visited *loading* times
i was swinging back and forth on a foot swing (therefore standing up). in front of me was a young man – probably early 20s. he was kind of attractive, but oozed a certain danger. i knew that once i got off the swing he would kill me. so i continued to swing, back and forth. not too long after, i extended my foot toward him hoping he would give me a push. i then swung, and brushed against him – and for a split second we had a connection. we both looked at each other, air held in lungs. immediately afterward i thought i may be able to use this connection as a way out, a way to freedom – lure him and then run like hell. No, for as soon as i thought it, he sensed it and there would be no hope of tricking him. and i had stepped off the swing.
he had one of those trucks w/an open back – the kind gardeners have, with wooden boards along the upper part… he sat up there and poured kerosene all over the contents in the bed of the truck, unlit cigarette in his mouth. he looked at me, handed me the lighter. i didn’t quite know how to light the potential bonfire because i knew as soon as i stuck my hand near it to light, it would torch and i might not get my hand out of there fast enough. and i couldn’t very well throw the lighter b/c the flame would die midair.
a tap at my back. i turn around. an older man looking for a light for his cigarette. he was standing too close to me, and i got the heebie jeebies. by then the younger guy was standing at my side – i quickly grabbed his arm so he knew i was freaked by the old guy. i went for a second time to light the older man’s cigarette and realized all too late – i should have handed him the lighter, not lit it myself. for he had already his hand on the back of my neck, and with one quick .. it was broken. i was lying now, on the ground, on fallen pine needles, leaves over wet dirt – the soft carpet of nature. my face was to the side, right side down, looking out my left. i could feel the blood pouring through my sinuses. and the men, they walked away together in the opposite direction from where i could look. but i could hear them. they had been in cahoots – the old man telling the younger how quickly, easily it can be done.
apparently it’s very difficult to dream about your own death. this was certainly the most profound dream of my life – i think i once dreamt i shot someone, but this… this one was so chock full of everything. i started to grow frightful that it was some eerie premonition, but then i looked up the imagery and it was amazing how right on everything was. the bit about getting killed – an important and significant relationship has been severed and you are trying to disconnect yourself from your emotions. it also has to do w/unused talents, which is right on since my job is rather pathetic and it pains me so.
anyway, there’s more interpretation but i don’t feel like getting into it – let’s just say it was all the more poignant i had to get away.
so i did
took this week off and it was great. headed down and didn’t do anything in particular. went to
it’s interesting how the subconscious tries to snap you back into shape. kind of reassuring we look after ourselves like that.
my heart is bleeding all over the kitchen floor
as I cut onions, carrots, potatoes
you are not there to admire my hands
as I chop, or mop
up the sunset seine gathering at my feet
i still look for your truck outside the windows of this grey place. that white roof glimmering with a luminosity like christ against the aimless drizzle of a wednesday afternoon. i can’t believe myself – how i have trained myself to constantly look for your truck even when i know you’re gone. even when i know i can’t see you. because if i did see you i would only hurt you. it’s the h word, isn’t it? we are so pathetic, we humans. we must have hope. even if the hope doesn’t make sense. even if the hope doesn’t make sense.
and because i know one plus one
equals two.
i want my hope to be right. i want to rely on that hope like i can rely on plants digesting light to live. orchid on shelf is not thriving under fluorescent light. my own orchid now has to learn to live without your sun. your strangely thirst-invoking water. your dirty hands that never bothered me.
and i have to catch myself from hanging, dangling from this star of nostalgia. for you cut through … a wall of blackness now because you lied. and now i can’t rely on anything you told me. for three fucking years.
it’s funny how we women, how we can develop this layer. how i can not let you in to a degree… because i know i must move on, i will. and i have been allowing myself these indulgences – looking for your truck. listening to songs that bleed you, your sentiments through grey shoddy speakers. not wearing clothes that remind of you. putting things in the garbage and subsequently rescuing them from the perils of rank material wastelands.
and speaking of those songs. i can’t share them with anyone. i think you swore me to secrecy on some, and for the others… i feel already sworn. this solemnity to a rise wholly unholy.
am i a night or morning person you ask? well i do love morning. i really do. but i don’t experience it nearly as much as i ought. and yes for night… always been a fan of the night. and dangling.
i stood in walgreen’s for a long time reading celebrity trash in US magazine. may not seem like anything more than the mundane activity it is but when you’re newly single, that’s right newly single – it’s something. no one calling you, wanting to meet up with you. just you. and so with that freedom i sojourned to pizza my heart (not ironically, just thought a slice of pizza would be easy) and meandered on down the street downing my pizza. (probably a very unsexy sight to behold) and i was glad to be alone and not have anyone wanting something from me, checking up on me. is that weird? anyway.
it was two weeks ago today he announced his pending departure. the week before that he had told me he was leaving. we went to get a burger and sat in my car. i couldn’t really eat (though am trying to change that automatic reaction). then he sat looking at me telling me he was staying. that he couldn’t leave me and i have a power over him - and need to realize my actions heavily affect him and influence him. hmpf. some power.
he didn’t even say goodbye. but i guess a) that is how it’s done if it’s done properly and b) it’s easier that way. i kind of always wanted to disappear on someone. my sister told me about her friend who had this really intense relationship in n
when everything stops, and sometimes in spite of everything when it’s going, i think of him. today i thought i saw him in the hallway though it was far from him – that happens though right? that is why fools and wise men alike chase strangers in the street. today – when my mind pictured him, oh how i missed him. have you ever felt like that? i mean what i see when i see him is completely different from anyone i’ve seen in my life. i can’t really explain it. everyone is three dimensional i know, so that would make him… like six dimensional or something. seriously it’s just different.
and so now i have time to blog again. i went to the local bookstore and café last night – couldn’t be home, this place is so fucking depressing. i just wanted to die when i got home. so i had to get out. bought a book –
we did peck for food on the same tree for awhile… and for that i am thankful…
so yah, got back after couple weeks a travel.
so alas, back home. still in suburbia though I don’t know for how much longer. love is so silly. I get all high on it and then I can live anywhere – tenement in
you just gotta. like being able to stop off and have a cuppa w/my main man on the way home. I saw ‘im tonight, up on that ladder, up there in his cute hat, and his cute short pants doing a little jiggity jig to some esquivel. yah he’s a honey and we just look like we belong together (not that I am a honey J). but then he made some mention of his reminiscing last night about his time in see-att-le, and I know one of his trips there was w/an ex, so it kinda puts me off. and then of course if I brought it up he’d say – nooo, I meant the time blah blah blah. and even more he’d probably be right. all ex’s should just be carted off to some X island. how’s that for a reality tv show? they probably already have it somewhere…
I saw a kid on broadway in see-att-le- must have been about 14. he was a street kid, and boy I just wanted to take him home with me. get him off those streets before too long. give him some good food, good books, and love. why does there have to be street kids… and street folks? I bent down to read an article off someone else’s free newspaper this morning on my walk that should’ve been a jog but sometimes I really detest jogging… and I couldn’t believe my eyes. talkin bout homelessness and how it’s a deterrent for new business, new revenue growth opportunities for an already overly, overly rich-and-proud-of-it-community. how they have this ban that the homeless can’t hang out on the main drag (basically the only drag cuz it’s the burbs) during biz hours. essentially a completely heartless article and I just couldn’t believe those black and white letters. what did I write so many years ago? – walls crawling with white pierced people dressed in black.
so here i am feeling a little like carrie bradshaw, but without the mac and unfortunately a far less stellar shoe collection. as for the men, well we certainly have time to get to that. this is my first blog. kind of. this is my first blog.
(see i lost my true first one the other night due to erroneous clicks of the mousey.)
i can recall certain details of that last blog, however – talking about being a virgin to this medium. how we used to dread that word, for fear we’d appear so very inexperienced. then, as you grow older you begin to realize it’s not such a bad thing – not a bad thing to be a virgin when it comes to taking another man’s life, or starting a war. most prefer not to dwell in those thoughts, myself included. the other main theme was my move. i moved four weeks ago today. to suburbia. i mean, real and true suburbia. walk into stores and man, these people must have so much cash to just throw at whatever useless aim they fancy at the moment. the way maggie piddles on the kitchen floor when she gets too excited. down onto the kitchen floor. down into deep pockets of well-botoxed folk, who grin at you with somewhat eery smiles. but alas i thought fuck it – if i judge all of them as rich uptight bastards, who am i but a judgmental bastard? so that is the way it worked. but you can see more stars here…
today was the last the day of the quarter. stress, stress. but it was the kind i like. the kind that makes you move, and when the day is over you still want to accomplish things.
i spoke to my best friend on the phone for like an hour an a half tonight. she lives three hours away (time-zone wise), and six months can pass without a conversation and as soon as we greet, no time between. it’s nuts really. they say you are lucky if you have one true friend in life. i would have to agree, though i wish we could be sitting together with cups of tea chatting and laughing evenings away. and the gripes she has about her man are pretty much polar opposite of the gripes i have about mine (is he still though?), and i therefore concluded we should merge them into one perfect man. right! same as they talk about finding a woman who won’t analyze every fucking thing they do or say. are we really that bad? probably sometimes, and then moretimes. whatever.
you know people talk about dreams all the time. but how many are just daydreams? well i had a dream dream the night before last. and after being so depressed the past week, and a little more, i put on louis armstrong’s what a wonderful world and think wow – i am pretty fortunate. to have had a real dream while I slept in my big princess bed with trees outside my window, eyelashes of God. it is after all, intense heartache that makes you see beauty in a simpler, more profound sense isn’t it? we’re funny creatures that way. and from that, we have hope.
yah, yah I know this is all rather vague – they won’t always be, just have to find my ground in my new blog house.
Template by motime.com | header image credit: Markus Gann © www.begann.de