I Heard Letters Go Far.

I sealed it with wax and mailed it. This is what I remember of it.

Whitney,

I am writing you this letter because I hath permanently destroyed your phone number and cannot bring myself to seek out your email address from my memory banks. And your address being so close to a prominent work of animated entertainment does not elude me easily. 

I find that my mind will go sometimes a week without crossing a thought or memory of you but then I manstrate and occasionally thoughts of your splendour are the only things I can occupy myself with. I chalk this up to my extremely boring and unfulfilling life. 

But that is besides the point. 

I am also writing not in an attempt to rekindle an old flame from ashes of a burnt bridge but to give you a written record that at least one person, despite your flaws, is glad to have known you and still truly believes you are an amazing person.

In the time I spent with you I believe I learnt as much about myself as I did about you. You demonstrated much tenacity in the pursuit of debate and were quite well read and informed about current affairs—often to points beyond my own comprehension. In my presence you were an inspiration to me to read constantly and maintain a pleasant but goofy disposition. It is in your disposition in which I find the most joy of reflection. You always did well to make light of a stupid thing and enjoyed a melodramatic but comedic reaction to a molehill. Despite all the challenges you faced and the dreary day-to-day wars you kept a realistic but hopeful approach. This will set you aside from many, and your wit will propel you above the others.

I believe the world holds amazing things for you and that you’ll help many people. I’m proud of you and all your moral courage. Please never lose that.

I could write for days about you and I might but I'm in a mood of brevity 

So that’s all.

~ I also finished 1984 tonight. Ended well.

Loves,

From Me.

Chasing Women

A

Sweet birdy
Asks,

"Can I call you?"

"Yes but not now, I'm still finishing a pint"

She calls anyway

"Listen, I'm still at the pub, let me ring you back in five."

20 minutes later

I arrive home.

"Hi birdy. How are you?"

She hammers on
About some ex-boyfriend

The things he's been doing

Asks my advice.

I don't want to hear it

And have none to give.

"Listen,
I'm going to throw up.

I'll text you in the morning."

I climb the stairs

Place my head in the bowl

And release.

I wake up fully clothed
On the floor

Feeling a little
Better.

~Just a dood.

Love,

Digress.

A Swimming Affair

I see the pretty women

When I drive around town.

There are a lot more these days;

The government are really doing a great job

At keeping all the pretty women around.

I shed my sideburns

For your endless love;

I swam to the breakwater.
On the rocks I found a hollow igloo
And fourteen packs of goodbye cheek-streamers.

~hashtag heartsichords.

I Mythologise.

Yes,

I know a woman made of mornings and slow kisses

She walks lightly on tip toes of divinity

Leaving behind footprints of mirth and tintinnabulation

She sings like a fortepiano and works in mysterious ways

I heard once

That she conducts covert operations

Killing off the enemies

of mobsters for the government

And in my gold-mining town

They speak of her in exaltation

Because

With the wave of her hand

She stopped 100 years of floods

And years before anybody was born

She tamed the first horses,

She formed the first army,

And dissolved the injustices that plagued the land

She wrote the stories of The Brave Immortals

And the Demigods

That bound this earth together

And from them and the ultimate success of their plights

She was given

to us.
And

When the Earth was broken

By the dragons of the river neigh

She leapt down into the chasm

With nothing but a scimitar and an ax she recovered from the corpse of a peasant,

She slew The Dragons
And re-bound Earth
Transforming it into a place of peace and prosperity

The heads The Dragons are still cast in bronze and placed on my village's walls
They serve to warn others
To never question her reign

In the villages around mine

They know her as the provider of crops

And a joyous companion

Yes,

I know a woman.

She's made of afternoons and gold nuggets

She sings melodies intrinsic to the Earth's rotation

She is magnanimous and humble

She breaths in her sleep like a tame ocean crashing on a soft shore
Yes,

I know a woman with eyes made of slivers of the darkest wood

Their grain shines like gold reflecting summer sun in an afternoon

I know a woman who bites when she loves

A woman that echoes sweet nothings down an empty corridor

She glows on rainy days

I know a woman

She is a daisycutter.

Under these blankets I find the insulation necessary to consider my bleak fate.

The xyston

Strikes deep from an almost gelid distance.

I awaken bleeding the stillness of nothing;

My heart beating the knowledge of an empty tomorrow;

Ugly like silence

Ugly like blank stares

Ugly like peoples' learned faces

This loneliness is a cold rain;

I'm stuck out here

And my rain coat was stolen.
When I wake up
I remain still.

I hide beneath the blankets

They embrace me against the nothingness

And extend the silence of the world.

And I clearly see:

I am non-existant.

I will fade.

Like the colours of a flag

Like the foundations of freedom

Like the bodies buried in yesterdays.

Light The Match.

I witnessed her science.

A charming feat of eloquent control
A deep-seeded passion that fed my shame.
In an arena of unknowns.

I sat with a head full admiration.

Not trusting the seat beneath me,
The paint seemed mischievously applied
The nails seemed haphazardly placed.

I watched her intently.

With my head full of stars,
My passions filled with anguish,
My body cringed to recognise this defeat.

I walk bemoaning my foolishness

This year is dynamite,
This night is the ignition.
These actions are the volta of my inhibition.


~Time to turn.

Love,

Ivan.

Dead Dreams.

Imagination sent to the gallows
By the force of your tongue
No quiet.
No quiet.

No daylight hour is wasted
Each little minute is consumed
No time.
No time.

The house of your babble
Never seems to sleep
No dreams.
No dreams.

My thoughts stymied
Frozen like bronzed effigies
No growth.
No growth.

Euphoric catharsis set aside
Like tea growing bitter
No drinking.
No drinking.

And love turns to loth
Like afternoon turns to night.
No dawn.
No dawn.



Любов,
Іванченко.