modest medicine man, my life,

i feel comfortable being alone outside, tripping through the forest all day, watching the river fill.

and yeah, you've gone. but no, that won't decide me, won't hold me, won't whisper malicious things to me, anymore. it can be over, and i can remember it, but in passing, and with a small smile, maybe. i can walk by myself, wake up, feel angry sometimes, confused alot of the time, but never that despair that i knew so well, it won't hang about my door anymore; it is gone and will be gone.

it's dark and it's cold and you're outside, sneaking around the neighbor's window, snapping pictures, laughing, coughing. just one of those things that you do. like when you were in the endless handstand against the living room wall, crumpling over and into yourself, collapsing boxes and cracking your spine. i take a shower while you shave your face over the sink, like the scene in every movie that i've ever seen in my life. and it's so strange, i can't even think of a time when i would have expected anything like this, at all. but i'm glad for that. thankful for the surprise, hopeful for the rest of them, the corners that i cannot see around, they hide many things.

love, friday

“I hope to hell that when I do die somebody has the sense to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.”