Tuesday, June 03, 2003

enlightened.

i think i've figured it out.

love exists. that much is true.

it just isn't recipricol.

Saturday, March 01, 2003

tunnel.

someone asked my what i do staying up so late at night (it's 4:22 AM now). i told them that i do schoolwork and write, but you know what the dark secret is lately? i play cards.

sometimes it feels like i'm in a tunnel. at first, i was going to say that the tunnel's dark, but it really isn't. it's more dim. like a really really dark orange. it curves all around me and it's like there's a cloud in my eyes. all i can see is the slope of the tunnel. it loops over my head and under my feet and extends in both directions as far as i can see.

and i have this feeling in my gut that i can't get out either way. it probably just loops around on itself and there's no way out.

i usually find myself there on the occasional night. when it feels like the people i want are miles away and they don't know and/or care about how much i want them. i reach out but they're not there. i drive as fast as i can down the highway and i'm still there.

so i play solitaire. for hours and hours through the night. it's the only thing there is to do and sometimes it helps to kill the feeling of being trapped. but i keep playing game after game after game and my bones get stiff and my muscles get numb. then everything i see makes me think of cards. i see someone on TV and wonder if i can put a black ten on him. seriously. that's not a metaphor. it's what i think. i almost never lose at free cell anymore. i'm not even convinced that difficult spider solitaire is possible to beat more than once in a week. i'm too good at something completely useless.

because i don't want to think about what else i would be doing without solitaire. i just don't want to think about it.

over a year ago when i felt really alone, i listened to this at the drive-in song over and over and over again. it's playing again now. They will eat their young.

Monday, February 03, 2003

requiem on the day of the columbia crash.

On february first,
i woke up and saw a
picture of a girl in
a striped green shirt
with her tongue stuck out
on my dresser.

Ate a slice of homemade pizza
with half melted montery jack cheese
and olives
and chugged gas to the thrift store
where i shovel dust.

I hung up faded jeans
and saw a red plaid skirt
that could burn out your eyes
if it had the right curves to hug
and watched a man in an
egg spattered shirt
talk about the columbia crash.

Seven loved bodies dissolved to
foam
and drifted to earth over texas
like a rainshower you see
over distant mountains.

Saw a widow try her best not
to crack with a mic
shoved up her nose
and turned away.

Thought i saw a striped shirt in the aisle.

Drove home and hummed a line
from Rites of Spring, but didn't breathe
the lyrics.

that night, i trembled in
a chair over a pile of
boring photos, across
the table
her shirt wasn't green.

40 miles above the earth,
sipping on pina colada and
smirking at saturday night live and
i crashed.

"We're too different."

Sunday, January 26, 2003

hey, dad?

First day
of the return to
block halls and fold up
desktops and the
old man with mustachioed
tweed jacked looks at
my lips and asks,
"Is there a God?"
I wanted to scream,
"YES! There is a god!"
But it's just a pitiful reflection
of your AIDS infected
father ho cuddles in
your old chartreuse blanky
and suck son soapy thumbs
and pinkie tips,
cast on a pool of gasoline
spilled on a car shop
floor. His glasses crack and
drip with sugary
tears down oatmeal cheeks
as the pool spreads out across
the garage and forms random
clouds and continents and
psychedelic blue and pink cartoon cats from
5-year old Saturday mornings,
back when I believed my sister's shoe was a
video game controller and
I could move ninja turtles across the screen.
His gray skin lines expand and dissolve
into poisonous fumes that make
you giggle when the
air gets recycled up
dental office gas masks.
You turned around and
the body you thought
would always be there
faded into the shelves
of spent oil and metal
shavings.

But instead, I spun
my pen,

lowered my eyes to the teacher's chin
and mumbled,

"Why are you asking me?
I don't know."

Thursday, January 23, 2003

After hours.

"i don't want to drink coffee. i dont like being kept up when i'm alone at night."

wow. yeah.

sleep is the problem. the temperature feels wrong. it's a few degrees below where it's supposed to be. there's a missing presence and every time i get close to following asleep, it makes itself apparent. it kicks me in the gut and i cough and sit up and swallow mucous. it's not that i'm alone, though. there are people around like always.

it's that the person i need isn't here.

cut out the caffeine, read, drink something warm, and i'll pull through to the morning.

i wish i were better at working and being productive when i feel lonely.

Tuesday, January 21, 2003

love.

wanting to give your everything to someone but them not wanting that everything

and feeling bad even though you have no right to feel that way

and taking the drippy path under the overpass and trying to dissolve the random dashes of rain with memories of warm nights under afghans and electric blankets

and accepting it... because love is more than the clutch of a warm hand, it's more than the need to press your cheek against someone else, it's more than the warm roll of corona-lime breath, it's more than knowing you'll get a smile and arpeggios of laughter every time you breathe down their neck.

as wonderful as that is, there's something else that none of that captures. tonight, my brain can't vocalize it; but i feel it. it's there and it bounces around my nose every time i stutter when i try to say it to myself.

i just want everyone i care about to be happy and to be passionate about the things they do. i want them to wake up in the morning and think,

"Yes."

my hands chatter like my fluoride sented teeth, but sometimes you have to not be selfish.

Wednesday, January 15, 2003

living.

or a brief second tonight, i seriously contemplated what it would be like if i did something really horrible.

the thought went away, but it scares me that i thought about it. i don't think i've thought that way since... 8th grade i think.

and now there really isn't anyone i can tell about it. no one fucking gets it.

"your life is perfect! you're not supposed to be sad! go away!"

"you're such a drag. go away."

"ohhhh.. i'm so sorrrryyyy. sniff! sniff! ...go away."

what the fuck ever. i'm me and that's all that matters. every other body can just shrivel up into a pile of dust and i'll keep living

and living

and living

and living.

It NEVER has to be good enough for anyone else.

it's just that sometimes i wish at least one other person had faith.