Lovelorn

alone I languish


Love will take us to higher plaines
Love makes us feel alive
Love is painful
Love burns

Lovelorn
One and Only
“You are the only one for me.”
Love lorn
Nobody Else
“No one else compares to you.”


Thou hast the keys of Paradise, O just, subtle, and mighty Opium!

— Thomas de Quincey


There is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt. It is a duty to take this risk, to love and feel without defense or reserve.

— William S. Burroughs


When you stop growing you start dying.

— William S. Burroughs

📙 Confessions of an English Opium Eater

— Thomas de Quincey (1821)

Describing the surreal hallucinations, insomnia and nightmarish visions he experienced while consuming daily large amounts of laudanum (i.e., opium) De Quincey’s waxes lyrical on the pleasures and pains of opium. De Quincey may be said to scrutinise his life, somewhat feverishly, in an effort to fix his own identity. According to Martin Geeson, what makes the book technically remarkable is its use of a majestic neoclassical style applied to a very romantic species of confessional writing. The Confessions is a work of immense sophistication and certainly one of the most impressive and influential of all autobiographies. The work is of great appeal to the contemporary reader, displaying a nervous (postmodern?) self-awareness, a spiralling obsession with the enigmas of its own composition and significance. This book forges a clear link between artistic self-expression and addiction, and paved the way for later generations of literary drug-takers from Baudelaire — “always be a poet, even in prose” — to Burroughs::

📙 Junky

— William S. Burroughs (1953)

Junky is semi-autobiographical work that focuses on Burroughs’ life as a drug user and dealer. It has come to be considered a seminal text on the lifestyle of heroin addicts in mid-20th c. America.

📙 Naked Lunch

— William S. Burroughs (1959)

Naked Lunch is structured as a series of loosely connected vignettes. These vignettes are drawn from Burroughs’ own experiences in these places and his addiction to drugs: heroin, morphine and, while in Tangier, majoun (a strong hashish confection), as well as a German opioid with the brand name Eukodol (oxycodone), of which he wrote about a lot. The book starts in America, moves on to Mexico and ends up in Morocco and the dreamlike ‘Interzone.’ The book was included in Time magazine’s “100 Best English-language Novels from 1923 to 2005.”

Stockholm syndrome

‘F’ me! ‘F’ me! ‘F’ me!
is this… is this…
me?

DEF.

Stockholm syndrome is a psychological response.

It occurs when hostages or abuse victims bond with their captors or abusers.

This psychological connection develops over the course of the days, weeks, months, or even years of captivity or abuse.

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Love will tear us apart;
You’ve stolen my heart.

1) The second coming: Am I Dreaming?
2) Did I ruin you?
3) The second coming: Am I Dreaming?
4) Have you ruined me?
5) The second coming: Am I Dreaming?
6) A new beginning? The final ending?

Love will tear us apart;
You’ve stolen my heart.


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Tittle-Tattle

Telltale Tit /
Your tongue shall be slit
• • •

There was a time when I would walk & talk
the veneration was captivating
in those halcyon days, I’d silk and milk
the politicking was everything
 
Statecraft through court intrigue (my modes were old)
Machiavelli gave the manuscript
my words writ power plays (and paid me gold)
yet Cromwell showed, class can never be stripped
 
Tittle-Tattle, the cut of the devil
— time and tome tell us the weak will relent
Telltale Tit, most will be nowt but evil
— there ain’t no doubt that the meek will repent
 
Not I, Adversity… I’ll catch stars;
for you, my dearest, I’ll spar yet with Mars.


Thomas Cromwell
Thomas Cromwell
By Hans Holbein (1533)
* See too, p. 88 of Hilary Mantel’s “Bring Up the Bodies” (2012).

• • • and all the dogs in the town
/ Shall each be fed a little bit

✍🏻 twenny.4..7

i think *only* of YOU

  It is non-stop my dear mate
  It’s ridiculous… i know
  —
   You’ve long gone, i know
   You’ve moved on, i know
  —
   my words no longer enchant you; my kisses no longer entrance you
  —
   i’m evidently obsessive,
   purgatory’s primary pariah,
   cast adrift yet, inescapably chained.


Love me little, love me long

[Robert Herrick | 1591–1674]

YOU say, to me-wards your affection’s strong;
Pray love me little, so you love me long.
Slowly goes far: the mean is best: desire,
Grown violent, does either die or tire.

||

Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song:
Love that is too hot and strong
Burneth soon to waste.
I am with little well content,
And a little from thee sent
Is enough, with true intent,
To be steadfast friend.
Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song.

Say thou lov’st me while thou live,
I to thee my love will give,
Never dreaming to deceive
While that life endures:
Nay, and after death in sooth,
I to thee will keep my truth,
As now when in my May of youth,
This my love assures.
Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song.

Constant love is moderate ever,
And it will through life persever,
Give to me that with true endeavor.
I will it restore:
A suit of durance let it be,
For all weathers, that for me,
For the land or for the sea,
Lasting evermore.

Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song.

Of Love: A Sonnet

How love came in I do not know,
Whether by the eye, or ear, or no;
Or whether with the soul it came
(At first) infused with the same;
Whether in part ’tis here or there,
Or, like the soul, whole everywhere,
This troubles me: but I as well
As any other this can tell:
That when from hence she does depart
The outlet then is from the heart.

Robert Herrick (1591-1674) was an English poet best known for Hesperides: Or, The Works Both Humane & Divine (1648), a book of poems. This includes the carpe diem poem “To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time.”

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And, while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

^ In the genre of carpe diem

Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May, by John William Waterhouse
‘Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May’ by British Pre-Raphaelite artist, John William Waterhouse (1909).

✍🏻 Abandonment

❝regrets do crush me flat❞

Why?
Before & After the split.

Sunlit I

Me and you were a real life fantasy
You and I were the destiny I’d dreamed
In you and your soul I found ecstasy
In your deep eyes and open mind I beamed.

I read it said that love can truly kill
This sounds far-fetched but I’ll tell you it’s not.
Since being forsaken I’ve been so ill
This ain’t hype, I’m tied in an awful knot.

Forsaken by you, abandoned at sea
Pushed to yesterday, by your doubting mind?
Thrown to history, I’m trapped, not free
Dumped in the basket, due to a new bind?

All’s not lost for after all, you’re alive,
in this cell, I etch: “Our love will revive!”

— Sensitive Soul to Secret Sharer


The moment’s monument

( 4, 4, 4, 2 IV–IV–IV–II )

✍🏻 Remorse

it’s really relentless

Remorse -- red-eyed
Bloodied knuckles & a cowardly lover’s letter, expressing his departing…

  Red-eyed and deadened heart
  endless regret and emptiness
  my time with you was divinity defined
  oh for the past: our perfect partnership
  resting on one another after amore
  searching each other’s open books
  everything was to look forward to


I'm sorry
I’m so deeply sorry
I'm so deeply sorry
I’m so truly sorry
I'm so truly sorry
I’m so sincerely sorry
I'm so sincerely sorry
I’m so totally and wholeheartedly sorry
I'm so totally and wholeheartedly  sorry
I regret my stupidity.
I regret my stupidity.
I’m more sorry than ever before.