This Is Not For You

"... This much I'm certain of:

it doesn't happen immediately. You'll finish and that will be that, until a moment will come, maybe in a month, maybe a year, maybe even several years. You'll be sick or feeling troubled or deeply in love or quietly uncertain or even content for the first time in your life. It won't matter. Out of the blue, beyond any cause you can trace, you'll suddenly realize things are not how you perceived them to be at all. For some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were. You'll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you, more importantly shifts in you. Worse, you'll realize it's always been shifting, like a shimmer of sorts, a vast shimmer, only dark like a room, But you won't understand why or how. You'll have forgotten what granted you this awareness in the first place.

Old shelters-television, magazines, movies-won't protect you anymore. You might try scribbling in a journal, on a napkin, maybe even in the margins of this book. That's when you'll discover you no longer trust the very walls you took for granted. Even the hallways you've walked a hundred times will feel longer, much longer, and the shadows, any shadow at all, will suddenly seem deeper, much, much deeper.
You might try then, as I did, to find a sky so full of stars it will blind you again. Only no sky can blind you now. Even with all that iridescent magic up there, your eye will no longer trace constellations. You'll care only about the darkness and you'll watch it for hours, for days, maybe even for years, trying in vain to believe you're some kind of indispensable, universe-appointed sentinel, as if just by looking you could actually keep it all at bay. It will get so bad you'll be afraid to look away, you'll be afraid to sleep.
Then no matter where you are, in a crowded restaurant or on some desolate street or even in the comforts of your own home, you'll watch yourself dismantle every assurance you ever lived by. You'll stand aside as a great complexity intrudes, tearing apart, piece by piece, all of your carefully conceived denials, whether deliberate or unconscious. And then for better or worse you'll turn, unable to resist, though try and resist you still will, fighting with everything you've got not to face the thing you most dread, what is now, what will be, what has always come before, the creature you truly are, the creature we all are, buried in the nameless black of a name.

And then the nightmares will begin..."
letters always get burned

It was four months ago to the day today that we ran...

I remember every detail.
Except the moments that were so extreme they clipped and blacked out, leaving holes in the plot of how I got from here to there.

I remember the ice in your glass and in the one you made me drink too. I say made because no one gets me to drink whiskey. Not in 10 years. But you did. I don’t remember you even trying very hard. I had to creep back in to refill them.

I remember lowering each ice cube in slowly. I sat back down and drank it. I cried when you told me about being 8 years old and invisible. Time was running out. Decide. You were drunk and I didn’t believe you.

You went in to pee and I got an email on behalf of all the dead people I knew. I didn’t show you when you came back and I don’t really know why. It wasn’t time. Time’s up. Decide. You did it anyway.

You almost got stuck. Rather, I almost got you stuck going back to say my goodbyes. You can't leave when I leave, that's for sure.

I waited in the shadows in a parking lot. I loaded the bed of the truck like it was a train I was hopping. Or a hitch from a stranger.

You were never a stranger.
Not for a moment.

I forget how the sun came up without my knowing. That’s where it’s blurry. Get out and watch? Someone will see. NO one will see at 7am. A cigarette? But I’d gone without for a whole year. I’d been surrounded for weeks on end, blowing on me from all directions, living in a constant fog of the stuff. But you only had to ask once. I don’t remember this part.

Why did you ask me that?
Why would you suggest such a thing? I can’t hear people very well as it is and traffic was beginning to pick up on that main road we are now parked off of.
I have to stare to HEAR.
I wasn’t staring! I am now.

How did I get over here though? I was sitting over there. You didn’t touch me. Why was I testing you? You still won’t. I’m so close to you now. Too close. I stay. I don’t remember why. It was just a test. You passed.

Why did we leave? "Take this." Now I start talking and don’t stop. Now you know everything. Where are we? Haven’t I been paying attention? Were you still drunk?

Back outside. I go back for my suitcase to get a jacket. Found a ticket stub from 7 months ago in the pocket. I want to swing on the swings. To hell with the children. I don’t care. I like the sun but you want the shade. This spot will work. Can’t stop talking. Now you know more. I don’t want to leave. We should leave. The children make you uncomfortable. I didn’t notice. I didn’t notice anything. Just you understanding.

So thirsty. Stop for water? We look like Hell and we know it. No one knows us here. Do I have to go to the airport now? I don’t really. Not really. Do you want to wait? I mean do you really want to? Don’t you want to sleep? Time’s up. Decide.

Back to the tailgate. I back up against the cab though. You’re over there and I don’t mind yet. You were still whatever you were. Whatever you’d been. Every moment except that one earlier that is blurry. I don’t need you yet. But I really don’t want to go and I don’t know why. More water?

Here we go again. Yes, us again. I don’t care if they laugh. I hope they do. No I don’t need to eat. I’ll eat on the plane. No it’s fine. Stop. I wont take your money.

This is the best part. This is where you’re so crazy it’s beautiful. "Take the 20 or I’ll throw it out of this window." Decide. I wont move. Time is running out. Are we already here? Is it already time? Why am I afraid to go?

Time. Is. Out.

This hug is so strange now. This reluctance introduced. What happened to cool? I don’t remember if I looked back. Yes I do. I did. You waved. I was floating. Until I stopped and sat and waited. Then the sinking started.

Too early and for no good reason. “I threw the 20 out of the window.” “Don’t lie to me.” You’re insane. You’re no worse than me. You ARE me. And now I don’t know where you end and I begin. And now I don’t know what’s happening. “I think you’re crazy. Maybe.” I’m sinking through the floor. I sleep so hard on the plane I don’t even want to eat.

Meanwhile you feel weak. I feel sick. You don’t know how you feel. You feel something. Do I feel it too? I can’t. I’m not allowed. You keep sending music. Why are you doing this? I send the ball back swiftly. Tailspin. Whirlwind. I have to sleep.

You hate it when I sleep.

You used to anyway. You’d throw tantrums.

Now you’ve just thrown me.

(no subject)

you were here
and you were perfect
and your hair fell into your eyes
and all your words fell like arrows
that stuck everywhere in me
but your hands were silk
and they covered me like blankets
and your heart melted into mine
and when i breathed you breathed
but when you slept i wondered
what kind of things you saw
running past your perfect eyes
and where you would go next
and how i'd manage to follow you
and if i'd ever tire of hearing your stories
or how the ones involving me might sound
and if we'll really make it
to all the places that we promise to
and when you'll be here again
and how i'll breathe until then

Not Too Late

The first time he'd said, "no," was when she asked if he was the Quiet One of the band she'd just been introduced to as "the boys who'll be hanging around the apartment for the next week." From that moment, they spent not another apart until his airplane snatched him up and over that useless ocean five days later, and over all the last 1335 days --excepting a most magical 5-day rendezvous every two years or so-- not a moment together since, until now. And here he stood, in the flesh, not a foot away from her, hand in hand like a bride and groom awaiting the "you may now..." but as she leaned in for it, instead of kissing her, he said the word again. "No." She thought perhaps this was like many of their other sentimental private jokes, a seemingly inappropriate reference to a fond memory meaningless to any onlooker, like the way he would sometimes sign off his infrequent messages with "turkey, swiss, lettuce, mayo", referencing a sandwich order she'd placed that day they met that he had never forgotten, along with the peculiar number of times a day she likes to brush her teeth or the preferred temperature of her bathwater, that over all of those years kept barely in contact only by occasional poorly-timed and costly international phone calls and messages carried by mutual friends that despite their scarcity left no doubt in her mind that he loved her. It was the random B-Side track from his favorite album that would somehow miraculously be playing in a bar each of the few times they could reunite that they would get up and slow dance to, the way she never minded and even secretly adored when he'd drink himself too silly, the way he would look at her at some point in the night like there was no one and nothing else in the room, the asides his mates would make in private about the "difference" they'd seen in him, that all caused her to believe that this was not only real, but meant to be. It was this belief that had blinded her. With all the anticipating she'd done, tying up all the loose ends in the life she'd comfortably lived and packing it all up to finally relocate to The Motherland, she hadn't anticipated this. "No." He released one of her hands, keeping the other, and they drunkenly stumbled down the cobblestone to a bed they'd wake up on either side of in the morning.

...however far away
however long i stay

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.


Safety in Silence

I'm presuming that the lack of response means the coast is clear. Can I re-learn to let my thoughts flow uninterrupted? Likely not. And as always, the words that do come to mind are never my own:

a married man
he visits me
i receive his letters in the mail
twice a week

and i think he loves me
and when he leaves her
he's comin out to California[/America]

Stuck in my head.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.


Dear Ex-Wife,


I know we haven't spoken since that thing I said that time.
And I'm sorry that I said it.
But I don't want to talk about that.
I don't even want to talk.

I want to drive up to your house,
honk the horn,
you come get in the car.

We won't talk,
we won't even look at each other.

We'll take a few cigarettes each
-your favorite, not mine-
and roll the windows down,
and drive.

Drive around this town
and let the cops chase us around
(as usual)
and when we've made it all the way around,
we'll come back.

And I'll stop the car.
And if we want to say something,
we can say it then.
If not,
we can bury this.

See you tomorrow.

What Might Have Been Lost Don't Bother Me

As was tradition for most of the past 7 years, a reflective glimpse of the past year in posts will follow. However, this year, it is clear how unimportant this old habit of mine became, as there are many months for which I don't have any entries at all. Anyway. Here goes:


Anyone who knows me well or for any lengthy time, knows how up and down and round and round I've gone with this whole damn college shit.


I love when I've almost reached the end of the week's Sunday Secrets and find one that happens to also be mine for the day.


I Guess It's Spring; I Didn't Know's always 75 with no falling snow.
A married man, he visits me.
I receive his letters in the mail twice a week.
And I think he loves me, and when he leaves her,
he's coming out to California.


Here I bring the finished score: "Don Juan, Triumphant"!
I advise you to comply; my instructions should be clear.
Remember, there are worse things than a shattered chandelier ...


did you see him when i was away?
i'd have phoned but you would have spoiled the truth




I am flawed if I'm not free.
And your husband will never leave you.
No he will never leave you for me.




Throat Dry.
Brain is empty.
Don't know why.


Right Now. For The Moment.
Right where we left off.





...I'm almost apathetically amused.