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Open a pack of cigarettes. The foil inside tells you to
pull here, pull up, pull out, pull off,
And pull what exactly? What if itís like a door and someone pushes rather than pulls? I feel this entire act could get confusing. If one needs to be told to pull, wouldnít they need to be told to smoke, and how to smoke? What if they canít even read? What if theyíre just too stupid to figure it all out? Sometimes I wish I were an illiterate idiot. Life could be so simple.
Avoiding the rather large and intrusive pink elephant but finally paying attention to body language.
she said. Itís a wait and see kind of thing. Too much led to too much, so lower it and lose it all, apparently. Am I an experiment? Will I ever be truly content and functional at the same time? Am I dying? Can I write but choose not to? I nearly nodded off in her office. Is it exhaustion from the weeks of too much? This severe though? Extreme fatigue. Residual grief from the day of birth remembrance? Cogs in your machine.
She screams murderous plots across airwaves and through deep valleys. Innocence graces her face. Absolution is more than enough. The balm yearned for on the dreariest of winter nights while sitting amongst snow drifts. If not cancer, then who? Grey, green, itís all the same. Something will kill us all. Why not her? Me? No remorse for days spent in bed. Sometimes thatís all weíre capable of, allowing us to maintain the in and out movement of breath. A figment of imagination found across the room. Maybe this time itíll transpire to apparitions. In repose, the corner hides her well.
Iím not a conspiracy nut, but they do indeed fascinate me and I am usually gullible enough to immediately believe. This time around itís the World Trade Center. Intentionally demolished? It seems so. The evidence is astounding. Itís as if I have been previously living under a rock. How could I have not heard about this? Or even, how did I not think all on my own that how it happened was indeed slightly odd? It fell right into itself. Testimonials say that people heard explosives near the bottom. And it just shouldnít have collapsed the way it did. Unreal.
Tethered to Earth through broken heartstrings. I fly free and hit the sun, melting the wax fastening my wings sending me careening toward eternal damnation. Itís hard to desire what you are left with at the end of the day. What we want is the voice accompanying our first waking thoughts. Every morning rings with her sounds as the sun floods my faded senses. I see only her, I think only her, I hear only her. It is her erasing him. Him who I always needed more so. Maybe Iíve no real idea what I need or want. Torn apart.
The noose swings wildly. Nothing works out in the end. The end is never near. I can pull it closer and no one bothers to pull it away. I donít know what I want. Happy or sad. There is no winning. Iíll always feel uncomfortable within myself. You can change my mood but the outside remains. She changed the inside and then changed it back just as fast. Iíll never be okay. No matter what we do. Change me. Change me back. Never content. Iím a miserable bastard, even when I couldnít contain the meaningless elation. The noose hangs idly.
Iím screwing up a lot. I am not smart. Iíve struggled right along. Intelligence is a faÁade. I see it clearly now. This semester is ironic. The easy class turns out to be the hardest. My two innate subjects are the ones I am doing poorly in. Iím excelling in the impossibly hard class and the stupid ass math class. Nothing was supposed to be this way. Everything is messed up. My body is rebelling. Sleep, sleep and distractions. Am I dying? I fear I may be. I fear the worst. Iím predisposed to the worst from taking after dad.
Waking up everyday brings the same. I expect a difference. One canít write if one doesnít write. I think Iím afraid of being reassured that I have lost it for sure. It may still be there, waiting. It may have never left. This torture could be a self-fulfilling prophecy. But why is it continuing on now that Iím no longer happy? Iím back to broken but still I got nothing. Am I giving up? Have I run dry? I miss that feeling of completing a story. Iíll never forget that feeling of completing a novel that I canít even edit.
It might be wise to not set out next month to write these 100 words. I didnít say 100 words a day because that is not how it has been going down lately. Knowing myself as I do, I will persist. I maintain hope that my words will return to me. Or I hold out for something stunning to write itself without me trying. Maybe thatís it though, maybe I
to try. Thus far everything has written itself, including my novel. Maybe now itís up to me? God, or somebody, granted me knowledge of learning my capabilities. My turn.
Is it because of dad? Need I obsess over him in order to write? Is he my only muse? Is a death all I have? I miss him terribly, but am I still capable of writing about it like I used to? When I want to I can, but it doesnít come anymore of its own volition. I put it there. Before it was all I thought about, therefore all I could write about. What really has changed besides time? The number of days grows larger, with it the hole in my heart. I fill my wounds with unrequited loves.
Trading one salt for another, Iíll never give it up. Not you, him or her. Grasp onto dead air for death is all that remains at the end of the day. I wrap myself in his departure. Warmth finds me well when I heat it. I never allow it to cool. Upon realizing a decrease in temperature I will pick the scab until it bleeds, creating a new wound on top of old scars. Only, the scar has yet to form because I do not allow it time. I dwell and I obsess. I let go then run after it.
Iím on ďvacationĒ with my dog. My best friend. This is my escape. And this is when I realize exactly how attached I am to him. I almost didnít come because I couldnít bear the thought of being away from my dog. He is my whole world, and I believe I am his. Iíve risked my life for him on numerous occasions, and I like to think he would do the same. I never wanted a dog, never once asked for one. I didnít like dogs, but he got thrust upon me and now weíre both stuck with each other.
The worst apart about going somewhere beautiful is realizing that the people who live here take it all for granted. Seeing a gorgeous mountain every day means nothing to them. When I lived up here for three months I saw some of the most beautiful sunrises in my life. These people are clueless. At night the stars shine brighter and the air is deliciously crisp. To them itís just another day. Nothing special. They donít care about the perfection of a snow covered mountain. Everybody takes something for granted, and sometimes whole towns take lots of things for granted, collectively.
With cascading elegance, her beauty shimmers through my window. Does she see me? Flowing brown hair illuminating the darkest day. Today, not a cloud overhead. Her and I, alone amidst melting snow falling down to unseen depths below the drains grate. I feel her eyes reach upward, to my level, but my heart deceives. She does not notice, not even sensing the immense fire building within aiding in the steady decrystalization of our surroundings. It is not the weather, nor the warm temperatures. My heart creates the water streaming down the side of the roads in crazed torrents of fury.
In the wind my heart is strewn in a chaotic mess of unrequited loves. On a warm winter day, when a dog poops in snow, it steams. My life is one heaping pile of steaming poop. But the sound of melting out my window assures me that things wonít always be like this. Nothing remains. Seasons change and with it personalities alter. No one is the same after a long winter. This year proves that no one is the same even after a short winter. Everything changes. Sometimes itís okay to let your sneakers soak up rivers of melted snow.
How can you hide from what never goes away? And if heís already gone, why do I feel the need to run? Death has pushed us to the limit; we can separate no further. It is over. I flee futility. In a dream my father came to me and said:
Everything makes sense now.
I had asked what it was like, to be dead. I believe in what he said to me. I believe he wanted me to share it too. He seems so content every time I dream of him. At ease and comfortable. He is where I belong.
I am the plastic bag clinging to the tree. The wind tries to blow me free and I only find new branches to grasp. This is what happens when people throw me out without first securing a knot. Not even able to tear free because though I appear flimsy, I am in actuality quite strong. But dear God, I want to go. I want to fly free of this tree and all itís roots. Itís time to move on to bigger and better worlds. Some days itís less of a matter of
and more of a question concerning
When I over think any situation I can make myself feel like a fool so easily. In the moment I usually realize my absurdity, but I let it go and continue on. But alone in my head, alone in my world, I cringe with distaste from my choice of words and or actions. I am socially inept and awkward. I may never be normal. Why they let me roam the streets free at night is beyond me. Many great writers/thinkers have spent plenty of time institutionalized. Why should I be any different? My oral communication skills have never been good.
Interesting mail deliveries today. I suspect higher forces at play. First is a professional looking letter about some stupid sweepstakes. I may enter though, just because it feels right in some odd way. The other thing I got was this card that says
In the past one of our RIEOC counselors assisted youÖ
Uh, no. But the odd thing is that this is Exactly what Iíve been needing. Help with school shit, all the important frivolities that Iíve felt paralyzed against without having my father here. And the sweepstake thing is all the money I ever needed, for school shit.
There was this girl who always sat in the back row and she chewed her nails. I thought it a highly disgusting habit. I've once heard that underneath our fingernails is equivalent to the underneath of a toilet seat. It's no wonder I obsessively wash my hands. This is a tough and sometimes painful affliction come winter. My hands dry, they crack, they bleed. She chewed her fingers until they bled, and then she chewed some more just as I will wash some more. The red may have angered her, causing more fierce chewing and I'll attack soap the same.
This semester is a hard one, slowly killing the part of me I once loved. Iíve seen things I thought Iíd never see, like grades of 74ís and 100ís and averages of 99 and 79. 79, though I miraculously received a B for the insignificant midterm grade. It pays to get to know your professors. And sometimes it pains to get to know professors. Iíll never win. What doesnít kill me makes me stronger. But I swear that if I do bad on tonightís test then Iím giving myself permission to die. I have got a head full of information.
There is one class I absolutely hate, hands down. Everything aside from the fact that Iím learning, despite learning things that I donít care about. Complete hatred. There are at least three voices I canít stand to hear, and they all talk a lot, one of them is the professor. I canít stand the prim/properness of the professor who wears the same outfit every single week. I canít figure that one out. The day of that class is a wasted one, and then later in the week it can creep up, like this, and remind me of the rage.
Help stop premature ejaculation.
As if itís this epidemic spreading like wild fire. Hundreds of thousands lose their lives each year. This needs to be stopped in its tracks. Please donate to our charitable cause. Iíve never quite understood the logic behind junk mail. Do people actually buy into this stuff? Maybe itís not meant to be understood. Is it humanly possible to enlarge a penis? And if it were, wouldnít everyone be doing it? Would the world be as cranky, as a whole, as they are now? Is better sex the answer to all the worlds ailments? Hmm..
In the process of trying to find my father, I find random people who bear a striking resemblance to him or one of his many facets of personality. I see his bearded face in strangers. I see his distinct bald spot atop men at the mall. Looking harder only worsens the situation. Looking harder has only made it hurt that much more. Forgive me when I say I miss my dad. Forgive when tears follow that statement. Forgive yourself for failing to comprehend. The world canít help but be unaware. The pain I carry daily is mine and mine alone.
My vocabulary is far from small. But it seems that my working vocabulary is always limited. Words go through phases of usefulness. Actually, they are all always useful, but I am simply unable to always make use of them. I love words. I love every consonant and every vowel they contain. I love positioning the words wherever I please. Whatever arrangement of words is most aesthetic to my eyes is always the better choice. I seem to innately know quite a few things. Psychology and writing. Itís nice, for once, to not always have to work extra hard.
Came from where? It irks me. Why? Where? I need answers. Can he see me? Does he know things? Chasms of loss and questions never answered. Seas, no, an ocean of mourning. Eternal. This is everyday forever. He was here. Now heís not. Nor will he ever. Mind-fucking-boggling. I wish I could express how this feels. The intensity, severity, reality. God-awful pain. The ouch-that-hurts kind. There are no Band-Aids big enough. I wrap it extensively with gauze, but blood seeps through dripping onto my shoes. All I see is red. All I know is death. My dad is dead.
Itís the tenth week of school and Iím seeing all the ways in which I messed up. The end of the semester is being thrown in my face. The past is laid out behind me and I canít help but overanalyze it. Thatís what I do. Itís my thing. The semester slipped between my fingers while I was off in lala land. I waved goodbye to it the entire time, knowing that I couldnít get it back, it wouldnít be coming back, it was going to be gone. Itís all gone. This marks my end of the semester break down.
My muscles ache and throb and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. My breath of fresh air. The reminder that winter doesnít last forever. Spring always comes. In the end everything works out. Evens out. First ride of the season and I feel refreshed. As rejuvenated as the soon to bloom flowers. As free as the soon to be spotted blue jays. I careened downhill with my arms out to my sides. I lost no courage. 24.3 miles per hour downhill with no hands. Death defying acts of immense love. Peace comes in the form of two moving wheels.
Harmonious perfection. In the course of one day I know that my life will never be the same. Itís never felt this real before. And itís only just begun. I know psychology, and I know all about the honeymoon phase of relationships, but regardless, Iím not trying to say weíre special or anything, Iím just saying that if this isnít real then whatever is real would be far too powerful for one person to handle. Weíre going to be happy. Weíre perfect for each other. I never thought that was possible. I had really resigned myself to being alone forever.
I have reason to believe that by the end of today I will officially have the most wonderful girlfriend in the entire world. The idea of forever always seemed so dauntingly impossible, but suddenly it is laid out before me in the form of absolute beauty. My face hurts from smiling so much. I had planned to ask my therapist today if she could re-raise my medicine, but now I donít have to. I have a living antidepressant. I have the extra dose that I never knew I needed. I found the piece that I had stopped looking for.
I now have the greatest girlfriend in the entire world. We are just the cutest together. We are perfect together. Can I say forever? Is it too soon to say these things? No one wants to jinx things, but when itís right, donít you just know itís right? At least thatís what they say. And this feels right and it feels like we just know. Itís fucking mutual which is the most amazing part. She left today and as soon as she got home she sent me a message saying that she wanted to come back already. She missed me.
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