|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| Futique
This is it, time to say goodbye. Many will hear it. Many... Well, they won't. At some point the past has faded away, in the age of the Great Disappointment. There's a fine line that separates past and present; the seconds, minutes, and hours that pass in a day lay in a grey area in-between. What solidifies something in the present as something that will become history? At what point does a fond and close memory become a distant one? Is the distance measured in the time that passes? I wonder this, because memories from only months ago feel like they reside years in the past, while other memories from years ago still feel relevant and clearly present today. It's a funny feeling, because it makes me feel like time doesn't apply to me. It enables me to be infinitely patient towards the things that I must wait for, and conversely quick to let go and move on from things that would only hurt to dwell upon. Is there guilt involved? Yes and no. I break promises in doing so, and that makes me a liar, and lying is not my aim. I hurt people by getting close too quickly, getting in too deep before I realize what's happening, and then letting the relationship burn out on its own. It causes me a great deal of pain and strife, to watch it all happen... but I allow it to go on because I know, deep down, that it has to happen. It has to happen, because of what goes on aboard sinking ships. There's panic, there's chaos, there are shouts and screams of mortality against the fear of drowning, and there's the mad rush to abandon ship. I have never abandoned ship. I have always waited for everyone to hop in their lifeboats while I go down with the vessel, the relationship, in calm and silence, and I die every time. I die every time, with all the emotions, all the words, swallowing me into their tidal depths. The reason why I am alive today is because of the love I have for the ones sailing away in their lifeboat. They got out okay, they survived, and I thank God that they jumped ship before they were taken in the undertow along with me. They still have their chances at the happiness and contentment that I knew I couldn't give them at the time. They could forget me and move on. But what about me? Like I said before, I die, and I live again, because I move on too.
So, with all that in mind, I know three things for sure:
1. My love is unconditional.
2. Because it is unconditional, my love lasts, and always in the present. It does not become history.
3. You can love someone without any need to prove it, without any ritual or scripts, and even without that person in your life anymore.
Knowing that my loved ones, those who live in my memories, those who I hurt, those who I couldn't please, are happy and well brings me a deep sense of satisfaction. Not like a feeling of relief, but just the kind of contentment that comes with seeing someone you care about succeed and do well for themselves.
I had a point to all this nonsense. It's far gone by now. But nevertheless, I feel like I said something. If anything, I explained how and why I'm a hopeless jerk. Yeah. A reckless, hopeless jerk. There's an apology in all of that too, somewhere.
I have no excuses. So there. It's out. And now I can finally stop and focus on home; the home I have here, the home I found in someone else, and the home that I'll make in the future. Ships. Boats. Hah.
I mean it when I say it.
| | |
| A Beautiful Sinking Ship
This is it. Tow the line
We barely made it back this time.
On the deck, half open eyes
All look up, to see sunlight.
Swing and sway, sing and pray,
And then we'll simply sail away.
Oh my ship, is a big black stain,
In this sea of fish and fame.
Tears and holes burn in the sails.
She's good and gold, but getting frail.
We'll just keep taping up the floor,
Ignore the water and hope for shore.
The sea seeps in, we're almost swimming.
I grab a line, my heart, it's brimming.
All the ores have gone off course.
But steadfast and loyal, I stay aboard. | | |
| Feint of Heart
I can sense my thoughts swirling, like wisps of vapor and smoke curling and contorting their way in a meandering path. Clouds condense in the distance and thunder roars, and lightning cracks the sky as if punctuating every lapse. Every bolt a period, every raindrop a tonal inflection. Do people think in words? Or is it images? Writing has the splendid effect of combining the two.
Now, I think:
The grass stands narrow and sharp, yet forgiving to the weight of their bodies. Sitting upright, legs outstretched, arms pinned backwards for support, heads aimed forwards into the wide and shrouded expanse before them, or upwards into the infinite starscape pinned across the universe. They admire the beauty of this land with intense appreciation, like their necks were swapped out and replaced with those of children; heads nodding back and forth, taking in the minor details, trying to avoid eye contact.
Next, I think:
A cold chill rolls in, bodies huddle close. Supports fall away, and the two are locked lying down in a warmer embrace. Elbows and wrists and hands retract inwards, fingers twine together, and they hold hands without thinking. Soft words are exchanged, quiet laughs are exhaled, silent moments fade into the silent backdrop. They don't know how they got there. In that field. Under the stars. Entwined closely against the cold of night. Motives, intent, desires, went unspoken. Didn't need to be, really.
Then:
The stars disappear. The sun rises. Light breaks over the horizon and reveals the two still outside, still on the ground, looking at each other and asking "what the hell just happened?" Cigarettes burn. Smoke escapes their lips. Warmth of a different kind. No words now. No quiet laughs. They go back inside, shut the doors, fall asleep and awake again to the new day. Nothing different. Nothing's changed, save for that new memory in their never-have-I-evers.
And:
It was like the perfect crime.
| | |
| Set Phasers to Shuffle!
Dignity and money say Jersey's where it's at. They take pride and fight just to go wandering alone. Not to regret when we dive right in like dylan in the movies. Set fire to the face on fire, and greet the sacred cow, because it creeps me out. Remember me, on city's streets, behind enemy rhymes, forgetting mistakes we knew we were making. My alcoholic friends, the chimbley sweep, all witness the pariah demise. But don't get it twisted. Wake up, hollowman, and rendezvous at Potrero Hill where we'll suck on core and rind and smile for the three boys begging for our swords. Beyond electric dreams is where I'll find relief next to me, before she drove me to daytime television, and we were left banking on a myth. I'm your villain. The predatory wasp of the palisades out to get us. By the way, tell that Mick he just made my list of things to do today. Let's channel Goliath, as another one goes by, along with the army of the pharoahs, looking like lasagna under a corona radiata. Get down with the sickness and let the beat build, it'll be right where it belongs, singing for the heart and the shape. Bitemarks and bloodstains map out this breach birth, and the ghost of you will ask "what happened to us?" We're livin in a new world. Life changes. We didn't do it. Good to know that if I ever need attention all I have to do is die, or sing Bohemian Rhapsody. Not too politically correct, I know, but better than sad songs and waltzes that keep your head banging. Sounding like schizophrenic conversations, they join the march of the dead, and I won't be left. Please. Have sympathy for the martyr, as you watch him falling down.
Yay iPod.
| | |
| Mother's Day
Calling mom is always awkward. There's love, but neither of us wants to put it out there. I can hear it in her voice, though, that she misses me and likes when I call, but my words are always so empty. Maybe that'll change one day, but no one lives forever. Hopefully I'll build up the courage to tell my own mother that I love her soon enough. I don't want to grow up and miss that chance to build a deeper connection with my parents, because it's one hell of a regret that I know is in store for me if I don't.
| | |
|
|
