i stopped mid-song and blocked her walk with an arm; her curious eyes were only slightly annoyed. "i haven't sung a christmas song in... i don't know, i don't know the last time i sang one." she laughed "next year i'll make sure i'm with you on christmas so you'll finally sing them on the proper day."
boots and gloves and scarves, we walked through the cold night humming old musical songs. always out of tune, often running out of lyrics; dancing a little, she always kept an eye on my easily lost balance. she told a few stories of us. i like her stories better; in her stories i am strong and determined and consistent. i am the hero in her stories, never the anti-hero. her mouth turns my weirdness into eccentricities of a genius. her history shows my deeply intuitive side, with which i carried myself and others through fire, through death...
we keep talking, her heart gets mad at my stubborn soul, then she sighs and says; "i love you, sis. this too shall pass, yesyes." she doesn’t mind reading my lines.
i am wary of women mostly, they scare me. most of them seem to lose common sense, common courtesy for whatever cause their heart is wrapped around at a time. they become unpredictable and vicious; i am the only loose cannon i can handle in my backpack. butbutbut, i love the women in my life, my women, mine. each so uniquely brilliant, each speaks to another part of me. they are riddles i've solved years ago; i solve them again and again. their familiar scents guide me down deep where wild women dance around a gigantic bonfire. nakedness does not prick my flesh down there, i take the layers off with ease. the flames don't care about what we look like, we are what we are, and existence is the only beauty we need.
"sis, do you want coffee?"
“sis, where is the lighter?"
"sis, are you ready to go?"
"sis, hurry up."
"sis, why did you have to move?"
"sis, when are you moving there?"
"sis, i have so many things to do."
“sis, don’t worry.”
"sis, i love my jack."
"sis, i love my jack."
we use the same sentences over and over again. we have been singing the same non-songs for years. we snap at the same stuff. we get annoyed at the same shit. we don't mind walking as long as the other is walking along. we try our best to see through the words we utter. we always hold onto the kindness in each other’s hearts.
we love each other.
the love is true because we worked hard to get to know us.
2011-12-31
2011-12-30
2011-12-28
the same sentences have taken over my soul for a while now. the time has come to abandon the last labyrinth i've been playing in; it is time to go back home.
with words for bricks, i still am an amazing builder of labyrinths. one might see me wondering through one, dirty and wounded and nervous, one might see me lost and forget i actually know my way out. i don't do power games, i don't try to teach anyone a lesson, if you see me fled your side, if you happen to be left behind, it's not entirely personal. i do like to go on adventures, i love treasure hunting, and flying through the woods, but i love going back home more. home where the mirrors don't lie. home where love hides in a piece of cake. home where my strength cuddles up next to me as i sleep. not everyone gets to come home with me. not everyone knows i have a home. i can't blame them, i am the one who pretends to be homeless and weak and troubled. how could they know i just like to step out of my castle now and again to roam my lands incognito. i am actually glad not everyone cares to see all of me.
with words for bricks, i still am an amazing builder of labyrinths. one might see me wondering through one, dirty and wounded and nervous, one might see me lost and forget i actually know my way out. i don't do power games, i don't try to teach anyone a lesson, if you see me fled your side, if you happen to be left behind, it's not entirely personal. i do like to go on adventures, i love treasure hunting, and flying through the woods, but i love going back home more. home where the mirrors don't lie. home where love hides in a piece of cake. home where my strength cuddles up next to me as i sleep. not everyone gets to come home with me. not everyone knows i have a home. i can't blame them, i am the one who pretends to be homeless and weak and troubled. how could they know i just like to step out of my castle now and again to roam my lands incognito. i am actually glad not everyone cares to see all of me.
2011-12-27
that's quite alright if i am not to rise from my sleep tomorrow.
just when i thought none could hear me no more
she pulled me in and painted me green.
i got to hear her chuckle.
i got to watch her speak.
and this time it was me who got startled
by the force of her hug, and a whisper so simple.
"thank you" my lady said.
as she left i didn't have a single tear to shed;
how could i not laugh when i knew i could write to her again.
just when i thought none could hear me no more
she pulled me in and painted me green.
i got to hear her chuckle.
i got to watch her speak.
and this time it was me who got startled
by the force of her hug, and a whisper so simple.
"thank you" my lady said.
as she left i didn't have a single tear to shed;
how could i not laugh when i knew i could write to her again.
2011-12-15
for someone obsessed with ferris wheels and merry-go-rounds, 9 years is a long time not to have ridden any. i think i shall organize a trip for myself. if december can steal the warmth of april, if december can claim the sun of may, i think i can borrow temporary solace, i think i can snatch some juvenile excitement. just because i always dreamt of kissing on top of a ferris wheel, it doesn't mean wind-kisses won't be enough. just because i think i am too old to ride a merry-go-round, it doesn't mean i need back-up to turn possible reproachful looks to those of shared joy.
2011-12-13
2011-12-11
jackie boy!
railroads pull on my lucid dreams.
i wake up and i am ready to go, go, go!
unknown cities, rank hotel rooms
bottles of red red wine,
the cheapest kind.
i do not need your directions,
they say i have a hound's nose,
i'll sniff the marrow off your bones.
can you hear me, boy,
the rickety rickety rackety?
did you paint me well, boy?
is that my face upon your wall?
the ones you mistook for laugh lines
hold my screams, boy.
the eyes you named for dreams
are blood wells for sufferers, for fools.
my face lies, boy; my words mislead.
i am the meanest of the tavern whores
you have yet to meet.
was i ever young, boy?
i've felt old for so long.
last night was the first night
i didn't blow my head off.
you know how suicidal i get,
you were there when i counted the pills
of the first bottle i downed.
oh jackie boy, you saw the knives
i hide beneath my vows.
the rickety rackety of the night...
my heart beats like passion, like love.
there is a joyous gleam upon my eyes.
i have lips shaped like a thousand kisses.
and my hips are curved towards thrusts.
you and i, boy, we know of those lies.
these are the baby steps,
towards my grave that i crave,
since that night i woke up
in that deep, dark cave.
i wake up and i am ready to go, go, go!
unknown cities, rank hotel rooms
bottles of red red wine,
the cheapest kind.
i do not need your directions,
they say i have a hound's nose,
i'll sniff the marrow off your bones.
can you hear me, boy,
the rickety rickety rackety?
did you paint me well, boy?
is that my face upon your wall?
the ones you mistook for laugh lines
hold my screams, boy.
the eyes you named for dreams
are blood wells for sufferers, for fools.
my face lies, boy; my words mislead.
i am the meanest of the tavern whores
you have yet to meet.
was i ever young, boy?
i've felt old for so long.
last night was the first night
i didn't blow my head off.
you know how suicidal i get,
you were there when i counted the pills
of the first bottle i downed.
oh jackie boy, you saw the knives
i hide beneath my vows.
the rickety rackety of the night...
my heart beats like passion, like love.
there is a joyous gleam upon my eyes.
i have lips shaped like a thousand kisses.
and my hips are curved towards thrusts.
you and i, boy, we know of those lies.
these are the baby steps,
towards my grave that i crave,
since that night i woke up
in that deep, dark cave.
2011-12-10
2011-11-30
as long as the day is running i am calm and complete; i get restless as sun sets. i have my little tricks to soothe the wounds that burn under the black of night. i have my books, and i have my songs; i have my legs to carry me away from this room. i have so much, i don't know what to do with them sometimes.
i am not confused.
i just can't be bothered to make any decisions right now.
if this is a phase, that's fine; if this is my true form, so be it; i enjoy floating anyways.
i am not confused.
i just can't be bothered to make any decisions right now.
if this is a phase, that's fine; if this is my true form, so be it; i enjoy floating anyways.
2011-11-24
2011-11-23
i keep leaving my glasses here, there, everywhere.
i keep going back to the places i have just left.
i say my goodbyes, i gather my pieces and i leave.
shortly after, there i am again. "i left my glasses."
i walk the same roads twice. i say my goodbyes twice.
sometimes i even have my last drink twice.
i am really the fish the bastard glasses make me feel like.
i am a fish in a dirty aquarium.
i swim. i forget. i swim again.
i keep going back to the places i have just left.
i say my goodbyes, i gather my pieces and i leave.
shortly after, there i am again. "i left my glasses."
i walk the same roads twice. i say my goodbyes twice.
sometimes i even have my last drink twice.
i am really the fish the bastard glasses make me feel like.
i am a fish in a dirty aquarium.
i swim. i forget. i swim again.
2011-11-22
2011-11-20
sometimes you need company. the kind of company that pushes you to abandon your true reactions. the ones who have never met your different faces. the ones who has only seen you smile and tell stories. the ones that never got to hear the truth but were never deceived by lies either.
most people like me upon meeting me. of course there are those who are deeply intuitive and sense the chaos that is my soul, those tend to be wary of my friendship. but, most people like me immediately. i didn't have to read a self-help book, i knew how to connect with people instinctively. i've always looked people in the eye; except for a few dark years, i was always quick to smile; and i always knew exactly when someone needed affection. i knew how to ask the right questions at the right time, i knew how not to pry, and yes, i always knew how to keep a secret. all these came naturally to me, i knew who needed love when, and i knew everybody deserved some kindness. this wasn't an act, it still isn't an act. i was born a big ball of love and understanding. things just got messy because the words "love" and "understanding" are human inventions, thus their definitions lack certainty. over the years, i built a new face from scratch so that less people feel connected to me. i am interested in everything and anything, any kind of thought process and information fascinates me. most people fascinate me. but i have learned to disguise my fascination so that i don't fool them with the illusion that i'll be the one that makes them feel amazing for the rest of their lives. i know how that story ends. i am a narcissist, with deep imperfection issues. the ones who stay around long enough can't miss it. then they feel cheated, tricked. they get hurt and angry. thus, i become the enemy. that's the loop of my own relationship with myself. i wouldn't wish it for anybody else. so this new face that i have built, which is actually an act, is a smiling book that reads itself out loud. i smile and tell stories that do not belong to me. i tell stories that i wouldn't choose to tell. i almost become an "interesting facts" show. i don't touch anyone, i don't share any personal insights. i do not voice any opinions. if the company is smart enough to sense my lack of character, i play the oldest trick in the book, and i mimic them. this one is different than the times i mimic my real friends. every healthy relationship needs a doze of mimicking, mostly to keep the powers in balance, mostly to avoid any unnecessary frictions, mostly to prove mutual presence. this one is different, because it is planned. with my friends, with my beloveds i do it instinctively. most of the time their well being is at utmost importance, and my existence responds accordingly. but this one is a parlor trick, a cheap attempt to calm the nerves. my words are empty balloons circling us, and to stop you from popping them i sit there mimicking your every move. i sip when you take a sip, i sigh when you sigh, i recline when you recline. and you feel connected to me just enough so that you don't question your lack of any substantial information about me. when we are done, you might remember the stories i told, but you won't remember me. at least not enough to yearn for my company.
sometimes you need to be empty of yourself. you need to forget your past and ignore your future. you need to stitch your dreams to your pillow and walk about without them. you can still exist without your emotions. you can still communicate sans your true voice.
i'll smile. you'll smile. then we'll all go home. i won't remember your name, you won't know why you had fun.
most people like me upon meeting me. of course there are those who are deeply intuitive and sense the chaos that is my soul, those tend to be wary of my friendship. but, most people like me immediately. i didn't have to read a self-help book, i knew how to connect with people instinctively. i've always looked people in the eye; except for a few dark years, i was always quick to smile; and i always knew exactly when someone needed affection. i knew how to ask the right questions at the right time, i knew how not to pry, and yes, i always knew how to keep a secret. all these came naturally to me, i knew who needed love when, and i knew everybody deserved some kindness. this wasn't an act, it still isn't an act. i was born a big ball of love and understanding. things just got messy because the words "love" and "understanding" are human inventions, thus their definitions lack certainty. over the years, i built a new face from scratch so that less people feel connected to me. i am interested in everything and anything, any kind of thought process and information fascinates me. most people fascinate me. but i have learned to disguise my fascination so that i don't fool them with the illusion that i'll be the one that makes them feel amazing for the rest of their lives. i know how that story ends. i am a narcissist, with deep imperfection issues. the ones who stay around long enough can't miss it. then they feel cheated, tricked. they get hurt and angry. thus, i become the enemy. that's the loop of my own relationship with myself. i wouldn't wish it for anybody else. so this new face that i have built, which is actually an act, is a smiling book that reads itself out loud. i smile and tell stories that do not belong to me. i tell stories that i wouldn't choose to tell. i almost become an "interesting facts" show. i don't touch anyone, i don't share any personal insights. i do not voice any opinions. if the company is smart enough to sense my lack of character, i play the oldest trick in the book, and i mimic them. this one is different than the times i mimic my real friends. every healthy relationship needs a doze of mimicking, mostly to keep the powers in balance, mostly to avoid any unnecessary frictions, mostly to prove mutual presence. this one is different, because it is planned. with my friends, with my beloveds i do it instinctively. most of the time their well being is at utmost importance, and my existence responds accordingly. but this one is a parlor trick, a cheap attempt to calm the nerves. my words are empty balloons circling us, and to stop you from popping them i sit there mimicking your every move. i sip when you take a sip, i sigh when you sigh, i recline when you recline. and you feel connected to me just enough so that you don't question your lack of any substantial information about me. when we are done, you might remember the stories i told, but you won't remember me. at least not enough to yearn for my company.
sometimes you need to be empty of yourself. you need to forget your past and ignore your future. you need to stitch your dreams to your pillow and walk about without them. you can still exist without your emotions. you can still communicate sans your true voice.
i'll smile. you'll smile. then we'll all go home. i won't remember your name, you won't know why you had fun.
2011-11-19
2011-11-18
let's get one thing straight, dear; i do not forget, and i do not forgive. i just have enough compartments within to protect me from my wrath, and to protect you from my vengeance. i can't spare any energy to be angry all the time. and i have to admit, none of us is flawless enough to judge and bestow mercy on one another. i have done far worse shit and have met enough monsters to know not everything is personal. i might forget that in fragile moments, blind days, or through lovesick months -well, i might act as if i have forgotten- but the core of my being always knows: life is hard enough without blaming others. hearts break and heal, tears evaporate. curses, pleas, and shrieks stop echoing through our ribcages.
omnia mutantur nihil inherit.
let's get one thing straight, dear; i do not forget, and i do not forgive. i just choose to recall smiles, and those fleeting moments that i felt safe. i never feel safe. life is an ongoing battle that i wade through shedding as little blood as possible. i do shed mine in abundance mind you, it is others' i try to spare. i am always safe. the world is my merry-go-around. i jump from horse to horse, and help anyone who needs a hand. i don't lose my balance as long as we keep on spinning. i don't need to sleep, and my skin tingles from being numb too long. i am safe for none can truly touch me. i am safe for when i fall, the pain is mine.
omnia mutantur nihil inherit.
let's get one thing straight, dear; i do not forget, and i do not forgive. i just choose to recall smiles, and those fleeting moments that i felt safe. i never feel safe. life is an ongoing battle that i wade through shedding as little blood as possible. i do shed mine in abundance mind you, it is others' i try to spare. i am always safe. the world is my merry-go-around. i jump from horse to horse, and help anyone who needs a hand. i don't lose my balance as long as we keep on spinning. i don't need to sleep, and my skin tingles from being numb too long. i am safe for none can truly touch me. i am safe for when i fall, the pain is mine.
2011-11-14
in the woods
a night in your arms,
after a day of freedom
new places possess.
my body inches towards you,
my nose eager for your skin.
-a hound sniffing her way back home-
i follow your mouth.
i follow your breath.
i fall asleep...
after a day of freedom
new places possess.
my body inches towards you,
my nose eager for your skin.
-a hound sniffing her way back home-
i follow your mouth.
i follow your breath.
i fall asleep...
2011-11-11
this is a limbo
i am not stuck in it
i built it around me
i breathe slowly, and quietly
through my familiar darkness
she-who-has-been-dismissed
runs her fingers through my hair
her scent grabs a hold of me
she always smells of wild-flowers
i can run, i can puke, i can scream
i will float, i will drink, i will smile
friends fly around the house
they yearn to be close to me
the black-hole pull of my existence
"now, tonight, tomorrow"
urgency breaking his voice
"let's go, get ready, need you"
determination heavy in her eyes
i can be mean, i can scream
i will be nice, i will smile
i am fine in my purple lake
the limbo didn't swallow me
i built it to keep me awake
i am not stuck in it
i built it around me
i breathe slowly, and quietly
through my familiar darkness
she-who-has-been-dismissed
runs her fingers through my hair
her scent grabs a hold of me
she always smells of wild-flowers
i can run, i can puke, i can scream
i will float, i will drink, i will smile
friends fly around the house
they yearn to be close to me
the black-hole pull of my existence
"now, tonight, tomorrow"
urgency breaking his voice
"let's go, get ready, need you"
determination heavy in her eyes
i can be mean, i can scream
i will be nice, i will smile
i am fine in my purple lake
the limbo didn't swallow me
i built it to keep me awake
2011-11-08
:)
"The river always called to be visited after dark, the fields needed to be walked in so they could make their rustle-talk. Fires needed to be built in the forest at night, and stories needed to be told outside the hearing of grownups." (p3)
(about women who have found the 'wild woman' within) "They know instinctively when things must die and when things must live; they know how to walk away; they know how to stay." (p6)
Estes, Clarissa Pinkola: Women Who Run With the Wolves, Ballantine Books, New York, 1995
(about women who have found the 'wild woman' within) "They know instinctively when things must die and when things must live; they know how to walk away; they know how to stay." (p6)
Estes, Clarissa Pinkola: Women Who Run With the Wolves, Ballantine Books, New York, 1995
2011-11-03
booklog: Women Who Run With the Wolves
Many names of the "Wild Woman"
(Spanish)
Rio Abajo Rio: the river beneath river
La Mujer Grande: the great woman
Luz del abismo: the light from the abyss
La Loba: the wolf woman
La Huesera: the bone woman
(Spanish)
Rio Abajo Rio: the river beneath river
La Mujer Grande: the great woman
Luz del abismo: the light from the abyss
La Loba: the wolf woman
La Huesera: the bone woman
(Hungary)
Ö, Erböden: She of the woods
Rozsomà k: The Wolverine
(Navajo)
Na'ashjé'ii Asdzà à : The Spider Woman, who weaves the fate of humans and animals and plants and rocks.
(Guatemala)
Humana del Niebla:The Mist Being, the woman who has lived forever.
(Japan)
Amaterasu Omikami: The Numina, who brings all light, all conciousness.
(Tibet)
Dakini: the dancing force which produces clear-seeing within women.
Estes, Clarissa Pinkola: Women Who Run With the Wolves, Ballantine Books, New York, 1995, p7
a single ray of sun touches my eyes and all is peachy.
it is the small things, child, small things that make a difference. a split second can lift you out of the gutter. your soul may have nested down there, but you still dive up to the skies just because.
it is yet another countdown to yet another age of you, child. enjoy your numbers while you can. cherish your mistakes, but please don't over glorify your newly found faces. try and try again, you did through 27. i know it looks like you are left with zilch. but trust me little one, you were never a zero, not since the moment you were conceived.
it was a year full of surprises. horror shows, masquerades, walkabouts, rocket launches, sunken city dives, bungee jumps of existence secured themselves in you with each stitch of 27. remember that shooting star of the new year's eve? a year full of bliss and glory you had wished upon, forgetting the fleeting nature of bliss, and the blood dripping war glories of history. bliss and glory you got, child; you got what you wished for. you were still a little reckless through 27, and thus you know you can afford to be reckless. you don't lose your head as easily as you feared. through all that noise you remained fairly quiet and white. you secured a sheath of white this year, a white cloak to dim your darkness.
you know a lot, child; fortunately you'll never know all.
8 is mine, smiles are mine.
it is the small things, child, small things that make a difference. a split second can lift you out of the gutter. your soul may have nested down there, but you still dive up to the skies just because.
it is yet another countdown to yet another age of you, child. enjoy your numbers while you can. cherish your mistakes, but please don't over glorify your newly found faces. try and try again, you did through 27. i know it looks like you are left with zilch. but trust me little one, you were never a zero, not since the moment you were conceived.
it was a year full of surprises. horror shows, masquerades, walkabouts, rocket launches, sunken city dives, bungee jumps of existence secured themselves in you with each stitch of 27. remember that shooting star of the new year's eve? a year full of bliss and glory you had wished upon, forgetting the fleeting nature of bliss, and the blood dripping war glories of history. bliss and glory you got, child; you got what you wished for. you were still a little reckless through 27, and thus you know you can afford to be reckless. you don't lose your head as easily as you feared. through all that noise you remained fairly quiet and white. you secured a sheath of white this year, a white cloak to dim your darkness.
you know a lot, child; fortunately you'll never know all.
8 is mine, smiles are mine.
2011-11-01
2011-10-31
"Love demands expression. It will not stay still, stay silent, be good, be modest, be seen and not heard, no." (p9)
"I am desperately looking the other way so that love won't see me." (p10)
"I had been an emotional nomad for too long. Hadn't i come here weak and bruised to put a fence round the space Louise now threatened?" (p38)
Winterson, Jeanette: Written on The Body, 1992
"I am desperately looking the other way so that love won't see me." (p10)
"I had been an emotional nomad for too long. Hadn't i come here weak and bruised to put a fence round the space Louise now threatened?" (p38)
Winterson, Jeanette: Written on The Body, 1992
2011-10-24
i am not trying to decipher the dreams,
love. they chose me to dream them,
what choice do i have but to make them mine?
the trees on my skin are only for my sleep;
the branches ink themselves vein-deep.
(there will come a morning, when
the braille on my body sneaks into waking.)
the old lady who lives between the walls
of the moving hotel tells me
the trees are yours
and i am the one to blame
for captivating them
she says you'll hate me
once you smell the sea
my waters are salty apparently
and the trees are already dry
just from touching me
the hills of my high school
become one with grandma's street
i am stuck in the balcony
pushing my face deep into the rails
i can't get through
i end up with bruises
on my rosy cheeks
in my toddler mouth
the hills are covered with trees
grandma picks me up by the neck
i am not a cat
i am not a cat
i purr
my kinder garden sweetheart
grabs me from her hands
i am a black cat on his snowy face
he kisses my belly
i paw him in the eye
the trees are waiting
the trees are calling
i am not a cat
i am not a cat
i growl
the old lady whispers through the walls
according to her hate will anchor you
my body stretches out
my breasts face the sky
the earth drinks me through
the mole wounds on my back
i stretch
i stretch
i stretch
i cover the hill
with bones and hair
with my long bones
with my long hair
the branches reach down
the branches take over
i am not a cat
i am not a cat
i am just a girl
trees claim my skin
what choice do i have but to love you,
love?(a neverending branching)
we would be improbable any other way.
love. they chose me to dream them,
what choice do i have but to make them mine?
the trees on my skin are only for my sleep;
the branches ink themselves vein-deep.
(there will come a morning, when
the braille on my body sneaks into waking.)
the old lady who lives between the walls
of the moving hotel tells me
the trees are yours
and i am the one to blame
for captivating them
she says you'll hate me
once you smell the sea
my waters are salty apparently
and the trees are already dry
just from touching me
the hills of my high school
become one with grandma's street
i am stuck in the balcony
pushing my face deep into the rails
i can't get through
i end up with bruises
on my rosy cheeks
in my toddler mouth
the hills are covered with trees
grandma picks me up by the neck
i am not a cat
i am not a cat
i purr
my kinder garden sweetheart
grabs me from her hands
i am a black cat on his snowy face
he kisses my belly
i paw him in the eye
the trees are waiting
the trees are calling
i am not a cat
i am not a cat
i growl
the old lady whispers through the walls
according to her hate will anchor you
my body stretches out
my breasts face the sky
the earth drinks me through
the mole wounds on my back
i stretch
i stretch
i stretch
i cover the hill
with bones and hair
with my long bones
with my long hair
the branches reach down
the branches take over
i am not a cat
i am not a cat
i am just a girl
trees claim my skin
what choice do i have but to love you,
love?(a neverending branching)
we would be improbable any other way.
2011-10-22
2011-10-21
2011-10-20
there is one thought and one sentence that keep haunting me. i can not even bring myself to transform the thought into words. yet the sentence, the sentence is eating away at me. "hit the road, jack!" yesyes, you are right, it is a song. and the next sentence is "don't you come back no more..." you should know that the repetition doesn't actually distress me. i chant sentences and songs in my head insistently. it is a form of distraction. words are the rocks i build walls with. the problem lays in my inability to switch to a new sentence, this one just refuses to be dumped.
"hit the road, jack" keeps spinning on my merry-go-around; happily determined, teasing my every move. so i keep it company, i play with each word.
hit.
maybe i should start kick-boxing again. i'll sell my comic books. that should pay for a few months of training. or i should buy the punching-bag i've been wanting for so long. i have a little money saved up; and it doesn't look like i'll be needing it any time soon. accidentally hitting my head on the table as i sneeze doesn't count as actual hitting. that just leaves me more frustrated. it doesn't provide a lasting release. yes, the throbbing gives me a sick pleasure, but only momentarily....
the.
the summer. the book. the boy. the school. the fall. the camera. the wall. the dream. the love. the reality. the money. the ennui. the mind. the soul. the body. the red. the black. the purple. the sex. the sea. the touch. the hate. the phone. the gun. the computer. the glasses. the letter. the face. the palm. the dark. the bark. the light. the smile. the tear. the sun. the moon. the solitude. the company. the excess. the lack. the skin. the beard. the fire. the ex. the fear. the devil. the woods. the hope. the song. the rain. the laugh. the name. the window. the coffee. the ache. the cake. the cramp. the road. the run. oh, yes, and the merry-go-around.
road...
jack...
"hit the road, jack" keeps spinning on my merry-go-around; happily determined, teasing my every move. so i keep it company, i play with each word.
hit.
maybe i should start kick-boxing again. i'll sell my comic books. that should pay for a few months of training. or i should buy the punching-bag i've been wanting for so long. i have a little money saved up; and it doesn't look like i'll be needing it any time soon. accidentally hitting my head on the table as i sneeze doesn't count as actual hitting. that just leaves me more frustrated. it doesn't provide a lasting release. yes, the throbbing gives me a sick pleasure, but only momentarily....
the.
the summer. the book. the boy. the school. the fall. the camera. the wall. the dream. the love. the reality. the money. the ennui. the mind. the soul. the body. the red. the black. the purple. the sex. the sea. the touch. the hate. the phone. the gun. the computer. the glasses. the letter. the face. the palm. the dark. the bark. the light. the smile. the tear. the sun. the moon. the solitude. the company. the excess. the lack. the skin. the beard. the fire. the ex. the fear. the devil. the woods. the hope. the song. the rain. the laugh. the name. the window. the coffee. the ache. the cake. the cramp. the road. the run. oh, yes, and the merry-go-around.
road...
jack...
2011-09-27
"tell me, tell me how it's done!" is all i could make out as his chest thundered and voice squealed. it took me eternal minutes to calm him down enough so he could form different sentences. "how do you stand being alone? how do you go through the years without being loved? i don’t remember the last time you were in a real relationship. tell me how!!" oh, shit. i wasn't ready for those. i knew how most people perceived my single-woman status in this country, but i just wasn't prepared to hear it so naked and rough.
he thought i wasn't loved.
he thought i was ok with it.
he thought i could give him pointers.
i wanted to kick him in the balls to make him cry harder, i wanted to laugh his idiocy at his face, i wanted to fall down on my own knees and scream. i just held his hands and said "we are resilient creatures, there is not much we can't get used to. besides, there is more to life than lovethings."
i don’t know which one of us needed to hear those words. yet after them we were both ready for some jack on-the-rocks.
he thought i wasn't loved.
he thought i was ok with it.
he thought i could give him pointers.
i wanted to kick him in the balls to make him cry harder, i wanted to laugh his idiocy at his face, i wanted to fall down on my own knees and scream. i just held his hands and said "we are resilient creatures, there is not much we can't get used to. besides, there is more to life than lovethings."
i don’t know which one of us needed to hear those words. yet after them we were both ready for some jack on-the-rocks.
2011-10-19
........
my solitude has made friends with your confusion;
your reluctance has grown on my flooding passion.
i shrug and push forth a tidal smile.
my lake feeds into your wells
or they emptied you in my lake;
in the same waters our souls dance.
let's take a plunge to the depths;
the pitch black comfort of gloom awaits us.
i only drown high up in the sky;
down here, i am a thousand kisses
blowing life into your lungs.
infinite spaces,
relative directions,
i swim sans time.
my solitude has made friends with your confusion;
your reluctance has grown on my flooding passion.
i shrug and push forth a tidal smile.
my lake feeds into your wells
or they emptied you in my lake;
in the same waters our souls dance.
let's take a plunge to the depths;
the pitch black comfort of gloom awaits us.
i only drown high up in the sky;
down here, i am a thousand kisses
blowing life into your lungs.
infinite spaces,
relative directions,
i swim sans time.
2011-10-10
tell me; what am i thinking?
are these thoughts mine? or am i forcing myself to think them, pushing myself to care. i care, of course i do. there is no point calling myself homo sapiens if i don't feel. so i choose a feeling and pursue it, is that it? i taught my mind to control itself, i had to. they told me it wasn't acceptable to stay on the dark side. sanity is a non-optional social convention among my peers. funny, they act more insane than i ever did. compared to them, i was merely lost in my growing pains. so i taught my thoughts to keep it cool, especially in company. none need to know of my invisible cats, and raging gladiators. i kept the colours of my balloons to my dreams, i hid the taste of my itching fingertips. if i mastered thought control, does that mean i control my emotions, too? tell me, why have i chosen these ones now? maybe i just got bored with the old one, and needed a new playground. no, i never played games with other hearts. even when i was dark, i couldn't lie. they won't let you play if you don't lie. did i get jealous, is that why i am playing with my heart now? tell me; am i playing, is this a game? it is raining again, have i chosen to wrap myself in games this fall? tell me; where is my deep black shawl?
are these thoughts mine? or am i forcing myself to think them, pushing myself to care. i care, of course i do. there is no point calling myself homo sapiens if i don't feel. so i choose a feeling and pursue it, is that it? i taught my mind to control itself, i had to. they told me it wasn't acceptable to stay on the dark side. sanity is a non-optional social convention among my peers. funny, they act more insane than i ever did. compared to them, i was merely lost in my growing pains. so i taught my thoughts to keep it cool, especially in company. none need to know of my invisible cats, and raging gladiators. i kept the colours of my balloons to my dreams, i hid the taste of my itching fingertips. if i mastered thought control, does that mean i control my emotions, too? tell me, why have i chosen these ones now? maybe i just got bored with the old one, and needed a new playground. no, i never played games with other hearts. even when i was dark, i couldn't lie. they won't let you play if you don't lie. did i get jealous, is that why i am playing with my heart now? tell me; am i playing, is this a game? it is raining again, have i chosen to wrap myself in games this fall? tell me; where is my deep black shawl?
2011-10-09
not october, not a poem
walk with me under the november rains; the calender lies, it is not october. kiss me through dark waterfalls, flowing dreams; we are kissing eyedrops.
i will take my shoes off, cage my heart in your chest,suck november with bare feet; rain shall pump through me, it's yours.
my fingers are as white as the bathroom tiles, clutching with the might of thunderstorms. nevermind the bloodshed; skin breaks and heals. the scratches, the stains, the raw red of fear wash away in the tub of timewinds.
i am awake; november rains.
i have never slept; november pours.
it is the child mother bore that pushes and pulls.
i will take my shoes off, cage my heart in your chest,suck november with bare feet; rain shall pump through me, it's yours.
my fingers are as white as the bathroom tiles, clutching with the might of thunderstorms. nevermind the bloodshed; skin breaks and heals. the scratches, the stains, the raw red of fear wash away in the tub of timewinds.
i am awake; november rains.
i have never slept; november pours.
it is the child mother bore that pushes and pulls.
2011-10-03
i have been waking up restless and confused for so long, i have forgotten how it felt to be calm and focused. it was easy to get out of bed this morning, reality didn't hurt. i had a hum in my breath before my feet hit the carpet, and the mirror was waiting with a good morning smile. i get lost and forget me far far away sometimes; thankfully i am my own cat, i always make it back.
2011-10-02
2011-09-19
2011-09-17
2011-09-16
something unpleasant is going on. i hope it waits at least a couple of weeks before revealing itself to me. i might not look it, i might not talk it, but i've been pretty annoyed. don't mess with me.
i shouldn't be thinking these today... the only brother i've ever had is getting married in five hours; and in two weeks he'll fly off to another country. i'll make myself pretty for him, he likes to see me dressed up. well actually, he doesn't care, i just feel festive... and tonight i'll dance till my feet curse at me; i'll dance till i can't conceal my limp anymore; then dance some more...
- - - - - - - -
i am sorry, bro. for not seeing you so often lately. but you know me - well, you used to know me better than anyone- i am stubborn and proud. i'll never tell you this, but i've missed you like hell, and now i'll get to miss you like heaven. yesyes, i am silly, too. i won't forget to bring bubble maker bottles to your wedding, don't you worry.
i love you, bro. more than i'll ever show.
be happy, and raise some smart kids.
your loving sis till the end of time,
elif, death, melek, jack, ...
(heh, well, you know all my names)
i shouldn't be thinking these today... the only brother i've ever had is getting married in five hours; and in two weeks he'll fly off to another country. i'll make myself pretty for him, he likes to see me dressed up. well actually, he doesn't care, i just feel festive... and tonight i'll dance till my feet curse at me; i'll dance till i can't conceal my limp anymore; then dance some more...
- - - - - - - -
i am sorry, bro. for not seeing you so often lately. but you know me - well, you used to know me better than anyone- i am stubborn and proud. i'll never tell you this, but i've missed you like hell, and now i'll get to miss you like heaven. yesyes, i am silly, too. i won't forget to bring bubble maker bottles to your wedding, don't you worry.
i love you, bro. more than i'll ever show.
be happy, and raise some smart kids.
your loving sis till the end of time,
elif, death, melek, jack, ...
(heh, well, you know all my names)
2011-09-13
me
i am bursting with emotions
that are not mine to keep.
same story, different faces.
you keep telling me to make my move;
i told you, i told you,
i never taught me the chess game.
the horses feel nice pressed to me palm,
the checkered board looks good,
but i don't know the rules.
"come out to play" the world rings.
play? play you say?
come watch me play
within me dream painted walls.
take me to the woods;
i'll be quiet, i won't need to talk
to converse with the fireflies.
drop me in the ocean;
i'll keep real still, i won't need to swim
to reach the shore; i won't need to die
to float over the sharks and the fishnets.
in the city let me loose,
screams will scratch me from within.
me fidgeting legs will run miles
among the concrete boxes,
through piles of undead, unheard, unloved.
i am bursting with emotions
that are not mine to keep.
one of me appears by the window:
"i can only hold a ciggy in my hands,babe;
don't give me your heart."
she is trying to be ironic i suppose.
i am sitting here among piles of papers,
staring at the words i've been switching
from one tongue to the other;
a ciggy in me left hand, a photo in the right.
it just dropped out of nowhere, the photo;
stuck itself on a file, made it's way
from the purple lake, fell on me lap.
she is trying to be ironic i suppose.
i am sitting here with a silly grin on me face;
a ciggy in me left hand, a photo in the right.
i dismiss her with a shake, she won't budge:
"eye to eye, heart to heart, it is true love."
if she weren't a child i would give her a beating;
twisting me words like that
become a writer she might as well.
i am bursting, i am bursting;
if i had a god i would be praying.
that are not mine to keep.
same story, different faces.
you keep telling me to make my move;
i told you, i told you,
i never taught me the chess game.
the horses feel nice pressed to me palm,
the checkered board looks good,
but i don't know the rules.
"come out to play" the world rings.
play? play you say?
come watch me play
within me dream painted walls.
take me to the woods;
i'll be quiet, i won't need to talk
to converse with the fireflies.
drop me in the ocean;
i'll keep real still, i won't need to swim
to reach the shore; i won't need to die
to float over the sharks and the fishnets.
in the city let me loose,
screams will scratch me from within.
me fidgeting legs will run miles
among the concrete boxes,
through piles of undead, unheard, unloved.
i am bursting with emotions
that are not mine to keep.
one of me appears by the window:
"i can only hold a ciggy in my hands,babe;
don't give me your heart."
she is trying to be ironic i suppose.
i am sitting here among piles of papers,
staring at the words i've been switching
from one tongue to the other;
a ciggy in me left hand, a photo in the right.
it just dropped out of nowhere, the photo;
stuck itself on a file, made it's way
from the purple lake, fell on me lap.
she is trying to be ironic i suppose.
i am sitting here with a silly grin on me face;
a ciggy in me left hand, a photo in the right.
i dismiss her with a shake, she won't budge:
"eye to eye, heart to heart, it is true love."
if she weren't a child i would give her a beating;
twisting me words like that
become a writer she might as well.
i am bursting, i am bursting;
if i had a god i would be praying.
2011-09-11
bedtime stories: a moaning groaning flab
I was almost 16 when I met her. I loved her curly hair right away. I thought it was ironic; she was a good girl, her hair was wild. Who would have thought her hair was only the tip of the iceberg? Her madness was big enough to cover the Atlantic. She liked to straighten her hair with flat irons; we would both get burned in front of the mirror in her tiny bathroom. I had gotten my hair cut real short a month after we met, so the flat irons were used only on her. She couldn't get the back done right, so I would squeeze in behind her to do it. She would never keep still, so we would both get burned. Sometimes she would burn me for the hell of it. She thought it was funny to hurt me. This was in the beginning; by the time my remaining days with her could be reported in two digit numbers I wouldn't even step in a crowded room she was in. It wasn't terror I felt when she looked into my eyes; I was just trying to spare a few breaths to get me home. She was cancer, and she had already metastasized through me; I wished to keep her away from my bones. I was 16.5, I wanted to get me home to hug mommy and daddy. I didn't succeed; I was a moaning groaning flab when she was done with me; and my family didn’t have enough arms to cover me totally.
She was mad; angry and crazy. She was cute; a pretty bag filled with dinosaur excrement fueled over centuries of extinction. Burn and freeze, burn and freeze, I did for months. Towards the end, my insides had fused. I was a moaning groaning flab rolling in the shadows of reality. She took one look at the pink of my skin and the bubbles of my laugh; she took one look and claimed them her bounty. She didn't bother to be sneaky with me; she made sure I heard the click of the safety before she assassinated my sweet elves of youth and joy. She didn't leave one standing. She got them all.
No, she didn't bother to be sneaky but she took her time. She would lure the soul-elves out of their hiding places with pecan pies and romantic comedies. She would pet their hair, and take them out for a drive. They would all sing along to country songs as we passed through towns with no traffic lights. The elves would get tired and she would lovingly tuck them in. Alarms would be going off, sirens would be blaring, and my eyes would rarely close when she was in the house. The elves wouldn't be able to sleep with all that noise and light. I would be wondering if she might be too tired to kill this time. The alarms would be going off and I would be waiting. It would be only a matter of moments now. The smell of excrement would fill my nose, and then the sound of her voice, “wakey wakey!” Her face would hover over mine for a second before she took another shot at me. One more elf would be down, and I would start cleaning up. I would be too tired to mourn yet another death of mine. I would be too relieved to grieve, for she wouldn't be crazed with hate for at least a couple of hours. Guilt liked to take hold of her after each attack. I prayed for her psychotic episodes as much as I dreaded them. She would cry herself to sleep afterwards, and I would rest for a bit knowing I had some time before she might come around again. The alarms would silence, and my muscles would relax a little. I would leave one tiny guard by my ears, and the rest of me would dive in a fresh grave to sleep. Yet before I closed my eyes, I would wish I just had it in me to rip myself apart, and join her on the other side. If only I could show her she wasn't alone, if only I could become her partner in crime, we would become the sisters-for-life she wished upon. She wouldn’t hold these hunting parties then; sisters don’t hunt each other down; if they attack, they attack on ancient battlegrounds.
I was a moaning groaning flab by the time she was done with me. Her poor mother was crying as we carried my bags to the car. I was feeling guilty for I couldn’t cry. This woman was the only reason I could still pass as a human being; this woman had guarded me as best as one could while one was dying a thousand deaths oneself. Guilt and gratitude tickled me. Manic laughter was trying to rush through my vocal folds. I was feeling something for the first time in a while now. Who would have thought there was still a sentient being hidden within all that flab? Her poor mother held the flesh which once was my face and said, “At least say bye to her.” I whispered, “You should say bye to her, too.” Her poor mother never would.
She was resting in the living room when it was time for me to leave. She was recovering from minor surgery, so she couldn't make any sudden movements. She was drugged up, I was assured, there were no risks of her verbal lashings either. I still wouldn't enter the room. I stood a couple of steps behind her poor mother, and coughed out a forceful "Bye." My own voice startled me. I didn't know the number of days I had whispered through. The manic laughter was threatening to burst out again. I still had a voice. I still had a voice. She hadn't been able to beat it all out of me. I moved a little to the right so she could see my eyes. “How are you?” I asked, "Are you in pain?" I took a step forward as she uttered, “Yes.” I said “I hope you feel better.” and she flinched, sensing I was done with her, and I wouldn't remain a moaning groaning flab for long. She was a true Christian, so when Lady Gaia breezed through the house and a magnificent crow landed on the kitchen counter foreboding my revival, she was petrified. Tears started rolling down her cheeks. Gaia's little messenger made a soft, gurgling sound after inspecting the flesh which once was my face; I think I was smiling, he flew away seeming pleased. I placed my hand on the tip of the iceberg one last time; I even kissed it to make sure the chill sank deep. She said “I love you so much.” I said “I am lucky you don’t love me more.”
She was mad; angry and crazy. She was cute; a pretty bag filled with dinosaur excrement fueled over centuries of extinction. Burn and freeze, burn and freeze, I did for months. Towards the end, my insides had fused. I was a moaning groaning flab rolling in the shadows of reality. She took one look at the pink of my skin and the bubbles of my laugh; she took one look and claimed them her bounty. She didn't bother to be sneaky with me; she made sure I heard the click of the safety before she assassinated my sweet elves of youth and joy. She didn't leave one standing. She got them all.
No, she didn't bother to be sneaky but she took her time. She would lure the soul-elves out of their hiding places with pecan pies and romantic comedies. She would pet their hair, and take them out for a drive. They would all sing along to country songs as we passed through towns with no traffic lights. The elves would get tired and she would lovingly tuck them in. Alarms would be going off, sirens would be blaring, and my eyes would rarely close when she was in the house. The elves wouldn't be able to sleep with all that noise and light. I would be wondering if she might be too tired to kill this time. The alarms would be going off and I would be waiting. It would be only a matter of moments now. The smell of excrement would fill my nose, and then the sound of her voice, “wakey wakey!” Her face would hover over mine for a second before she took another shot at me. One more elf would be down, and I would start cleaning up. I would be too tired to mourn yet another death of mine. I would be too relieved to grieve, for she wouldn't be crazed with hate for at least a couple of hours. Guilt liked to take hold of her after each attack. I prayed for her psychotic episodes as much as I dreaded them. She would cry herself to sleep afterwards, and I would rest for a bit knowing I had some time before she might come around again. The alarms would silence, and my muscles would relax a little. I would leave one tiny guard by my ears, and the rest of me would dive in a fresh grave to sleep. Yet before I closed my eyes, I would wish I just had it in me to rip myself apart, and join her on the other side. If only I could show her she wasn't alone, if only I could become her partner in crime, we would become the sisters-for-life she wished upon. She wouldn’t hold these hunting parties then; sisters don’t hunt each other down; if they attack, they attack on ancient battlegrounds.
I was a moaning groaning flab by the time she was done with me. Her poor mother was crying as we carried my bags to the car. I was feeling guilty for I couldn’t cry. This woman was the only reason I could still pass as a human being; this woman had guarded me as best as one could while one was dying a thousand deaths oneself. Guilt and gratitude tickled me. Manic laughter was trying to rush through my vocal folds. I was feeling something for the first time in a while now. Who would have thought there was still a sentient being hidden within all that flab? Her poor mother held the flesh which once was my face and said, “At least say bye to her.” I whispered, “You should say bye to her, too.” Her poor mother never would.
She was resting in the living room when it was time for me to leave. She was recovering from minor surgery, so she couldn't make any sudden movements. She was drugged up, I was assured, there were no risks of her verbal lashings either. I still wouldn't enter the room. I stood a couple of steps behind her poor mother, and coughed out a forceful "Bye." My own voice startled me. I didn't know the number of days I had whispered through. The manic laughter was threatening to burst out again. I still had a voice. I still had a voice. She hadn't been able to beat it all out of me. I moved a little to the right so she could see my eyes. “How are you?” I asked, "Are you in pain?" I took a step forward as she uttered, “Yes.” I said “I hope you feel better.” and she flinched, sensing I was done with her, and I wouldn't remain a moaning groaning flab for long. She was a true Christian, so when Lady Gaia breezed through the house and a magnificent crow landed on the kitchen counter foreboding my revival, she was petrified. Tears started rolling down her cheeks. Gaia's little messenger made a soft, gurgling sound after inspecting the flesh which once was my face; I think I was smiling, he flew away seeming pleased. I placed my hand on the tip of the iceberg one last time; I even kissed it to make sure the chill sank deep. She said “I love you so much.” I said “I am lucky you don’t love me more.”
2011-09-09
2011-09-07
bedtime stories: it is your fault that i left
(male narration)
i am coming
i got coffee and jack and pudding
i don't know which cigarettes
you smoke these days
i got five different packs
you didn't call me on my birthday
all day i waited for your song
are you not happy anymore that i was born
it is your fault that i left
i needed you to tie us together
tight and strong
seal us up down in your cellar
i wanted to rot with you
squirm in the dark
it is your fault that i left
i asked you to change me
change together we shall
if it's meant to be
was all you gave me
it wasn't hard to leave
i won't lie
the door was open
and i loved it
when she clawed her fingers
firm into my heart
she needed me
i yearned to be needed
you don't need anything though
you merely want
if things fall apart
you shrug your shoulders
and say life is shit
so be it
i am coming
tell me where you are
i have the chains ready in the trunk
i don't care if you want to fly
i'll make them into wings for you if i must
we'll be heavy but you can get us off the ground
it is your fault that i left
i needed you to beg me
i wanted to tell the boys
she just won't let me
but you left the door open
and waved me bye with a smile
you took me literally
or saw right through me
who cares but when i said
i don't have time
i wanted you to take it
you just stopped calling
you took me literally
or saw right through me
same difference
you made yourself scarce
did you want
to be needed
i know you were hurt
why wouldn't you
let me see it
all you had to do
was close the door
say there is no way out
i wanted to rot with you
squirm in the dark
you left it wide open
you said go ahead
i don't mind
you knew
how to love
silently
on your own
why didn't you
just
scream me
back home
it is your fault that i left
tell me where you are
i went miles without you
loved and ached and cried
it is you that i want
i shall be born with you
if you won't have us rot
i am coming
i got coffee and jack and pudding
i don't know which cigarettes
you smoke these days
i got five different packs
you didn't call me on my birthday
all day i waited for your song
are you not happy anymore that i was born
it is your fault that i left
i needed you to tie us together
tight and strong
seal us up down in your cellar
i wanted to rot with you
squirm in the dark
it is your fault that i left
i asked you to change me
change together we shall
if it's meant to be
was all you gave me
it wasn't hard to leave
i won't lie
the door was open
and i loved it
when she clawed her fingers
firm into my heart
she needed me
i yearned to be needed
you don't need anything though
you merely want
if things fall apart
you shrug your shoulders
and say life is shit
so be it
i am coming
tell me where you are
i have the chains ready in the trunk
i don't care if you want to fly
i'll make them into wings for you if i must
we'll be heavy but you can get us off the ground
it is your fault that i left
i needed you to beg me
i wanted to tell the boys
she just won't let me
but you left the door open
and waved me bye with a smile
you took me literally
or saw right through me
who cares but when i said
i don't have time
i wanted you to take it
you just stopped calling
you took me literally
or saw right through me
same difference
you made yourself scarce
did you want
to be needed
i know you were hurt
why wouldn't you
let me see it
all you had to do
was close the door
say there is no way out
i wanted to rot with you
squirm in the dark
you left it wide open
you said go ahead
i don't mind
you knew
how to love
silently
on your own
why didn't you
just
scream me
back home
it is your fault that i left
tell me where you are
i went miles without you
loved and ached and cried
it is you that i want
i shall be born with you
if you won't have us rot
. . . . . . . .
being self-involved does not call for a celebration
you feel lighter for all the times you exist for the sake of another
it is not so hard to figure out how to make someone happy
some people deserve to be happy just because they exist
you can tell those apart with a single glance of the eye
so you have to conceal yourself a little
so you have to pretend now and again
they deserve to be happy
you shall not burden them
but then again you start to feel superior
for choosing decency over absolute sincerity
as if your truth holds the power of crushing worlds
it doesn't
and nobody really cares
you are nothing special
it is just nice
to do something nice
for someone nice
you feel lighter for all the times you exist for the sake of another
it is not so hard to figure out how to make someone happy
some people deserve to be happy just because they exist
you can tell those apart with a single glance of the eye
so you have to conceal yourself a little
so you have to pretend now and again
they deserve to be happy
you shall not burden them
but then again you start to feel superior
for choosing decency over absolute sincerity
as if your truth holds the power of crushing worlds
it doesn't
and nobody really cares
you are nothing special
it is just nice
to do something nice
for someone nice
. . . . . . . .
i write in wine
the words reach their prime with time
i bottle the words up
cork them real tight
store most in the crypt
leave some out to breathe
their true smell true taste shall be mine
until then i just sit and watch them shine
(beware the times i unwittingly rhyme)
the words reach their prime with time
i bottle the words up
cork them real tight
store most in the crypt
leave some out to breathe
their true smell true taste shall be mine
until then i just sit and watch them shine
(beware the times i unwittingly rhyme)
2011-09-06
elliott smith sings from the grave, and i keep moving. lyrics normally confuse me while i work, but these days i don't seem to mind. i shut the drawers up, the closets are all locked in my mind. i am my compartments. everything is in its proper place. there is nothing out in the open to collect dust. the papers are in plastic sheets, the movies are in boxes, the books placed behind other books behind closed doors.
he sings for me, and i keep moving.
i woke up with two stab wounds to the heart, just as he died. the infamous trees tattooing themselves on me in dreamland are getting vicious. my skin is not enough anymore, they want to enter me. i don't mind. i don't mind anything these days. i can listen to mother's never ending demands; quit smoking, stop drinking, get help, get a diploma, get a job, get married, get pregnant. her line of thought doesn't make sense to me. i don't mind. being on the move is all i care about. i can listen without getting annoyed. father is getting comfortable with me:
"where is that watch i bought you 6 years ago?"
"it is lost."
"where did you lose it?"
"that info is lost, too."
"you are keen to lose things. your stuff, your years, yourself."
there was a time, when we wouldn't look each other in the eye. now i do as i am told when he asks for my hand while he drives. he holds it, and kisses it. i sing along to the old turkish songs that touch my spinal cord. he sings with me, he smiles. he knows he is lucky i am keen to lose things; i have lost my anger, too; i have lost my high horse.
elliott sings. his voice breaks you after the third hour, his sorrow crushes you. and i keep working, broken and crushed. i don't mind. nobody can tell anyway. everything is in its proper place. if the trees could stab it this morning it means my heart is back in my chest.
he sings for me, and i keep moving.
i woke up with two stab wounds to the heart, just as he died. the infamous trees tattooing themselves on me in dreamland are getting vicious. my skin is not enough anymore, they want to enter me. i don't mind. i don't mind anything these days. i can listen to mother's never ending demands; quit smoking, stop drinking, get help, get a diploma, get a job, get married, get pregnant. her line of thought doesn't make sense to me. i don't mind. being on the move is all i care about. i can listen without getting annoyed. father is getting comfortable with me:
"where is that watch i bought you 6 years ago?"
"it is lost."
"where did you lose it?"
"that info is lost, too."
"you are keen to lose things. your stuff, your years, yourself."
there was a time, when we wouldn't look each other in the eye. now i do as i am told when he asks for my hand while he drives. he holds it, and kisses it. i sing along to the old turkish songs that touch my spinal cord. he sings with me, he smiles. he knows he is lucky i am keen to lose things; i have lost my anger, too; i have lost my high horse.
elliott sings. his voice breaks you after the third hour, his sorrow crushes you. and i keep working, broken and crushed. i don't mind. nobody can tell anyway. everything is in its proper place. if the trees could stab it this morning it means my heart is back in my chest.
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