the same girls who aren’t talking to you ~ shall i show you my wound and insatiable want? you have an equal one, a thirst for something beyond what’s available; this indeed leads us back

“…the creator’s craving for a climax far bigger than the climaxes life has to offer.”
— Anaïs Nin, D. H. Lawrence: An Unprofessional Study

craving for climaxes, relief, an end to the longing; solidity that may only be found in marriage, commitment…perhaps I am Extra, extra intensity with “nowhere” to go except music, baseball, poetry, flirting: yes, healing local young women (lol——I did say I should enter my playboy poet era here in Austin…is it lonely to name it so? Can I stop naming? I am protecting by the sheer volume of flood, except my voice doesn’t race ahead of my capacity anymore; I don’t write too much anymore. I feel a flood but it’s easy to read in less than a minute, then they move on to other souls for sale at the top of the Instagram Stories feed, pulsating kids with things to show you, if you don’t have your own kids. Artists and kids are the same

the intensity goes into meeting people; writers leave records, so what kind of collector are you; what will you dust off, gather up and lift up to God/the sun tomorrow and the next day? Oh, continuity! Life is so long

this will all have to be an ad to click me elsewhere or just message me; I have run out of grit and yield to hunger, sunshine and wanderlust; I could do more if you wanted —— if you wanted, I could give you it all; so I carry this ‘all’ like a license to thrill, waiting for the right receiver; all we have to do is wait, wish, invent, be dissatisfied in new, surprising, important ways