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shake it up
Created on 2008-12-03 01:37:31 (#17384568), last updated 2009-06-09
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5 Journal Entries, 2 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 3 Userpics
| Name: | aetueob |
|---|---|
| Birthdate: | 01-20 |
Flicker: http://www.flickr.com/photos/25445016@N00/
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http://www.myspace.com/bucheau
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http://www.facebook.com/people/Robert_Bucheau/1389996406
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Love is malleable.
What confuses me over time is the ebb of love’s hold on my head. I want to think of love as solid, diamond core unyielding to the slices of life.
But love is instead a thirsty weed that sometimes flowers. It requires daily doses of sunshine, streams of liquid quenching.
Or maybe this is not love, but merely my soul’s wish to seek love.
The romanticist would believe that once life’s love is found, no other sustenance would ever appease again, that the death of suicide or starvation would be the only recourse to love lost or fumbled.
But that is not evolution. That is not the nature of survival.
I have drunk from the fountain that bred in me youth, creativity, wishes for tomorrows. I have tainted that very wine with the contamination inherent in me.
I do not lay languid in dehydrating sloth at the base of this once upon a time stream.
I seek in my slimed crawl echoed shadows of that memory of her, catch drops from tarnished balconies, sip mudpuddles with squinted imagination.
I breed in the underbelly of aftermath willing to suckle the darkness of sure tomorrows as I grasp the emptiness of lost love in palms calloused by ritualized prayers to her.
I entangle false idols because they remind me of a pedestal I only once climbed.
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...
http://www.myspace.com/bucheau
...
http://www.facebook.com/people/Robert_Bucheau/1389996406
...

...

Love is malleable.
What confuses me over time is the ebb of love’s hold on my head. I want to think of love as solid, diamond core unyielding to the slices of life.
But love is instead a thirsty weed that sometimes flowers. It requires daily doses of sunshine, streams of liquid quenching.
Or maybe this is not love, but merely my soul’s wish to seek love.
The romanticist would believe that once life’s love is found, no other sustenance would ever appease again, that the death of suicide or starvation would be the only recourse to love lost or fumbled.
But that is not evolution. That is not the nature of survival.
I have drunk from the fountain that bred in me youth, creativity, wishes for tomorrows. I have tainted that very wine with the contamination inherent in me.
I do not lay languid in dehydrating sloth at the base of this once upon a time stream.
I seek in my slimed crawl echoed shadows of that memory of her, catch drops from tarnished balconies, sip mudpuddles with squinted imagination.
I breed in the underbelly of aftermath willing to suckle the darkness of sure tomorrows as I grasp the emptiness of lost love in palms calloused by ritualized prayers to her.
I entangle false idols because they remind me of a pedestal I only once climbed.
...

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_rainwoman_, ascendingcats, bachy_min, bitchslaplove, brujasandungera, cakepann, chessie91, crimson_wound95, eleannor, emily_ild, franny_nanny, galatea_cb, goth_industrial, hugstrangers, j9hathaway, jazzi_wlk, jesilita, jessicaa_leigh, lexiloveyou, marleyshea, meek_est, oscarolgatot, parkraehee, peacelovelaurel, ruskatja, shimishakes, shinobi067, singtomegeorge, son_of_nothing4, thoselongnights, tshui, wrath_of_snape, yuliena, zombiiekiid
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