it was a late gloom the kind that breathes on you, holds you, a sweet dry caress on your lips. not in sunlight but in the drab sullen drapery of fallen clouds. enough humidity to bring you down; floored. profound revelations, salty sea water cheeks. that innate pain lingering in your eyes. in and out of a coma - in and out of partnership and a slightly cohesive existence. stories told and bonds grown, you reached out your hand in need and i grasped it tightly.
i hope you still love me despite all my obscurities.
i sought love not from another but from the depths within myself. to imagine and acknowledge that we are deep wells full of love. to know all these years i’ve given it away freely to others but never myself. deprivity. there are no words. a state of being? a mental disease? i decided to change.
i think about sex all day long, i could learn to love myself, then i sent him a mostly naked picture. if only other things came so natural.
here in this dim room, black moon a legacy of departure. all light is sobering and the darkness so void, i am being told to choose one or the other, i am listening to the signs, and the peoples mouths as they move in jaw clammoring annoyance. nothing is sacred. regrets are gone, the window is open, fresh air comes in and i can smell wet cement and soil, and curled up naked i wonder what comes next.
hate and love
uranium decays to lead. i see this life, vanity, fossils, excavation of our hearts. here i go: reading Rimbaud; not fashionable by any means, wallowing in this eternal suffering that ceaselessly strangles me. why cant i be with the ones i love.
if only the sun shone for longer. if only black wasnt the only color that interested me. speaking endlessly, i co-exist but have never felt united. where is that sense of home, where is my family, this dull knife of heartbreak blinds me from any sense of adaptation. so dark, they all say, at least i know what it means to feel, and in that i know i am not alone.
we are all slender beasts, loose rhinestone faceless ghosts. i shimmer and fall, i am not of this world and therefore i exist in realms hidden from this external plane. i aspire to be a whore but have not learned the skills of deception and seduction. there is a trade and tact behind manipulations, some have it, i want to be used and lead astray.
now i go on to face this emptiness. just close your eyes. this world is so beautiful that it hurts to breath, it hurts to live. this is how i approach each forthcoming day/ year, in silence and awe. such a short flash of time, i live to see us transmute. i live for revolution.
we were born as twins there is no such thing as coincidence.
the days of love and light are over, i am so composed and incandescent. sing this:: hologram children beating hearts in conjunction strapped down fucked in a distant melody, ruckus and raw. your fleeting beauty is now so ugly, faceless, lost at sea.
fuck. love and break slowly each portion of your heart until nothing is left. sacrifice everything: those days are gone, cruel and opulent you feel it now. i feel it too.
solitary divination comes to me; the sun rules my heart golden and divine lessons learned but the pain is not forgotten. it lingers still (stale and drowning) i beg you
we are alive only once. shelter this love.
pain in perpetual use, this is consequence that filters through me like sex and liquid morphine. i am starving; impoverished. taken.
(appropriate) in a time were nothing is new. (everything is new).
i used to care about things: originality, subject matter, citing sources. now i observe, take notes, breathe deeply in functional analysis, interpretation of human culture. create a flow chart, history to present, the roots of all things valid, learn/ worship antiquity. pagan gods, earth matter::the essential knowledge that moves through us flawlessly. the infinite power of humanity whether we live or retreat to atoms and force fields, the essence; an indestructible force.
that force is love. DUALITY. that force is hate. our souls are the universe, we die each time only to get closer to answers. we chose our bodies our families our stories. each a new lesson to learn. i have had hard nights but this one is especially bad, try to concentrate but the light is so hard to ignore.
the undying mist laying prints in the mud, the birds tracks resemble delicate constellations. ancient land- it breathes its distinct rustle through the trees. its a sweet melody; death and life of the analogous leaves on seasonal life support.
the script of winter perverts the naked trees baring their souls on the precipice of renaissance.
lets begin this lesson with a whisper, its a silent movie, close your eyes and rest your head against an old oak tree.
the man with the broken cds hanging from his front tree. there was a rumor he had poisoned the neighborhood cats, walking to school we’d always cross the street as to not walk directly in front. the boys and i, 4 of us on a baseball team that i coaxed my parents into letting me join. in stubborn refusal to play soft ball with the girls.
sliding down hills of ice plant on cardboard sleds. finding glitter and plastic sew on gems in the sand box. angry even as a child- being on time-out meant to stand facing the wall during recess. this was for punching the the red haired boy in the face, Seamus perry, that was his name.
the eucalyptus trees kept metamorphosing as we grew. a basic intrinsic understanding of the land. The way the bark peels off revealing the soft pastel innards in multiple color tones. the day we all got naked and jumped into the estuary, the beautiful word for salt and fresh water colliding. the murky water home to egrets and red winged black birds, tadpoles and rusty abandoned boats. everything seemed bigger, more hidden, secret and imaginary. the little crawl spaces between the gnarled oak trees, the lizards, and later the Indian spirits we would see on acid as a ritual loss of youth.
the summer camp that taught how to identify all the endemic plant species, and the teacher that nicknamed me “trouble” in my last year of elementary. you change from a number to a teen, thirteen to tip toe behind twelve; a sneaky rebellion. a mistake in language that dictated transformation, a purposeful insignia slapped across your face for all the world to see innocent adolescence lost.
girls mature rapidly, pierced belly buttons and cigarettes, thigh high socks and lies. the endless maneuvers, secret meeting places and your best friends older brother. you learn how to lie, to trick, to manipulate in order to survive. everything was fine, just don’t get caught but, i did.
none of us owned a pager but we knew kids who did, they were the real depraved ones who’s mothers leathery skin moved awkwardly almost fluid like water in a storm. parents who smoked crack, bought us all cigarettes and made their kids sell pot to pay the rent. underlining all of natures perfection, all the dead Indian spirits, there was a sense of genuine evil. it was so powerful that we lusted and would go to great lengths to worship its darkness. none of us knew that what was happening, that we’d be haunted forever by these days.
at 32 i returned to find most never left, perhaps its the beauty, perhaps the darkness. people had aged, grown heavier ugly, a rotten sickness had taken hold of the community. they were fiends with sores on their skin and marks on their arms its a tight strangle hold. i averted my eyes to hide the tears, i smothered my face into the pillows as to not be found out. i craved for the high too- i was one of them. we all carry the same burden, the same delicate past. the monarch butterflies, the sage brush, Fields of radiant orange poppies, lovers and friends some stardust some on the brink, i am out to sea in a submarine built for two yet containing only me.