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Yesterday in the early morning hours two antifa skinheads killed 2 nazis by kicking them in the head with their doc martens.
I drew a simple picture with a simple pencil sharpener.
Red ink dripped from thin lines on the pale canvas of which my art was constructed upon.
My drawing grew and the thin lines multiplied in an orgy of blood and quick strokes of my utensil.
- J. T. B. III
I only make small shallow cuts on my hand, because she asked me to not let it escalate.
I can go entire days at a time without snapping my rubber bands on my wrist, because she asked me to not let it escalate.
I no longer feel the same satisfaction I originally felt with the small cuts on my hand. I want to bleed more.
I no longer feel the same satisfaction I originally felt snapping my rubber bands on my wrists every other day. I want to sting more.
What an internal conflict.
I thought I finally had someone here for me.
But they left.
I need them so bad right now.
But they left.
I want to cut my skin and fall apart in a bloody disaster.
I promised them I wouldn’t hurt myself in any way.
But they left.
Maybe I shouldn’t do it..
But they left.
Fuck everything and everyone who has ever left.
Fuck all of the promises I ever made to not cut again.
Fuck it I’m going to do it.
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Franz Kafka, the story goes, encountered a little girl in the park where he went walking daily. She was crying. She had lost her doll and was desolate.
Kafka offered to help her look for the doll and arranged to meet her the next day at the same spot. Unable to find the doll he composed a letter from the doll and read it to her when they met.
"Please do not mourn me, I have gone on a trip to see the world. I will write you of my adventures.” This was the beginning of many letters. When he and the little girl met he read her from these carefully composed letters the imagined adventures of the beloved doll. The little girl was comforted.
When the meetings came to an end Kafka presented her with a doll. She obviously looked different from the original doll. An attached letter explained: “My travels have changed me…”
Many years later, the now grown girl found a letter stuffed into an unnoticed crevice in the cherished replacement doll. In summary it said: “Every thing that you love, you will eventually lose, but in the end, love will return in a different form.”
Kafka and the Doll: The Pervasiveness of Loss.