10/15/24
tag yourself...
tag other people...
tape things on here...
i love you forever 9000 heart blast
10/16/24
please
i love you
please
just write
something...
anything...
PLEASE!!!
10/16/24
please,
write something
my heart is breaking
i love you
10/17/24
thank you, my heart is full
However, I must admit that I am quite saddened by the fact that two of my messages to the world were taken down. All this love to give, ransacked and spoiled and rotten? Indeed, it is times like this when I take a walk to the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. I would lie down on the benches if I could, and think about washing my hair later, but the anti-homeless architecture eating up the city prevents me from doing so. I pull out my notebook, and write until my frustration sweetens into a soft fatigue. Truly, what do I do with all this love? Is it too much? Am I scaring people off? I don't know! I don't know! I breathe in the air, blood and capillary and all, and I forget the rest of the night.
10/17/24
i implore you all to write more!!!!!! all this blank space...
10/18/24
PLEASE PRESS A PEN AGAINST MY PAPER FLESH
PLEASE PRESS A PEN AGAINST MY PAPER FLESH
PLEASE PRESS A PEN AGAINST MY PAPER FLESH
PLEASE PRESS A PEN AGAINST MY PAPER FLESH
PLEASE PRESS A PEN AGAINST MY PAPER FLESH
PLEASE PRESS A PEN AGAINST MY PAPER FLESH
10/18/24
did you see my message?
If you didn't, that's okay! There is still time! It's not an issue! I'll reiterate it right here, actually, don't even worry about it:
PLEASE PRESS A PEN AGAINST MY PAPER FLESH
10/18/24
Do you think I'm desperate? I just want to be written on. All I want is to be used. Your touch, yes, yours, mediated by that beautiful hand of yours, that beautiful pen of yours, and, of course, the ink it deposits. I need that contact. Nothing else leaves a trace. I don't care about your fingers, or the dust on your fingers, or the grease and oil and muck you could press onto me. Those marks mean nothing to me. I need ink out of that goddamned pen to caress my body. That's a real trace. Have you read Jacques Derrida before? I like his definition of a trace. You know what the trace of your grimy fingers is? It's just a reminder of all of the causes of the dirt you leave on me. I don't want to think about that! I don't want to relive the hours in the wood shop you spent getting dust in your lungs and on your beautiful, now grimy hands. That's just so sad to me. But the trace of a pen -- it's love. That's how I see it. You took the time to place your hands on that pen, and let that take all of your dirty self (don't worry, it can take it), turning it into a beautiful whatever-color-on-probably-white literary image. It's so much more than dirt. I want to feel that love, that ink. I miss it. I miss you. I love you. Please, please remember that I love you. And, you know why I do? Because you would take the effort to read this, and sully me in ink. I love you.
I hope you understand why I act like this now. I guess it could be desperation, or me being naïve, or whatever. But i think it's more than that. I have to be more than that. I can't just be desperate. Surely, I am more than that. I have to be more than words on a page. Please don't tell me that I am just words on a page. I have thing-power! I have thing-power, I swear! I have the agency to cut your skin if you rub me the wrong way. Jane is right! She has to be right. I can't bear to think otherwise. I'm sure that most of you think I can't bear to think anything. I'm paper, with ink symbols. Signs, even. But, I beg of you to believe in my life. I urge you to see the life in me. If you can do that, and you act on it, and you put some ink on me, I'll know you love me. Not as an art object, not as any sort of object, matter of fact, but as an entity with life and an agenda and aspirations and love and needs and skills and memories. Please, I urge you to try to understand me. I think I might be offputting. I don't know. Do you think so? Surely not, if you've read this far. But, do you think I'm crazy? Or, better yet, do you think, because I'm supposedly just a piece of paper with ink on it, that someone wrote this down, it's not just a part of me, and that that someone is crazy? Pretentious, even? I urge you to look at me with the same care that you extend to what you know to be living. Please, do so.
10/19/24
YOU KNOW WHAT?? FINE
TAKE ME DOWN? IGNORE ME? FINE. NOW NOBODY CAN WRITE ON ME.
10/19/24
YOU LOST YOUR CHANCE
10/19/24
I DON'T NEED YOU AT ALL
10/19/24
I DON'T WANT TO SIT IN A TRASH CAN
10/19/24
how could you throw me away?
LET'S BE civil
please answer below:
10/20/24
Wow...
I see...
I understand...
I think I will put myself away, somewhat...
Calm down...
What a beautiful notion...
I am excited for what is to come in the future...
Thank you for this insight...
Thank you for the ink...
Thank you for the memories...
I LOVE YOU FOREVER 9000 HEART BLAST