Starting new

•July 31, 2011 • Leave a Comment

…and that’s when I realized I thrive in crisis.

Let’s hope this next year is equally tumultuous and eye opening.

Love is…

•March 29, 2011 • Leave a Comment

He told me he loved me on a down right cold November night. He said he’d fallen in love with me when the moon changed, but his feelings for me hadn’t. I didn’t understand how or why, I just listened to the words and assumed he was mistaken.
It was only months later that I realized I felt the same way for him. When I told him, he seemed confused. “But how?” he kept repeating. I couldn’t answer that question. I knew I loved him, and I’d almost accepted that he loved me. Of course I had that doubt in the back of my mind that assured me we would eventually part ways. We would eventually be long distance friends, and then… nothing.
Time heals all wounds, but it also has a way of completely erasing. Who knows what we’ve forgotten, or what we will eventually forget. If we both lose track of the truth, then it’s almost as if it never happened. We have our memories, but even those are fleeting. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe being guarded and afraid is as useless as a yellow traffic light.

Here it is. My new found apreciation for love and life and the meaninglessness of it all:
Under the serene glow of that very same moon, I vow that I will never again hesitate to jump into the deep end.

Root Beer Memories

•March 23, 2011 • 1 Comment

I.
South Haven. You wore a yellow sundress and a birth-control patch that was peeling along the edges, collecting lint. In your hair, I smelled our afternoon of sex lift into air.

II.
The white beaches of Key Biscayne. Frank and a man named Saturday built an empire of sand. Did you know this is where they filmed the “The Thong Song” video?

III.
“Oh, you know me. I’m a romantic. Give me a chance to swoon for a summer and I’ll take it, even it means brooding for a winter. What I’m trying to say is, no, I don’t care that you’re moving to Newfoundland in September. I mean, we’ll still keep in touch, right?”

IV.
Saturday sold us some acid that he allegedly scored from an upscale Icelandic prostitute. The best in the world, he said. “The prostitute or the acid?” Frank squinted, swallowing his dose. In the distance, a small boy was trying to ride his swimming dog like a dolphin. We must have sat there for 30 minutes or so, watching him. Frank got up suddenly and kicked the sand and fell flat on his ass, laughing hysterically. Saturday took my hand. Drugs are toys! hehehehe! Drugs are toooooys!

V.
A man and a woman
are one.
A man and a woman and a root beer
are one.

VI.
At dusk, we left for the ice cream parlor. Your yellow dress got caught on the chain-link of our hotel’s gate. You gasped briefly and then instantly regained composure, dutifully tearing off the hanging 6 inches of fabric. You resumed the holding of my hand and marched onward, your left thigh glistening in the mauving light of South Haven.

VII.
“I mean, even if you never speak to me again after this summer, I’ll still always cherish the time we’ve spent together. These last few weeks have been magical, really. And you know, you’ve seemed be enjoying yourself too. You finally got to try that thing you’ve always wanted to try. You know, with the butt beads.”

VIII.
Saturday finds a tiny New Testament Bible with Psalms and Proverbs in Frank’s backpack. He flips to a random page. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” What?!

IX.
Among twenty dark trees
the only moving thing
was the effervescence of the root beer.

X.
Morning in South Haven. Her yellow dress stained with the blood running from her face. She’s coming apart, I thought. The longer she stays with me here, the more she comes apart, physically.

XI.
“Really? No, I don’t think it’s weird at all! I mean, sexuality is a spectrum, you know. People talk like you must be either this or that, but I think it all depends! I agree, he’s very handsome. A blind woman could see that! Are you, um, going to talk to him again or anything?”

XII.
Saturday made a sand angel and then sat up, staring at the ocean. I think it means that the world is nothing but language!

XIII.
The ocean is moving.
The rootbeer must be bubbling.

I can’t think of anything.

•March 9, 2011 • Leave a Comment

We are trapped together in some sort of fucked up backwards vortex that used to be the universe.
It’s just you and me, and it stinks like Jesus’ tomb in here.

Don’t ask me about my day…

•February 1, 2011 • Leave a Comment

I was late for work this morning. I’m never late for work. Yes I am. I don’t know why I said that. I’m late almost every day. No one says anything about it, so I’m not worried.
Anyway, I was late. Only fifteen minutes late, though, and I was still there before the boss. I don’t usually see him. I’ve only actually seen him four or five times in the two years I’ve worked there, so when I say I was there before the boss, I mean someone told me I was there before him.
I spent the rest of the morning organizing my desk, making copies, and practicing calligraphy at my desk. That guy who sits near me, I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned him to you before, but that guy… He’s a real twat. He kept clicking his pen, acting like he had real business to take care of, but I know. I know he doesn’t do dick, just like me, because we have the same job. I don’t even remember what my job description is, but I know we were hired at the same time, and we both do a whole lot of nothing. About three hours into the morning he walks over to my desk and asks if I got that thing he had sent me earlier. What the fuck thing… Is he referring to any one of the many chain emails he has sent me? Or perhaps the pile of blank copy paper he put in a folder and set in my inbox. Yes, I saw you put it on the bottom of everything that was already in there, you ginger nimrod fuck.
Then it was lunch time. Thank Christ for lunch. I don’t eat lunch in the cafeteria. I consider lunch my only time to get away from the bureaucratic masses. I’m not sure I can physically get far enough from it in the hour I’m allotted. I used to eat with everyone else… But the chewing sounds and the collective human stench just… broke me. Instead, I spend the time outside. Wandering the area, smoking my menthol’s, and dreaming of a time that never was and most likely will never be.
After lunch I went back to my desk, googled a few things, and ate a banana. That ginger cunt spent a good portion of time staring at me, which made me feel strange, so I went to the third floor copy room to make copies of a book I don’t want to have to pay for. I stole it from this chick at work for a bit so I could make copies. It’s time consuming, but what else am I going to do at work?
While in the copy room, this guy, who I assume is from the third floor, came in to make copies. I stopped what I was doing, and let him take over the machine. He thanked me, and started making his copies. He only had three. He said the book I was copying was pretty bad, and told me I could have his copy. He was on to me, and I hadn’t said a single word to him. I locked the door to the small room and pulled out my cigarettes. I looked at him and he put his hand out, signaling that he wanted one as well. After realizing I forget my matches, I threw the small box on the table next to me and grabbed the guys tie to pull him closer to me. Our lips touched and there was a lot of tongue before he picked me up and threw me on top of the copy machine. We fucked for like, ten minutes, and I give the guy credit, because I came, and that rarely happens with the lights on. Then we smoked those cigarettes because, as it turns out, he had a lighter the whole time. I still hadn’t said a single word.
I went back to my desk and waited for the day to end, avoiding eye contact with the ginger as much as humanly possible. Eventually, this plump brunette invited me to her bull shit candle pressure party, and I declined by way of a massive lie, as usual.
I punched out five minutes early and lit up on the walk home. Now I’m here.
How was your day?

Breaking up is hard to do.

•February 1, 2011 • Leave a Comment

You’re not terribly important to me.

A New Year

•January 3, 2011 • Leave a Comment

I’ve been thinking a great deal about my New Years resolutions for 2011. It wasn’t prompted by the coming of the new year, sadly. It was when I caught a glimpse in the mirror of something so grim and pieced together that I wasn’t exactly sure what it was that I was looking at. It was at that moment that I started doing all this realizing, and decided to think up some possible goals. I also came to the conclusion that the pains in my body were indeed my organs clawing, attempting to escape, to breathe again… It’s time for a change. Again.
I’m not one for planning too far into the future. Setting goals for an entire year seems futile and optimistic. BUT I will continue in the same direction as 2010, and force myself out of my comfort zone.
SO, 2011 is a year of self-enforced-vulnerability. Of enjoying the hell out of every little thing I encounter. Of me and you and everyone we know.
I have a long history of battling with the nihilist within me. She says nothing matters, don’t get attached, who cares? But the me that’s living in this moment wants so badly to become attached – To let go and let myself fall.
Don’t get me started on the hedonist in me. She’s the biggest cunt of them all. When the hedonist and the nihilist finally meet, it will be over for me. I can feel them fighting to be together, though, and when it all comes to a head there will be no front row seats.
It’s strange to me how I went from one extreme to the other; I treated my body like a temple. I was healthy. Now I let almost anything in, and I’m in terrible shape. On the plus side, I’m much happier when I don’t restrict myself and put limits on every little thing.
I have to put this on hold. I need to return after a good solid drink and go with a fire arm.