Monday, April 23, 2012

Birthday Reflection

Birthday Reflection

Woman, why don't we dissipate into the cosmic light or resurrect ourselves from this lowly death and give life to our veins because that is the jolt. (jolt?) jolt! I receive from the mere brush of the hem of your shirt against my naked arm (tingle tingle) chicken skins and goosebumps and flying high because, Woman, despite the archives of my mind, I am here forever, eternal, with my past to the daemons and my future to the gods but my present to you, Mama, and I'm Ready to Love.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Dead By Twenty-Seven

Dead by twenty-seven was the the goal I had set as she (platonic, in both ways) told me that I'd been drinking too much, smoking too much, fucking around (but not in those words)...too...much. I said that I preferred burning brightly then fizzling into the lost entrails of mimetic archaeology, meaningless and disappeared, no longer a burden. She said nothing but she stayed (which is all that she could do); little did she know I was teetering on the brink of insanity, an abyss I finally fell into, a powerful blip in my own archaeology.

It is one week before my twenty-seventh birthday. I've been beaten and bruised, scarred and weakened....Yet! As the driver was not looking and the car jolted forward, I--the foot soldier--jumped to avoid it. Dead by twenty-seven was the goal I had set and yet (and yet and yet) I'm still standing, GODDAMMIT, and I want to live.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Falling Out of Love

Falling out of love can be as satisfying as falling into it. Losing love--that is painful.  But falling out...yes...yes...very pleasurable. But nothing beats falling out of love and into love at the same time. Yes. That is the best. Such is the interplay between the past and the present, nostalgia and newness. So fall out of love and into love and remember that without the losing of love you could do neither one.

Friday, April 6, 2012

A Sonata

A Sonata

Sometimes, when the window is open, I close my eyes and pretend the urban cars (as they whiz by...zoom...zoom) are waves that I hear as I sleep in the sand while a cool breeze blows against my naked chest because (and for no other reason than) that is the sound that I saw in your eyes so long ago. It reminds me that Love (whatever that is) once existed.

The first movement of a sonata is fast and exciting, but will leave you unfulfilled. Then the second movement is harrowing....slow and depressing...when the audience becomes disdainful and violent because they are filled with Hate--death, sickness, and heartbreak--and you beckon, Please, Please, let me return to the first movement, when my soul rested in her beach eyes. Hell is a never-ending second movement, where Love's variation is only melancholy, misanthropy, despair.

The reason the first movement leaves you unfulfilled is because this theme (Love) is delusional without the second variation! Hence the triumphant return of this theme, with a resolved variation that (for those who did not kill themselves during that devil middle) feels whole, complete, forgiven. It is only at the end of the third and final movement that those still-breathing individuals understand and appreciate the second movement so they stand to cheer and applaud, screaming, My Soul Rests, My Soul Rests, and the sight of the sound of ocean waves in your eyes becomes a fading memory against the sight of the sound of ocean waves that I experience presently as the orchestra hits its destined note. Finale.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

I Write About Dissatisfaction

I write about dissatisfaction. So what is there to write when your eyes (eyes eyes) keep me satisfied for hours. I write about anger. So what is there to write when your smile (smile smile) shines through the darkness. I write about loneliness. So what is there to write when your words (words words) give me companionship. I write about tension. So what is there to write when you (you you) calm me. I write about tragedy. So what is there to write when your presence (presence presence) makes me hopeful. I write about hatred. So what is there to say when your soul (soul soul) only loves. That is when I write about joy.