so here i am, returned or dropped back to where i was, but not really, no, not so much.
i find myself sitting here, no longer really existing within each day but merely doing what temporarily distracts me and makes me happy, merely whiling away the days until i see you again, until i am home again. currently, it is reading. i am just reading to read and reading to pass the time. in everything i read, you are there. i read amerika by kafka and picture you reading the same words; i read cortazar and imagine you smiling at the same, strange, enigmatic stories; i read hemingway and think of how much you love him and his books and stories. and hence, somehow unsurprisingly, you are not really as far away as i would think; you feel close, nearby, within arm's and ear's reach. i touch last week and there you are, still lying languidly on my bed, giving me those eyes i cannot say no to. and i realize we have reinvented anatomy and proven the credibility of metaphysics in that my heart can survive outside of my body because it is with you, and yours with me.
and when i look at someone or something or nowhere, even, i'm really looking for and into your eyes, you know.
and every time i write something down i think 'now how i can i put her into this'. not for the sake of the story, but just as a way of showing you my love as much as i can and assuring you that you are still everywhere with me.
and when there is nothing else or i am tired of reading or writing i look at my poster of the eiffel tower above my desk and see you and i standing there by the merry-go-round in its shadow, holding hands and looking up, blinking snow out of our eyes. and i turn to kiss you and you turn to me at the exact same time and then everything is wonderful and bright and, most important, okay. everything is okay.
22 October 2007
17 October 2007
when i found a reason
what comes is better than what came before.
i will always come to you.
i will always run to you.
poor and happy.
i will always come to you.
i will always run to you.
poor and happy.
08 October 2007
when life was elsewhere
a poem i wrote last night
--
"life is elsewhere?"
elsewhere
is life? - but:
how can that be
when all that is
is here
and all that isn't
is nowhere
(tangently, then is all
that isn't, if nowhere,
somewhere?
thus, is it? - stale);
yet, scorn the here and praise there
if you must - yet
then, where are you
at the utter moment
of your poetic waxing?
how can you be here
(as clear a fact as
day and night) with
life, dancing,
not?
are you then
poetically lifeless
(a soldier unstirring
by a river?)
and then one subsequent question
we have yet to trip
on our tongues
(aside from such what then
is life nonsense -
save that
for the end of the
universe, i say! -
where we say "was"
ponderously instead of "is",
every semblance of
being gone - thus, is is was
at that point -):
if life is truly elsewhere,
what is here among us,
breathing and moving
dust creatures
that we propose
to be?
i answer you,
voodoo poetic,
two roses in my fist
and white blood running down
my arms - (so Apolline):
here is elsewhere
- and all distant oceans
in between.
--
"life is elsewhere?"
elsewhere
is life? - but:
how can that be
when all that is
is here
and all that isn't
is nowhere
(tangently, then is all
that isn't, if nowhere,
somewhere?
thus, is it? - stale);
yet, scorn the here and praise there
if you must - yet
then, where are you
at the utter moment
of your poetic waxing?
how can you be here
(as clear a fact as
day and night) with
life, dancing,
not?
are you then
poetically lifeless
(a soldier unstirring
by a river?)
and then one subsequent question
we have yet to trip
on our tongues
(aside from such what then
is life nonsense -
save that
for the end of the
universe, i say! -
where we say "was"
ponderously instead of "is",
every semblance of
being gone - thus, is is was
at that point -):
if life is truly elsewhere,
what is here among us,
breathing and moving
dust creatures
that we propose
to be?
i answer you,
voodoo poetic,
two roses in my fist
and white blood running down
my arms - (so Apolline):
here is elsewhere
- and all distant oceans
in between.
25 September 2007
13 September 2007
when things were clear
a story i wrote that is less fiction than it is simple breath:
"Can you just leave, Salem?"
(Like it mattered)
Those words hit me like paper bullets, honestly, barely making it through the air and bouncing right off my shirt, landing on the floor in a pathetic crumpled heap that reminded me vaguely of crushed lilies in the springtime. I know those words were supposed to be heavy and violent (there were accompanied by such a ferocious slamming down of books, lord, your aura was flying everywhere) but in reality, they were nothing and I frankly wasn't surprised. Not like I knew the brunt of your rage (I've only heard) but I just expected those words, I knew they carried so many different meanings. And I probably should have left your echoing house, your cold room, a while before, anyway. But I just couldn't bring myself to extract my presence from yours. Sitting on your floor, reading Cortazar (another one of "your" authors, as I still think of them - Klima, Marquez, and Eggers, too), I wasn't content but I knew I couldn't move. I was leaving in less than two days (something new, for I used to be forever in a perpetual state of latency) and I wanted to, in simple, lay language, spend as much of the remaining hours I had left with you. I forwent a going-away party of a friend I'd known since kindergarten and skirted spending time with my family to come to your house (on the behest of your father, but still) after you got off work (those long shifts just killed me: so many of our temporarily final hours lost) fuck well anyway this is no time to be mad to teach lessons i can't sacrifice another minute quite late for a school night, and what's more is that I knew full well that it wouldn't evolve into anything and that I'd just sit on your floor reading, wondering in the back of my skull if my silent and statue-like presence annoyed you at all, wondering if it would have annoyed me had it been the other way around, but what made me content to do just that (nothing I couldn't have done anywhere else) was that I was content in doing it. Time with you was richer, more golden, full of light and cool air and pulsing chests and a strange heaviness that began at my heart and spread exclusively to the tips of my fingers, allowing the rest of my body to be lighter than all summer air.
I knew what you were asking me and all the reasons why. That is what you had become to me: a solved puzzle. Let me:
a) "Can you just leave, Salem?" was Look I'm in a really shitty mood right now and you're the person I feel most comfortable with which is why in times of stress I let down my polities and you receive the south end of all my current negative emotions, which are usually in no way related to you at all. Which I accepted, because I understood her so thoroughly she might as well have been a nursery rhyme (but god she was so much more beautiful).
b) "Can you just leave, Salem?" was also How I have grown to feel about you in the last few years has been tumultuous. You have seen the everything of me and have been there for all and you are my best friend and grew to be far more than that, and I ended up - knowingly but almost begrudgingly - loving you more than anything in this entire world: your hands in mine, your fingers in my hair, your lips on my neck, your weight on my chest, your whisper in my ear and the fact that in a countable number of hours you will no longer be mine at the end of my hand but a thousand miles away (returning? will it be the same?) and I cannot bear that fact it is tearing me up inside and shattering the ocean inside of me and part of me thinks that there can be no pain greater than this, the pre-longing, the knowledge that though you are here now, you will not be soon, oh so soon, so very soon and I know the eyes of your heart were dripping with tears which is why I accepted and how I understood and why your words to me were like paper bullets because oh, my love, how I had never loved anyone in the subtle, all-engrossing way that I loved (and continue still to love) you; I am incapable of loving anyone else; your breath, your words, your eyes, your embrace is paralyzing.
"What are you doing?"
Your fingers were tracing my cheeks, my eyes, my ears. Your touch was illumination in my dark bedroom. The sheepskin rug tickled my naked back.
You closed your eyes and exhaled jaggedly through your nose (you had been crying) and I felt your warm breath and wished it was mine.
"If I try hard enough," you whispered through sparse tears in a rare moment of tenderness, "I can memorize your face."
"Oh my dear," I kissed you. "All I have to do is think of the one thing that I love the most and your face just appears."
"You're not supposed to say that!" And I could feel you crying just a little bit more and do you know what, my one and only true love thus far? Your tears fell into the soil of time and where our hands met grew this beautiful rose that I call the us and yes I know for now we cannot both hold it and admire it's pretty face but whatever wind and sea exists between will keep it as lovely as the day we pulled it from the earth and held it between us, carefully avoiding the thorns, knowing we'd soon share it again (but for now my dear you keep it, and I will return soon, soon, oh so soon).
So can I at last say that I love you, that I have fallen in love so deep and heavily that I fear death from this drop?
Yes.
Yes, yes, yes, yes. Goddamnit, yes.
--
"Can you just leave, Salem?"
(Like it mattered)
Those words hit me like paper bullets, honestly, barely making it through the air and bouncing right off my shirt, landing on the floor in a pathetic crumpled heap that reminded me vaguely of crushed lilies in the springtime. I know those words were supposed to be heavy and violent (there were accompanied by such a ferocious slamming down of books, lord, your aura was flying everywhere) but in reality, they were nothing and I frankly wasn't surprised. Not like I knew the brunt of your rage (I've only heard) but I just expected those words, I knew they carried so many different meanings. And I probably should have left your echoing house, your cold room, a while before, anyway. But I just couldn't bring myself to extract my presence from yours. Sitting on your floor, reading Cortazar (another one of "your" authors, as I still think of them - Klima, Marquez, and Eggers, too), I wasn't content but I knew I couldn't move. I was leaving in less than two days (something new, for I used to be forever in a perpetual state of latency) and I wanted to, in simple, lay language, spend as much of the remaining hours I had left with you. I forwent a going-away party of a friend I'd known since kindergarten and skirted spending time with my family to come to your house (on the behest of your father, but still) after you got off work (those long shifts just killed me: so many of our temporarily final hours lost) fuck well anyway this is no time to be mad to teach lessons i can't sacrifice another minute quite late for a school night, and what's more is that I knew full well that it wouldn't evolve into anything and that I'd just sit on your floor reading, wondering in the back of my skull if my silent and statue-like presence annoyed you at all, wondering if it would have annoyed me had it been the other way around, but what made me content to do just that (nothing I couldn't have done anywhere else) was that I was content in doing it. Time with you was richer, more golden, full of light and cool air and pulsing chests and a strange heaviness that began at my heart and spread exclusively to the tips of my fingers, allowing the rest of my body to be lighter than all summer air.
I knew what you were asking me and all the reasons why. That is what you had become to me: a solved puzzle. Let me:
a) "Can you just leave, Salem?" was Look I'm in a really shitty mood right now and you're the person I feel most comfortable with which is why in times of stress I let down my polities and you receive the south end of all my current negative emotions, which are usually in no way related to you at all. Which I accepted, because I understood her so thoroughly she might as well have been a nursery rhyme (but god she was so much more beautiful).
b) "Can you just leave, Salem?" was also How I have grown to feel about you in the last few years has been tumultuous. You have seen the everything of me and have been there for all and you are my best friend and grew to be far more than that, and I ended up - knowingly but almost begrudgingly - loving you more than anything in this entire world: your hands in mine, your fingers in my hair, your lips on my neck, your weight on my chest, your whisper in my ear and the fact that in a countable number of hours you will no longer be mine at the end of my hand but a thousand miles away (returning? will it be the same?) and I cannot bear that fact it is tearing me up inside and shattering the ocean inside of me and part of me thinks that there can be no pain greater than this, the pre-longing, the knowledge that though you are here now, you will not be soon, oh so soon, so very soon and I know the eyes of your heart were dripping with tears which is why I accepted and how I understood and why your words to me were like paper bullets because oh, my love, how I had never loved anyone in the subtle, all-engrossing way that I loved (and continue still to love) you; I am incapable of loving anyone else; your breath, your words, your eyes, your embrace is paralyzing.
"What are you doing?"
Your fingers were tracing my cheeks, my eyes, my ears. Your touch was illumination in my dark bedroom. The sheepskin rug tickled my naked back.
You closed your eyes and exhaled jaggedly through your nose (you had been crying) and I felt your warm breath and wished it was mine.
"If I try hard enough," you whispered through sparse tears in a rare moment of tenderness, "I can memorize your face."
"Oh my dear," I kissed you. "All I have to do is think of the one thing that I love the most and your face just appears."
"You're not supposed to say that!" And I could feel you crying just a little bit more and do you know what, my one and only true love thus far? Your tears fell into the soil of time and where our hands met grew this beautiful rose that I call the us and yes I know for now we cannot both hold it and admire it's pretty face but whatever wind and sea exists between will keep it as lovely as the day we pulled it from the earth and held it between us, carefully avoiding the thorns, knowing we'd soon share it again (but for now my dear you keep it, and I will return soon, soon, oh so soon).
So can I at last say that I love you, that I have fallen in love so deep and heavily that I fear death from this drop?
Yes.
Yes, yes, yes, yes. Goddamnit, yes.
--
19 August 2007
18 August 2007
when i was a writer (a follow-up)
for anyone interested in reading my latest story:
"don't say goodnight, a story in three parts"
dedicated to ******** and she knows why.
my sigh and heart are so heavy that i am surprised it does not shake the very ground we stand on, my dear.
can i say i love you?
most certainly, yes.
yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, goddamnit yes.
"don't say goodnight, a story in three parts"
dedicated to ******** and she knows why.
my sigh and heart are so heavy that i am surprised it does not shake the very ground we stand on, my dear.
can i say i love you?
most certainly, yes.
yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, goddamnit yes.
10 August 2007
when i was a writer and reader of fictions
i finished my new story called "don't say goodnight" and i ended up inserting a lot of other little rants and monologues i had previously written, which fits with the main character, because he's a writer, like me, so the story is split into metaphorical stream of consciousness narration and sections where it's what the main character "wrote". i'm kind of happy with it. it's way more poetic than "salem and palomino" (my other most recent story), which i like. i still have to edit it and make sure it actually all makes sense (it's highly probable that it doesn't).
anyway, i counted and realized i've read a whopping 13 books this summer. holy bejesus. recently added to the read list:
- mysteries of pittsburgh, by michael chabon (AWESOME AWESOME book. really really good. i liked it a lot)
- apathy, by ...i can't remember. really funny. read it in less than a day.
- galapagos, by vonnegut. very good. definitely one of my favorite vonneguts.
and now i'm reading evening, by susan minot, which i really like. it's really good.
and i was reading the beginning of everything is illuminated earlier and it made me remember how much i love that book.
just wanted to talk about that to the eternal darkness of no one.
anyway, i counted and realized i've read a whopping 13 books this summer. holy bejesus. recently added to the read list:
- mysteries of pittsburgh, by michael chabon (AWESOME AWESOME book. really really good. i liked it a lot)
- apathy, by ...i can't remember. really funny. read it in less than a day.
- galapagos, by vonnegut. very good. definitely one of my favorite vonneguts.
and now i'm reading evening, by susan minot, which i really like. it's really good.
and i was reading the beginning of everything is illuminated earlier and it made me remember how much i love that book.
just wanted to talk about that to the eternal darkness of no one.
24 July 2007
when i was the pinnacle of everything i have ever experienced AND when i was a bookophile
[part one]
things have never been more poignantly beautiful for me. i don't know how else to say it, really. never before have i felt so simply reassured just by the mere existence of someone like i do now. it runs so much deeper than love or lust; it's a river that we both drowned in, long ago; and now we lie on the bottom of the clay-like riverbed, embracing and sharing our visions of the afterlife, whispering "ask me to stay" and "i'll see you on the other side" because what we have today soon will be yesterday but could so easily be tomorrow, mountain of my beating heart, my dear. [i take a bow] and yes we are just scraping the bottom of the bowl of time (going by so slowly, and time can do so much: are you still mine?) but it feels like an eternal ocean in front of us. maybe i am just blind to land? but i know that though i may surface from this sea before you, your appearance beside me will be quick like an echo but as real as the ground i will be standing on. though i may run aground before you, i'll turn my face towards the sea and wait on those sandy beaches for your figure to emerge, venus-like and glowing so that only i may see you, from the watery depths of time and distance.
[part two]
i can't help but buying more and more books. i'm supposed to reading a section of the iliad a day. i did really well for about 9 days, but i haven't read since thursday. the harry potter excitement really got to me. the seventh books was phenomenal, no questions. i read it in under 24 hours (which makes me happy because it meant that i didn't have to stay off the internet that long) and had serious depression/withdrawal problems after that. but now that's over, i'm waiting for my copy of the british edition to come by post before i bother rereading it (though i read the ending a few times, and a few crucial scenes in the last chapter), so i've dived right back into reading Black Swan Green, reading nearly 100 pages yesterday! i have only about 140 left and would like to finish it tonight so that i can plow prodigiously through the growing stack that i now have. and like an intoxicated addict, i bought even more books:
- ham on rye - bukowski
- kafka on the shore - murakami
- the old man and the sea - hemmingway
- evening - minot
christ. that brings my total of books to read before reed up to, what...a bajillion? fuck.
got the new tegan and sara album. so far it's incredible. really good. really catchy. definitely living up to the awesomeoness of So Jealous. i already made one of their songs my ringtone. :) other new cds? interpol...eh. it's okay. heinrich manuever is an awesome song, but the album feels pretty weak so far, for the most part. it'll grow on me i'm sure. but the new editors album is really really good. they shed a little bit of their interpol/joy division-like sound (a good thing) and grew a lot as a band. comparisons are being made to coldplay, but i'd hardly take that as a compliment (as good as coldplay is, mind, but still, coldplay's a bit repetitive after a while). anyway, yeah.
things have never been more poignantly beautiful for me. i don't know how else to say it, really. never before have i felt so simply reassured just by the mere existence of someone like i do now. it runs so much deeper than love or lust; it's a river that we both drowned in, long ago; and now we lie on the bottom of the clay-like riverbed, embracing and sharing our visions of the afterlife, whispering "ask me to stay" and "i'll see you on the other side" because what we have today soon will be yesterday but could so easily be tomorrow, mountain of my beating heart, my dear. [i take a bow] and yes we are just scraping the bottom of the bowl of time (going by so slowly, and time can do so much: are you still mine?) but it feels like an eternal ocean in front of us. maybe i am just blind to land? but i know that though i may surface from this sea before you, your appearance beside me will be quick like an echo but as real as the ground i will be standing on. though i may run aground before you, i'll turn my face towards the sea and wait on those sandy beaches for your figure to emerge, venus-like and glowing so that only i may see you, from the watery depths of time and distance.
[part two]
i can't help but buying more and more books. i'm supposed to reading a section of the iliad a day. i did really well for about 9 days, but i haven't read since thursday. the harry potter excitement really got to me. the seventh books was phenomenal, no questions. i read it in under 24 hours (which makes me happy because it meant that i didn't have to stay off the internet that long) and had serious depression/withdrawal problems after that. but now that's over, i'm waiting for my copy of the british edition to come by post before i bother rereading it (though i read the ending a few times, and a few crucial scenes in the last chapter), so i've dived right back into reading Black Swan Green, reading nearly 100 pages yesterday! i have only about 140 left and would like to finish it tonight so that i can plow prodigiously through the growing stack that i now have. and like an intoxicated addict, i bought even more books:
- ham on rye - bukowski
- kafka on the shore - murakami
- the old man and the sea - hemmingway
- evening - minot
christ. that brings my total of books to read before reed up to, what...a bajillion? fuck.
got the new tegan and sara album. so far it's incredible. really good. really catchy. definitely living up to the awesomeoness of So Jealous. i already made one of their songs my ringtone. :) other new cds? interpol...eh. it's okay. heinrich manuever is an awesome song, but the album feels pretty weak so far, for the most part. it'll grow on me i'm sure. but the new editors album is really really good. they shed a little bit of their interpol/joy division-like sound (a good thing) and grew a lot as a band. comparisons are being made to coldplay, but i'd hardly take that as a compliment (as good as coldplay is, mind, but still, coldplay's a bit repetitive after a while). anyway, yeah.
12 July 2007
when i was simple, among other things
i am:
- happy.
- reading 'the sirens of titan', with complete intention of finishing it in the next hour (i have 70 pages left)
- trying to get this story started. this is all i have:
Don't say goodnight. Please.
In the infinity of your hold, I beg of you to not let my hands slip from yours, to not allow your body to disintegrate into a million little sand crystals and fall between my fingers like water through a napkin.
I am soaked through to the bone, trying to rid you from me, but I am ridiculously unsuccessful. The way in which you have been woven into my most intimate systems is only comparable to the way the stars are laced into the night sky.
Here. Here, we watch the sunset together, the rolling arcs of the surrounding hills reminding us of how close to the sky we are. Oh, if only I were speaking in metaphors.
As stars begin to dot the sky, I feel you slowly melting back into the night from whence you came. Wither must I wander to maintain your heavy presence, your beating heart, your touch, gentle like a seductive god?
But:
"Stay," you say. I remain motionless.
"Don't say - "
"Goodnight."
"Please." But you are already gone.
--
From the sea you came, clothed in nothing but water-lilies and a thin, easily tangled garden of black hair, the night's eyes reflecting effortlessly in its glean.
--
i don't know where to go with that.
the decemberists concert was amazing. absolutely amazing.
as are most things.
and lastly, i am:
- not going anywhere.
- happy.
- reading 'the sirens of titan', with complete intention of finishing it in the next hour (i have 70 pages left)
- trying to get this story started. this is all i have:
Don't say goodnight. Please.
In the infinity of your hold, I beg of you to not let my hands slip from yours, to not allow your body to disintegrate into a million little sand crystals and fall between my fingers like water through a napkin.
I am soaked through to the bone, trying to rid you from me, but I am ridiculously unsuccessful. The way in which you have been woven into my most intimate systems is only comparable to the way the stars are laced into the night sky.
Here. Here, we watch the sunset together, the rolling arcs of the surrounding hills reminding us of how close to the sky we are. Oh, if only I were speaking in metaphors.
As stars begin to dot the sky, I feel you slowly melting back into the night from whence you came. Wither must I wander to maintain your heavy presence, your beating heart, your touch, gentle like a seductive god?
But:
"Stay," you say. I remain motionless.
"Don't say - "
"Goodnight."
"Please." But you are already gone.
--
From the sea you came, clothed in nothing but water-lilies and a thin, easily tangled garden of black hair, the night's eyes reflecting effortlessly in its glean.
--
i don't know where to go with that.
the decemberists concert was amazing. absolutely amazing.
as are most things.
and lastly, i am:
- not going anywhere.
05 July 2007
when i was a wolf
things are better. they always are. summer is in the air. and speaking of which. i hate the summer. i hate this weather. it's ridiculously inane. i miss walking through the chilly european streets. speaking of walking, as well, i hate that i have to drive to get ANYWHERE. i can't walk anywhere. except around my neighborhood. in london i could say "hey you know i want to go to Marble Arch or Buckingham Palace or Hyde Park or Park Lane or Oxford...i'm going to walk/take the tube." i can't do that here. "hey, i wanna go to my starbucks. i'm going to drive seven minutes. or walk for an hour in the 100 degree heat? nah, i'll drive." it's ridiculous.
and we're all going to the decemberists tonight! hoorah. at last. we've been planning this for like, two/three months already.
and i put a lot of things here that i took out because i don't know it was like "what's the point of putting all those things?" because people know what i feel and think, i know they do.
but yeah. it's sunny out, and as long as i stay indoors i can look outside and think "wow it's a beautiful day" without melting my skin. so i prefer to look on the bright side.
and we're all going to the decemberists tonight! hoorah. at last. we've been planning this for like, two/three months already.
and i put a lot of things here that i took out because i don't know it was like "what's the point of putting all those things?" because people know what i feel and think, i know they do.
but yeah. it's sunny out, and as long as i stay indoors i can look outside and think "wow it's a beautiful day" without melting my skin. so i prefer to look on the bright side.
03 July 2007
when i burned
and learned.
why bother thinking that something could mean the same to someone else as it does to you? why did i bother missing [xxxxxxxx] so much during europe, thinking about [xxx] nearly every night, wanting to come home just so see [xxx]? why why why? was i lead, blind, by a warm hand down the wrong path? was everything [xxx] said truly empty words, every quiver of [xxx] lips, every shape of [xxx] hands, every pulse of [xxx] body simply the wind of the moment? did it all leave as soon as it came? how is that possible?
i didn't want to come home from europe because i missed my bed or american food or the 100 degree weather (which is about as pleasant as rubbing naked against a cactus). i wanted to come home because i missed [xxx]. of course, i dare not tell [xxx] that. i would also never dare tell [xxx] that i nearly didn't go to europe so that i wouldn't lose spending one day with [xxx]. or that i was frightened because i looked at how much i missed [xxx] in three weeks, and thought about the four years i'd be gone.
i'm not depressed. and, sadly, i'm not surprised, either. i just thought i knew [xxx] better than that. i didn't think [xxx] was the kind of person who would do those kinds of things with someone for whom she had no feelings at all in that manner. and i like the old decrepit fool i am allowed myself to feel something chaotic and calm, destructive and beautiful, for [xxx]. i'm not sad so much as i am disappointed, in everything. not in [xxx] entirely. i don't know, i just thought perhaps something would work nicely before i had to leave for the great beyond. but for some reason i wasn't surprised. i knew that nothing for me is ever reciprocated. it can never be as simple as i hope or imagine it to be. there's a very dark part of me that doesn't even want to take the chance that it could work with someone, once, in the future, and live a recklessly lonely life in an apartment in paris, anonymous and unknown, cloaked in self-cast solitude until my sun sets for good.
and it doesn't matter who it is, whether it's your best friend or someone you just met, being told that [xxx] doesn't want what is going on, what you (or I, in the case) consider something special, something unique, something at all, definable or not, to continue...well, clearly, obviously, it cuts you somewhere much deeper than you expected. but especially when it's someone who is already that deep in your heart, anyway.
vino is right. it's a blessing and a curse. but the blessing is fleeting and light. the curse is heavy and prophetic. yes, her and i would have had to part ways one way or another, be it as friends or more than that. but the curse is a foretelling of the fact that my emotions will always, instead of connecting me with a woman, push me away from her.
i'm certainly not mad enough or hurt enough to not talk to her. i'm just disillusioned. but what hurts is that, while i'm upset and disappointed, i am not shocked. i expected this, somehow, on some level, because i know her inside out; i know the meaning of her every whim and breath, nearly. and i sensed this, of course. i just hoped that all those moments that could have convinced me otherwise were enough to outweigh my doubt.
another mini-poetry/song collection to be filed away under the heading:
"LOVERS FOR A DAY".
is that all it ever is? anyway, it's all i ever have to look back on: the art i created in the wake of her (whoever she is) loveliness and how she made me feel, one way or another. and i'm not heartbroken. i love her and still do (whether it's platonic or not, i don't know). i just wish it could have continued the way it did until i went away to school. perhaps so that i would feel i was truly leaving something amazing behind, forever cast in amber. one single happy memory that will have no shadow cast over it.
but because life is a rising and a setting, a break and an end of day, everything that stands in sight of the sun will be cursed with a shadow.
even us, my dear.
even me.
why bother thinking that something could mean the same to someone else as it does to you? why did i bother missing [xxxxxxxx] so much during europe, thinking about [xxx] nearly every night, wanting to come home just so see [xxx]? why why why? was i lead, blind, by a warm hand down the wrong path? was everything [xxx] said truly empty words, every quiver of [xxx] lips, every shape of [xxx] hands, every pulse of [xxx] body simply the wind of the moment? did it all leave as soon as it came? how is that possible?
i didn't want to come home from europe because i missed my bed or american food or the 100 degree weather (which is about as pleasant as rubbing naked against a cactus). i wanted to come home because i missed [xxx]. of course, i dare not tell [xxx] that. i would also never dare tell [xxx] that i nearly didn't go to europe so that i wouldn't lose spending one day with [xxx]. or that i was frightened because i looked at how much i missed [xxx] in three weeks, and thought about the four years i'd be gone.
i'm not depressed. and, sadly, i'm not surprised, either. i just thought i knew [xxx] better than that. i didn't think [xxx] was the kind of person who would do those kinds of things with someone for whom she had no feelings at all in that manner. and i like the old decrepit fool i am allowed myself to feel something chaotic and calm, destructive and beautiful, for [xxx]. i'm not sad so much as i am disappointed, in everything. not in [xxx] entirely. i don't know, i just thought perhaps something would work nicely before i had to leave for the great beyond. but for some reason i wasn't surprised. i knew that nothing for me is ever reciprocated. it can never be as simple as i hope or imagine it to be. there's a very dark part of me that doesn't even want to take the chance that it could work with someone, once, in the future, and live a recklessly lonely life in an apartment in paris, anonymous and unknown, cloaked in self-cast solitude until my sun sets for good.
and it doesn't matter who it is, whether it's your best friend or someone you just met, being told that [xxx] doesn't want what is going on, what you (or I, in the case) consider something special, something unique, something at all, definable or not, to continue...well, clearly, obviously, it cuts you somewhere much deeper than you expected. but especially when it's someone who is already that deep in your heart, anyway.
vino is right. it's a blessing and a curse. but the blessing is fleeting and light. the curse is heavy and prophetic. yes, her and i would have had to part ways one way or another, be it as friends or more than that. but the curse is a foretelling of the fact that my emotions will always, instead of connecting me with a woman, push me away from her.
i'm certainly not mad enough or hurt enough to not talk to her. i'm just disillusioned. but what hurts is that, while i'm upset and disappointed, i am not shocked. i expected this, somehow, on some level, because i know her inside out; i know the meaning of her every whim and breath, nearly. and i sensed this, of course. i just hoped that all those moments that could have convinced me otherwise were enough to outweigh my doubt.
another mini-poetry/song collection to be filed away under the heading:
"LOVERS FOR A DAY".
is that all it ever is? anyway, it's all i ever have to look back on: the art i created in the wake of her (whoever she is) loveliness and how she made me feel, one way or another. and i'm not heartbroken. i love her and still do (whether it's platonic or not, i don't know). i just wish it could have continued the way it did until i went away to school. perhaps so that i would feel i was truly leaving something amazing behind, forever cast in amber. one single happy memory that will have no shadow cast over it.
but because life is a rising and a setting, a break and an end of day, everything that stands in sight of the sun will be cursed with a shadow.
even us, my dear.
even me.
30 June 2007
when i was a little cream soda
i'm very delighted with the new white stripes cd, first of all. and i bought Eternal Sunshine and Science of Sleep. And anna slept over last night and i got to see james. both of those events made me very happy. i missed them very much.
i also find it funny that whenever anything appears un-okay it usually is, anyway. just a thought, now!
let's see. i wrote a song about refusing to evacuate paris before the germans invaded during world war ii. i like that song, actually. it's decemberists-esque, very much. and i have this cabaret type song i like and this song i wrote that is very rufus. and i'm going into the studio in a week or so to "lay down some tracks" as them quite groovy children say.
that's all that's even mildly entertaining. and hopefully tomorrow night i shall have a gathering of a few of us europe-traversing kids at my place of residence and we will all get together and have guided sight seeing of mikey's house then free time in my backyard.
oh, well!
i also find it funny that whenever anything appears un-okay it usually is, anyway. just a thought, now!
let's see. i wrote a song about refusing to evacuate paris before the germans invaded during world war ii. i like that song, actually. it's decemberists-esque, very much. and i have this cabaret type song i like and this song i wrote that is very rufus. and i'm going into the studio in a week or so to "lay down some tracks" as them quite groovy children say.
that's all that's even mildly entertaining. and hopefully tomorrow night i shall have a gathering of a few of us europe-traversing kids at my place of residence and we will all get together and have guided sight seeing of mikey's house then free time in my backyard.
oh, well!
29 June 2007
when i returned from afar to the swamp of my mountains
europe was amazing. i'm still struck by the dichotomy of my emotions. basically the whole time i was missing things. not home, per se. i missed anna and anna and james dearly (and was jealous of their canadian expedition together...though at the same time i was wandering the streets of italy and amsterdam). i missed michelle a lot, of course. i also found myself missing katie, my little rising chanteuse, and hoping that she had written some new songs for us to record.
strangely, i also found myself missing - no, not missing, but rather softening on - aleena. not as in 'man i really want to see her.' i think i've just finally filed her away as just another girl, replacing the strong negative feelings i've had for her in the last few months (which began with me finally cutting her entirely out of my life). i just feel bad for her. i hope she's doing alright and that she likes the new rufus wainwright cd, because i do. i should talk to her, at least before going away to college. i miss her mother, too. that's where i feel bad, because her mother did nothing at all; she was like a second mother to me, but i wasn't able to put up with aleena under any circumstances. so that's that, anyway.
but now that i am back home, where i've been dying to return for weeks, i feel bored and out of place. i want to be back in a hotel room in europe, waking up at 7 am and eating breakfast in the hotel with everybody (or by myself, as i rose early), sneezing and being commended with a delightful "fuck you" from erin, and doing guided sight seeing in city centers and having a ridiculous amount of freetime in unfamiliar european cities; i want to be able to walk two minutes to the metro or the underground and hope on a train and go to the Champs Elysees or Oxford Street or anywhere anywhere anywhere that is beautiful and that is europe.
so what has changed? there's a small voice inside my head that knows that missing someone dearly only sets you up for a let down, for you know that those feelings of want are only a one way street, usually. but that's okay, it's preparation. i'm leaving for good in two months. i have to shed it all now and leave my old lost poetic skin behind.
i'm really looking forward to seeing anna and james, of course. and then harley, when she returns for a week for the decemberists concert that i am overly excited about. you know, i missed those three a lot, and i missed them all in different ways. and i saw a bus that said "@na castro" on the side of it and it just made my day (i think that was somewhere in italy at an autogrill...)
so do i bother climbing the infinite mountains of those who remain attached to my shedding skin, or do i dare wade into the deep but small lake of this new, raw flesh? is there ever a forward to turning back? can i walk towards the sun while facing the moon? (or is it the other way around?)
sure, i could go into detail about the europe trip, who did what, who i became fond of, this and that, here and there (seeing the white stripes in concert in europe! being mildly disgusted with amsterdam; rediscovering paris and realizing it's one of the most wonderful cities in the world - definitely a future home; relaxing at the foot of the swiss alps where all is green and cowbells...), but really, really, why? it is all within me, anyway, and would be meaningless to anyone else in the sense that it is meaningful to me.
either way, i am back now, and ready to let the next two months wash over me like the saves trying desperately the cleanse the sand of all its woes and pull me, gently, into the wild ocean.
strangely, i also found myself missing - no, not missing, but rather softening on - aleena. not as in 'man i really want to see her.' i think i've just finally filed her away as just another girl, replacing the strong negative feelings i've had for her in the last few months (which began with me finally cutting her entirely out of my life). i just feel bad for her. i hope she's doing alright and that she likes the new rufus wainwright cd, because i do. i should talk to her, at least before going away to college. i miss her mother, too. that's where i feel bad, because her mother did nothing at all; she was like a second mother to me, but i wasn't able to put up with aleena under any circumstances. so that's that, anyway.
but now that i am back home, where i've been dying to return for weeks, i feel bored and out of place. i want to be back in a hotel room in europe, waking up at 7 am and eating breakfast in the hotel with everybody (or by myself, as i rose early), sneezing and being commended with a delightful "fuck you" from erin, and doing guided sight seeing in city centers and having a ridiculous amount of freetime in unfamiliar european cities; i want to be able to walk two minutes to the metro or the underground and hope on a train and go to the Champs Elysees or Oxford Street or anywhere anywhere anywhere that is beautiful and that is europe.
so what has changed? there's a small voice inside my head that knows that missing someone dearly only sets you up for a let down, for you know that those feelings of want are only a one way street, usually. but that's okay, it's preparation. i'm leaving for good in two months. i have to shed it all now and leave my old lost poetic skin behind.
i'm really looking forward to seeing anna and james, of course. and then harley, when she returns for a week for the decemberists concert that i am overly excited about. you know, i missed those three a lot, and i missed them all in different ways. and i saw a bus that said "@na castro" on the side of it and it just made my day (i think that was somewhere in italy at an autogrill...)
so do i bother climbing the infinite mountains of those who remain attached to my shedding skin, or do i dare wade into the deep but small lake of this new, raw flesh? is there ever a forward to turning back? can i walk towards the sun while facing the moon? (or is it the other way around?)
sure, i could go into detail about the europe trip, who did what, who i became fond of, this and that, here and there (seeing the white stripes in concert in europe! being mildly disgusted with amsterdam; rediscovering paris and realizing it's one of the most wonderful cities in the world - definitely a future home; relaxing at the foot of the swiss alps where all is green and cowbells...), but really, really, why? it is all within me, anyway, and would be meaningless to anyone else in the sense that it is meaningful to me.
either way, i am back now, and ready to let the next two months wash over me like the saves trying desperately the cleanse the sand of all its woes and pull me, gently, into the wild ocean.
01 June 2007
when i wanted books
i intended to go to barnes and nobel tonight with michelle and james, but that fell through. michelle and i ended up chatting with zita in front of her house for close to an hour, i'd say. an equally enjoyable way to spend one's time.
but i have decided i want to purchase the following books, freeze time, and read them:
- as i lay dying - faulkner
- the sound and the fury - faulkner
- the sun also rises - hemingway
- the road - cormac mccarthy
which of course puts a damper on my current list of to-read books. however, i'm already a third of the way into The Book of Laughter and Forgetting. I'll likely finish it before Europe, so i'll take with me about six or so books, with the honest intention of finishing them all. perhaps i'll bring along "extremely loud and incredibly close" and "unbearable lightness of being" as well, just for old time's sake.
and then we'd both get so blue.
but i have decided i want to purchase the following books, freeze time, and read them:
- as i lay dying - faulkner
- the sound and the fury - faulkner
- the sun also rises - hemingway
- the road - cormac mccarthy
which of course puts a damper on my current list of to-read books. however, i'm already a third of the way into The Book of Laughter and Forgetting. I'll likely finish it before Europe, so i'll take with me about six or so books, with the honest intention of finishing them all. perhaps i'll bring along "extremely loud and incredibly close" and "unbearable lightness of being" as well, just for old time's sake.
and then we'd both get so blue.
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