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you lived here all your life? no... yes, memory nestles in this soil we stand upon. but.... these eyes have gazed over lands surpassing great distances..... so broad--- i can not claim any area as my own. i remember each distinctively and separate... the scent of one rain storm from another.... the evening breeze in a forest from that in a field... each of the lands i roamed, i cherished. they harbored my soul- heard my cries, my laughter, my secrets... but... not one single splendor was meant to last. regretfully, i admit i always knew it was all in passing.
i walk with pale faith. a slender life i give... i am simply rehearsing... these calm and complex miracles i can not explain. there is a rhythm to the memory that haunts the space behind my eyes (the proud hesitation i once mistaked as responsible decisions...) i walk with pale faith-- not strong enough to endure a sleepless night or an unreturned gesture... i am bound to flat lands... surrounded by the shadows of the fixtures on the horizon... but they never seem to get any closer... my greatest hope... a figure will emerge-- walk out and meet me
Respond. Contribute Please. This emotional deforestaion is leading to an expanse too wide for arms alone to hold. And as my words unfold onto your blank stare I can't help but wish I could suck each syllable back into my soul.... But it's too late. Now you know how I feel... this is simple introspection for me because I have no past to taint my capacity. I am an essence with no history. I am not a completed volume. I am a reflective page waiting to be filled... not supple and worn with wisdom...not a classic... no timeless masterpiece.
once (in a drunken haze) i kissed a man who was in the navy and believed in democracy & something he called the american way. but my blood caught fire and flames shot from my mouth. they torched his face and burned off his eyelashes and eyebrows.
and once (during a lengthy vacation from myself) i kissed a ph.D student who believed in the death penalty. but my heart grew cold in his presence and i forgot how to use it. on a rainy day, i dismissed him from my life while we sat in a coffee shop somewhere in the middle of pennsylvania.
follow the lines.
see the design?
it's done the way it should be done.
for one, for all.
cut out the template. i know you're a little nervous. your shaky hands are going to delay your progress.... stay on track... it's hard for you?!? but it's all for the image....
the final product is at stake dammit!!
cut out the template! steady. steady.
it may be reduced. it may be enlarged. but it needs to be exact. replicate. duplicate. copy.... uniformity!! cut out the template. cut it out! almost finished??
never has frustration been greater than this... why won't it just stop.. how is it possible.. the very thing we have defined and recognized for the sake of existence is the one thing we can't control.. no matter how clever we think we are... we can't win. it's our fate to go on like this... always comanded by an omniscent power... to go forth in our darkest moments.. even in the greatest of fear....... even when foolishly we think we are pleased with our steps, we forget to realize, each movement is forced by this... this never-ending authority.
the sun is setting... this room is getting darker... and i will turn on the lights as soon as i can face the fact that i have wasted another day. but first i must remind myself, things can't get much worse. the weight of our peculiar position pushes my feet into the ground. but i don't get excited about the mess i'm in. i rarely react anymore. all that reaction has a way of making me a little crazy... pills.... inappropriate laughter.... write another emotional email. the day ends as uneventfully as it began. time to turn on the lights.
all those years of practice amounted to a dusty out-of-tune instrument in the closet, and a pile of music slowly turning yellow... a dream i once characterized by a trip to Europe as a 12-yr-old prodigy... is now all but forgotten.... but i remember he told me once, in his thick accent, "always, P., you have to play it, don't let it play you.... and ohhh it will... it will own you and have power over you like your heart." and i listened to his stories and his music because his were the kind of dreams realized.
i have nightmares of weird cheese... and a greasy haired indie rocker picking his nose until it bleeds. i have nightmares of a slutty boyfriend who's slept with more woman he cares to mention, or possibly can't remember... i have nightmares of school loans and alcoholic mothers... of dead step-parents and empty hospital beds. i have nightmares of meaningless conversation and unreciprocated kindness.. i have nightmares of washing my face until my skin is raw and pulling out my hair until i am bald... and screaming until i am deaf and numb and cold and too tired
hoping to find the light in his eye shines on mine....
but i see in the shadows the silhouettes of the others who came before me.
they whisper mantras below my feet-- in warning or in conspiracy--
i know my voice will also sink one day into the blackness.
low and muffled, and disregarded by the figure standing in his sight.
psst... don't let the soft touch of his lips against your neck blur your perception. you are one of many, i am one of many, and there are many like him on these streets of shadows and untold stories.
the flame reflects its image in the window, mocking it's own intricate dance.... the wind outside howls and shakes the bare, dry branches of trees that hold firm, despite their years. an american flag stands at half-mast, and shakes violently and unwillingly, a slave to nature's gusts... a slave to man's mistakes. and my college diploma laughs at me from its place on my wall, while the music comes through my speakers into my ears with a sharp sting of recollection.
i think of all the things i thought of making and wonder when that ambition quit on me.
i remember the first time i saw you, it was hot and crowded, and everyone was drunk... and any self-discipline to take my eyes off of you faded with every sip of my long-island iced-tea. and when after 2 sets i found myself standing next to you, a perfect stranger, perfectly placed, in the middle of the stage, by myside, i could not think of a thing to say. so I commented on sweat dripping from a musicians knuckles.... and then i told you i had 3 butt cheeks,
you agreed to talk to me again.
is it stupid of me to imagine, even for a fleeting fucking moment, that i have a true and solid base in my life... what's true anymore- what's solid? i have an address book that i've owned since 1994 and the names in it are of people i don't even know.... and they tease my memory and hurt to say aloud.... even in a whisper, i shutter with each syllable. and i suppose i am a name in someone's address-book, another phone number on a list, a once thought important contact... as we all are and all have, meaningless numbers.
growing up means letting go of all stability... at least temporarily.... he was my stability for almost two years: something to latch onto when i felt myself drowning in a sea of responsibility and self-reproach. the number 14 always makes me think of that time...not sure if i'll ever find someone more willing to take on the burden that i carry. but that's not important now. i need to carry it on my own... funny how growth has a way of oppressing us... we are never as free as we once were.
oh to be a child again.
i cringe at my reflection in the mirror...
i wonder why i am so damn insecure about everything ...if everyone who looks in my eyes can see the guilt and shame.... i wonder if at the bar tonight he will talk to someone he finds more attractive than me. why am i not as important to myself as everyone else is to me? i laugh because i realize i am more pathetic than the middle aged man we nicknamed Mr. Buttocks because he walks around our favorite basement bar lunging in pants that are 2 sizes too small for him.
little... soft. a token of appreciation. its sweet, but lacks purpose.... like me. what i want is a torrent of rapture. an overwhelming, overly focused, intense state of being. stimulate this life. i need a motive. i need need. ...more need....more and more, so i quit doing so little. am i lifeless? bloodless? breathless?
no. i possess the equipment... it is mine for the taking... the using. but still i remain unanimated. uninterested. unnecessary. and under these circumstanes i am guilty of waste. i am guilty of false love... i am guilty for being nothing... being nothing at all.
some expressions were not made today. they were made some time before... when everything hurt more because we were willing to feel more. and i dont recognize those expressions these days, they are strangers to me... so i contort my face in an attempt to put myself back to where i once was, but it is all forgotten now.. and only causes pain... the original audience squirms, while the new audience, now confused with all the acting and timeless representation, has begun to leave. all the future audiences have opted to see another show. and the expression is gone forever.
knuckles go white.
i press my finger-tips hard against my eyelids and rub, in a circular repetitive motion. leg shakes uncontrollably. i shut out the sound... until it stops. sigh in relief and stare at the screen again. i don't have to look, i know that the keyboard under my fingers is filthy. the cursor blinks obnoxiously and the consistency of it drives me crazy.
phone rings again...
i hear a familiar voice say "hey, its me" a genuine smile crosses my face, i get up from my desk, and let the cursor dance alone.
four months have past by so quickly.... doesn't it seem much longer than that?
or perhaps, no. because i have yet to memorize the flecks of green in your eyes... i have yet to show how utterly disgraceful i can be... and secrets have only but begun to escape my mouth... and we have no plans for the future, if the future extends further than next month. and we have not yet seen the ocean together, or laughed under a summer's sun. and in fact, i guess it would seem then
that we barely know each other at all love...
she didn't want to carry her hell to bed with her... but it engulfed her. it did more than weigh on her. it was her. it was all she's known. and the truth of it made her shutter and she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.... and inhabit another body, one that was pure and untouched... with which she could begin to explore the beauty of herself... and others.... so the amazement of another could be within her realm of perception... to be given the chance to learn the magic that the unity of love and touch creates.
mystify her surroundings with a little bit of honey and a little bit of sleep. adopt her behavior. the harrasment has been ordered, to stop. remedy the girl who hides behind her glasses... cover her ears from the insults... protect her body from the abuse. we're all blind and deaf and broken underneath... and in the months of spring we have the opprotunity to be born again... freed from the captivity january brings. it's sanity we crave at the days end when the stresses of it all make us lonely and afraid. sunlight can warm us into relaxation... and deep understanding.
...we're all in love,
at some time
being to change shape
and we begin
to change our direction
Like his direction has been changed
scare a friend
want to tell him
"break your own fall"
"we all move on"
some doors are meant to be shut
some of these times are meant
to pass us by
we all rise again
we all find again.
Locked doors hold broken souls
trying to find a way
to tell him
let the lock go.
I don't want to speak nor be spoken to.... but you speak to fill up the space that has you feeling empty... i don't want you to be lonely, so i will be a good sport about this.. this once... this once again.
truth be told sometimes your never-ending conversation helps me to forget my problems and I entrench myself in the topic at hand... it's theraputic, in a diversified sense. But tonight, let us value the silence. The soothing noise of the cars, and the calm of the darkness... sometimes the silence speaks to me just the same.
wait. start again:
he comes to my car window wearing nothing but a poncho and dusty flip-flops. he's tan, with dark blonde hair... he smiles, and his teeth are as white as the white of his eyes... his jaw is perfect and indestructable. i put my sun-glasses on top of my head, and squint up at this man who is the most pleasant of all things unknown.
without breaking eye-contact, he kneels down so he is level with me, and he smells of freshly cut grass and earth. he asks, "refill?" and I reply, "no. but thank you."
i love reading george bernard shaw's "back to methuselah". "make me a beautiful word for doing things tomorrow!" ah-ha! It's procrastination. lovely. and we are the inventors of tomorrow... are we not? and if i had to choose between adam, eve, or the serpent, i'd choose that nasty little snake anyday. (i mean, i never met an adam i liked.) however, as the serpent i think i'd do things a little different... i'd slither about and listen... and watch with complete content, knowing that with or without me, those humans will fuck things up anyway. ah-men.
freshman year. shock of communal bathrooms: sandles in the shower? "I can't believe I spent $300 on books"... tequila disasters.... random hook-ups. sophomore year. got a cell phone, phone cards suck.... "I can't believe I only spent $300 on books"... so-co disasters.... random hook-ups. junior year. excitement of apartment living... "my roommates clearly don't know how to put the toilet paper in the dispenser, they only know how to rest it on top"..... keg disasters... random hook-ups. senior year. shock of graduation... the fear of the future...wild nights at the bars... i miss it already.
the walls of this room are so regretfully familiar... and my heart retains all these bitter white memories. with their blameless crevices and corners they repeatedly whisper, "we're still here, we're still safely the same". I can not join in on their chant. I'm flanked by exits and surrounded by mockery. but i have no where else to go. these walls are my home... and they unapologetically divide my reality, unanimously protect me from the elements, and at the same time block my view of the world. i can not live among them, i can not live outside of them.
loose knots tied. tight.
twisted in a rough coil of rope.. she will never break free...her mind runs in circles, follows the shape with no beginning and no end. no answers come to her, so she bleeds.... until her flesh becomes transparent with all that has drained from the body that once held her soul... empty and abandoned... the contents have joined the rest of her life's clutter... she goes through the motions, but there is no passion in the day-to-day...
the future is perfect.
the past is romantic.
today is a black-hole she sinks into again and again.
I am on a beach in Iceland, looking out onto the Atlantic Ocean-- clear across onto the Norwegian sea. A man in Norway is yelling "I love you" and despite the distance the ocean creates, I can hear him... his voice reaches my ears like a whisper but with a million echoes that surround me. The sound follows me as I turn away from the horizon and towards a house suspended above on a bed of rocks. Resting my head on a pillow I slowly awaken to reality while the sound of waves moving in and out grows fainter.
something keeps my way straight ahead... a sky we both share.. underneath the mess miles and time creates. ... alone and wondering in the absence of your eyes .....touch of security..... Dreaming of this? When it all comes apart and together again... between the seconds.. we are distant from one another... I remember everything... the spaces between your eyelashes and the breath you take between your laugh and sigh... Tapping of your foot and a hidden glance ... where it all comes apart and together again... the wind against your window. Your wind against me, making it all come apart.... together, again.
not exactly in the perfect situation. perfectly in love, imperfectly placed. am i trying too hard? expending too much energy? are we suspended in precise balance? or is it imbalance... have i already become burned out? jaded. is this rain forest not enough or is it actually a desert... because i'm confused as to what true abundance lies within my grasp.... and what i have to beg for, and what i have to search for doesn't count. i refuse to let neglect be a part of this atmosphere. do we desire the mysterious, or simply give up on the impenetrable?
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