Andrew Hardwidge, 26 October 2013


Its nice you’ve been a little mean. or if you are. i read the airs around you much more preciously than I would want to if i were to leave feeling good. but it is rapture I want in you. for exactly the risk. Dread. but the sweetness. the moments where it is right. its only life. it’s close and your friend’s sadness is love. I think i would like to know you. and to stay close. because really we are a little immaculate . and The question is so often ?is this pleasure the right one. She lay underneath me and asked what I wanted. I would not open or you would not crush me. The worst of the lust is that we would not be drawn together. It is only polite that I wait until you are wet. If you liked you could stab me in the guts and then maybe everything would be a little easier. Otherwise I could be left unfeeling staring as this life preserved. The answer was obvious. But this life had ended and the love that I breath had been. It was cut by everything that wasn’t tenderness. Fear spread.


  I wanted to tell you that the best of my friendships are libidinal – like a pathologists report on life, like life’s sublime problem with – what’s more I got what I want, like a war memorial, and you know my libido is a bit like gentrification.  In Paris once I was told that this virtuality wants for flesh. Ladies Nights have been some of the best.”I read your wikipedia page and I think you said the same things as on your wikipedia page.” his shirt said -cool fashion less attack. While I love you life is not what I live.

“The surgeon’s knife, directed by the demand of similarity of bodies, interiors and exteriors, is then wielded under the power of science that is itself under the power of the temptation of space. It is an incision that realises the legendary and cognitive-conceptual psychasthenia that generates the scientific adventure. It is an incision demanded by, following, desiring, the dizzying power of the decorative. An incision, then, that strikes the mind like a flower.  the knowing that speaks to the interiority of facts, where and when there is no distinction between the fact and its knowing: science at its internal limit, in its promise, in its ambition, in its cognitive-conceptual psychasthenia that floods and is flooded by not just the facts it comes across but also its space.” Double d big full breasts on my baby  triple way couldn’t wait the love i got for you girl  and i just wanna know why you end up going to work boss aint working you like this.

Before she started to cut she rubbed against the skin of her fingers and thought, “I think she found it crude and thrilling”. But she was lost. She has told me about her fantasies of fucking Freud. She said he would of learned something. Now. She is for love. At this point he referred to his body and withdrew a little from our conversation. I felt sad and I watched as he summoned a bit of power in front of me.  I watched, and I feel the part of me that was his forget the love it once had with me.  I feel panic instantly calmed by fear. I imagine the blossoming of the dissected figure of me and wonder if I’m the only one that remembers. Fear has been the passionate enthusiasm for the same. I’ve cut with love before and this is actually my excited face. How cruel. A few days ago before the first time he cried in my arms in the street he said my name into my chest. I hadn’t expected this. She thought – Babe what’s your reference? At the end of the day I will get lost. The chill will grip me.  It’s still this illness and I manage – the contingency of the world warped into the pathology of my expanding subjectivity.This melancholy in the world and held in place by a tender skincare regime. Spread across it, smeared. I’ve also had reflexology a few times since. The therapist told me I was constipated. I have never been constipated, except once after a medical procedure. We are not so much adult yet.