to p:
i'm sorry i yelled so loud at you and made you leave. i could tell you why but it doesn't matter now. all i want you to know is how i saw that you loved her with such ferocity, protectiveness, creativity, kindness, and that i want you to never stop.
--bigmouth.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
24 Hours to Go
...till i'm at the airport.
i'm thinking of "The Bells" by Poe, how there are so many differing kinds of bells in his poem. Its face value is an isolated observation of madness, but humans rely so much on bells--culturally and so forth.
sunday church bells, wedding bells, funereal, Liberty Bells with cracks in them that still can ring, forget your perfect offering...
if i could strike some bells they'd resound like echoes of brass water. i would say the goodbye that is noble; not the one that pleases someone else. noble, to myself that is.
i've cheated myself out of a life for so long, and it all made perfect sense. spiritual impoverishment is a daily study, such as is a regimen of exercise. you wear yourself down, you give them a reason to agree with what a failure you've become...you stop being able to understand and trust your instincts because when a shake-up comes....when your logic is compromised, it is imperative to find balance, if it takes you your whole life.
i can't blame her, even if i should. it's not about blame, but rather simply looking ahead.
i've begun to feel more solid, as though crying (as i'm doing a bit of) will not melt me, but is not the only way to cleanse me either. during the numbness periods i welcomed a single stupid tear that squeezed its way out. it's the bleeding of the soul, i think.
i've thought of tattoos i want to get in the near future...i've thought about how listening is more important than talking right now. i really want this. to succeed like i never had before. school was a given b/c of my upbringing, and i was lucky to have a decent education. but i never had the trust in anyone or anything...it was always thin ice, that powerful people could see, and were pretty much invited to chisel away at as they pleased.
the worst pain in my life has come from women. i plan to reach out now, find my role, head off any need for attack. debate is healthy, even though it's not my thing...competition is natural, but i prefer to set my own standards. my head's screwed on ok, for a change.
i've never been this patient before, really...other than when i had no choice, when i couldn't move and was attached to tubes. strangely though, the doc said i healed faster than they thought i would, and sent me home. and that's where the sickness found me once again.
it's hard saying goodbye to my birds. i just trust i'll see them along the way, doing bird things and squawking and everything. they know me the best, i guess.
one little demoness keeps popping up, and that's the demoness of the term, "self-mythologizing." i believe you have to do what you must to have self-esteem, to travel to the beat of your own drum and a bunch of other cliches. it's hard when you're naturally prone to dark sarcasm, and especially when you turn that in upon yourself...its effects can be disatrous. there is a difference between narcissistic personality disorder and self-mythologizing. reading about greek goddesses and female artists, visionaries, leaders...and looking for that connection from within yourself to their stories, that's good work for everybody.
looking to overturn the dominant ideologies and challenging people to think...that's good work. i guess if you have to come home from work or school everyday and transform from Athena back into a comfy little shlub, then yeah. thats what myths are for.
sometimes when i look into a talented person's face i can see an archetype there, for a Calliope...and i think, "i'm lucky to know a little bit about her, this Calliope." i know i'm using heavy-duty greek shit, but it was my earliest memories of bedtime stories, the D'Aulaires. i wonder how many copies of that i recommended to a customer.
myths and fables are what we were given by our ancestors to work with, whether they be the werewolves, or the mermaids, or the naiads, or the vampires...big cash crop for myths. some argue that religion and mythology are deeply connected. i don't give a shit at this point. it is 5am and i am gassy from a cheesesteak.
not all freaks can get along.
i'm thinking of "The Bells" by Poe, how there are so many differing kinds of bells in his poem. Its face value is an isolated observation of madness, but humans rely so much on bells--culturally and so forth.
sunday church bells, wedding bells, funereal, Liberty Bells with cracks in them that still can ring, forget your perfect offering...
if i could strike some bells they'd resound like echoes of brass water. i would say the goodbye that is noble; not the one that pleases someone else. noble, to myself that is.
i've cheated myself out of a life for so long, and it all made perfect sense. spiritual impoverishment is a daily study, such as is a regimen of exercise. you wear yourself down, you give them a reason to agree with what a failure you've become...you stop being able to understand and trust your instincts because when a shake-up comes....when your logic is compromised, it is imperative to find balance, if it takes you your whole life.
i can't blame her, even if i should. it's not about blame, but rather simply looking ahead.
i've begun to feel more solid, as though crying (as i'm doing a bit of) will not melt me, but is not the only way to cleanse me either. during the numbness periods i welcomed a single stupid tear that squeezed its way out. it's the bleeding of the soul, i think.
i've thought of tattoos i want to get in the near future...i've thought about how listening is more important than talking right now. i really want this. to succeed like i never had before. school was a given b/c of my upbringing, and i was lucky to have a decent education. but i never had the trust in anyone or anything...it was always thin ice, that powerful people could see, and were pretty much invited to chisel away at as they pleased.
the worst pain in my life has come from women. i plan to reach out now, find my role, head off any need for attack. debate is healthy, even though it's not my thing...competition is natural, but i prefer to set my own standards. my head's screwed on ok, for a change.
i've never been this patient before, really...other than when i had no choice, when i couldn't move and was attached to tubes. strangely though, the doc said i healed faster than they thought i would, and sent me home. and that's where the sickness found me once again.
it's hard saying goodbye to my birds. i just trust i'll see them along the way, doing bird things and squawking and everything. they know me the best, i guess.
one little demoness keeps popping up, and that's the demoness of the term, "self-mythologizing." i believe you have to do what you must to have self-esteem, to travel to the beat of your own drum and a bunch of other cliches. it's hard when you're naturally prone to dark sarcasm, and especially when you turn that in upon yourself...its effects can be disatrous. there is a difference between narcissistic personality disorder and self-mythologizing. reading about greek goddesses and female artists, visionaries, leaders...and looking for that connection from within yourself to their stories, that's good work for everybody.
looking to overturn the dominant ideologies and challenging people to think...that's good work. i guess if you have to come home from work or school everyday and transform from Athena back into a comfy little shlub, then yeah. thats what myths are for.
sometimes when i look into a talented person's face i can see an archetype there, for a Calliope...and i think, "i'm lucky to know a little bit about her, this Calliope." i know i'm using heavy-duty greek shit, but it was my earliest memories of bedtime stories, the D'Aulaires. i wonder how many copies of that i recommended to a customer.
myths and fables are what we were given by our ancestors to work with, whether they be the werewolves, or the mermaids, or the naiads, or the vampires...big cash crop for myths. some argue that religion and mythology are deeply connected. i don't give a shit at this point. it is 5am and i am gassy from a cheesesteak.
not all freaks can get along.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
new sprouts where the corpse faded
what was i looking for when i came back to philadelphia? the suburbs?
i had too much pride to ask for help out west after the real danger looked me in the face, during broad daylight. the police officers stating that i had no "visible bruises" got the ball rolling on my rube goldberg machine of purposeful self-destruction.
i brought buddhism home with me, it faded fast.
i brought the violence and the smashing of glass home with me. it got me a year's probation.
what if i had stayed? why did i come back here? what was i looking for, anyway?
i was looking for suicide. and suicide found me. followed me around, even after i got out of the icu. my constant companion was my open grave--to party with, to find false hope with, to make unfulfilling relationships with, to hang out in cemetaries with, to commemorate my "last days" as an artist and human being. all i had to do was jump inside and wait.
so i waited. i requiem'ed myself, i thought about necrophilia and reincarnation and fire.
and then came the 4 weddings and a funeral. well, technically 2 funerals, but i don't think i should've gone to that first one. you know what i mean?
i talked about my friends as if they were right here in front of me, while they were going on with their lives. no amount of computer-self-expression would bring them to me, nor would it bring me the courage to return to them with my tail in between my legs, feeling like a burden.
i think i must know what love is now, finally, at this age. not everyone wants it, and not everyone wants what i have to give. but i believe i will become stronger, wiser, useful, maybe even necessary. i believe my training was and is not limited to college, and, while more structured, will be an adventure and a blessing in turn. life taught me well...and i only hope that the practical lessons become a little less lonely, and (respectfully) a source of growth and prosperity for me and those in my circle.
i had too much pride to ask for help out west after the real danger looked me in the face, during broad daylight. the police officers stating that i had no "visible bruises" got the ball rolling on my rube goldberg machine of purposeful self-destruction.
i brought buddhism home with me, it faded fast.
i brought the violence and the smashing of glass home with me. it got me a year's probation.
what if i had stayed? why did i come back here? what was i looking for, anyway?
i was looking for suicide. and suicide found me. followed me around, even after i got out of the icu. my constant companion was my open grave--to party with, to find false hope with, to make unfulfilling relationships with, to hang out in cemetaries with, to commemorate my "last days" as an artist and human being. all i had to do was jump inside and wait.
so i waited. i requiem'ed myself, i thought about necrophilia and reincarnation and fire.
and then came the 4 weddings and a funeral. well, technically 2 funerals, but i don't think i should've gone to that first one. you know what i mean?
i talked about my friends as if they were right here in front of me, while they were going on with their lives. no amount of computer-self-expression would bring them to me, nor would it bring me the courage to return to them with my tail in between my legs, feeling like a burden.
i think i must know what love is now, finally, at this age. not everyone wants it, and not everyone wants what i have to give. but i believe i will become stronger, wiser, useful, maybe even necessary. i believe my training was and is not limited to college, and, while more structured, will be an adventure and a blessing in turn. life taught me well...and i only hope that the practical lessons become a little less lonely, and (respectfully) a source of growth and prosperity for me and those in my circle.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
guilt-free mothers' day
no amount of japanese dinners is going to make her better.
no ice-cream cake is going to make her change.
i really tried today, and every day. we are on a lifeboat together, but we aren't lost at sea. i turn my back upon guilt and remorse. i am very serious at night time, i try to learn as much as i can. i've given too much away again.
the words want to come but my bloggery has been injured b/c of the fact that i spoke of a hurtful incident.
safety in numbers. you're always more ballsy when you have your buddy walking next to you and a little bit of alky-hol that never hurt anyone. ever.
anyway, back to mothers' day and all. i realize i was always a good enough daughter. we were just a triad that became a cling-to-me-for-dear-life duo. a stool balances better with 3 legs. but i have my own two legs, and they are mine, even if they have to be borrowed...i am their rightful owner.
fuck all this hollywood piousness right now. honestly. isn't there anything that falls in between an angel and a demon??? isn't that the whole problem right there?
sorry.
anyway, i'm on the right track, jack. i will be good. but damn, i would really like to know why i'm still kicking around. what knowledge, what study, what path...how can i be better? how can i fortify? when will i finally have the proper locker-combination to make all the tumblers of strength, intelligence, intuition, temperance...and everything else?
i get passionate sometimes, and she and i would bounce ideas around until one of us wound up getting upset...one or both of us. it is usually then that i wish she had a deep-rooted hobby like mine.
how can i show her? should i just put the damn paintbrush in her hand?
no ice-cream cake is going to make her change.
i really tried today, and every day. we are on a lifeboat together, but we aren't lost at sea. i turn my back upon guilt and remorse. i am very serious at night time, i try to learn as much as i can. i've given too much away again.
the words want to come but my bloggery has been injured b/c of the fact that i spoke of a hurtful incident.
safety in numbers. you're always more ballsy when you have your buddy walking next to you and a little bit of alky-hol that never hurt anyone. ever.
anyway, back to mothers' day and all. i realize i was always a good enough daughter. we were just a triad that became a cling-to-me-for-dear-life duo. a stool balances better with 3 legs. but i have my own two legs, and they are mine, even if they have to be borrowed...i am their rightful owner.
fuck all this hollywood piousness right now. honestly. isn't there anything that falls in between an angel and a demon??? isn't that the whole problem right there?
sorry.
anyway, i'm on the right track, jack. i will be good. but damn, i would really like to know why i'm still kicking around. what knowledge, what study, what path...how can i be better? how can i fortify? when will i finally have the proper locker-combination to make all the tumblers of strength, intelligence, intuition, temperance...and everything else?
i get passionate sometimes, and she and i would bounce ideas around until one of us wound up getting upset...one or both of us. it is usually then that i wish she had a deep-rooted hobby like mine.
how can i show her? should i just put the damn paintbrush in her hand?
Saturday, May 9, 2009
the lonesome loner seems to free his mind at night
there's something going on here.
it seems that all the tons of people who were sniffing around, trying to get pleasure and trying to please, the people who i couldn't keep up with, the bodies of friends and lovers, the overwhelming sense of human-ness in my world is gone...gone...gone.
they dont' come around anymore.
they don't want me, they don't need me, they don't call me.
then again, i don't hunt them down either. i don't cast out my lure the way i did, twisting and turning and posturing and inner-postulating and oh, do they love me? why don't they love me? who loves me at all?
it's as if i'm transparent to those in the social reaches.
even the emails have stopped. "hey, how are you? wtf?? why haven't you written or called?" stopped.
i wonder if i'm a little haunted. bats in the belfry for real. no more riding the waves of approval and shame. i feel as though i'm up at bat (great, a baseball analogy) but nothing's happening. the pitcher's not throwing me anything, the fielders are just kind of looking around, the people in the stands take turns pointing me out and ignoring me, going to the bathroom for my time at bat, sipping sodas, munching hotdogs, kissing their wives and girlfriends, disciplining their kids, waving to the camera, fiddling with electronic devices....listening and snapping pictures...
and i'm all alone at home plate. and there's no pitch. there's no ball, in fact. the pitcher's looking a little spooked, shrugging, not really getting what's going on either, but recognizing it's because of ME, and agreeing with whomever's in charge...because it's me up there.
how about the cheerleaders? even kurt cobain cheerleaders...?
where's the organ music, getting the crowd riled up? can't i just do my best with 3 pitches and get down, out of the spotlight? everybody can see me and simultaneously see right through me.
oh god. let me in on the joke.
it seems that all the tons of people who were sniffing around, trying to get pleasure and trying to please, the people who i couldn't keep up with, the bodies of friends and lovers, the overwhelming sense of human-ness in my world is gone...gone...gone.
they dont' come around anymore.
they don't want me, they don't need me, they don't call me.
then again, i don't hunt them down either. i don't cast out my lure the way i did, twisting and turning and posturing and inner-postulating and oh, do they love me? why don't they love me? who loves me at all?
it's as if i'm transparent to those in the social reaches.
even the emails have stopped. "hey, how are you? wtf?? why haven't you written or called?" stopped.
i wonder if i'm a little haunted. bats in the belfry for real. no more riding the waves of approval and shame. i feel as though i'm up at bat (great, a baseball analogy) but nothing's happening. the pitcher's not throwing me anything, the fielders are just kind of looking around, the people in the stands take turns pointing me out and ignoring me, going to the bathroom for my time at bat, sipping sodas, munching hotdogs, kissing their wives and girlfriends, disciplining their kids, waving to the camera, fiddling with electronic devices....listening and snapping pictures...
and i'm all alone at home plate. and there's no pitch. there's no ball, in fact. the pitcher's looking a little spooked, shrugging, not really getting what's going on either, but recognizing it's because of ME, and agreeing with whomever's in charge...because it's me up there.
how about the cheerleaders? even kurt cobain cheerleaders...?
where's the organ music, getting the crowd riled up? can't i just do my best with 3 pitches and get down, out of the spotlight? everybody can see me and simultaneously see right through me.
oh god. let me in on the joke.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
yggdrasil right-side up
there's no medium anymore. i'm the loneliest person who ever lived. again. i am not even ashamed to admit that anymore. it's a little dramatic-sounding, but it's true. what's lonelier than being left to one's own devices than being controlled everyday by someone ELSE.
it's not me. it's not who i would've wanted to be in life. but i'm a tool. and i want out.
if only i drank! if only i could. i can't even pretend to drink. "drinking" and "celebrating" are two completely polar opposites. i must've been a real whiskey dick in my previous existence.
but yes! if only i could share that with other people. cutting out MJ cut out a whole host of talking human bodies.
it's ok though. it's love. and i know it'll be coming around again. i am not good at being patient, but my hands are tied. actually, my leg is tied. to a tree. and i'm upside-down.
it's not me. it's not who i would've wanted to be in life. but i'm a tool. and i want out.
if only i drank! if only i could. i can't even pretend to drink. "drinking" and "celebrating" are two completely polar opposites. i must've been a real whiskey dick in my previous existence.
but yes! if only i could share that with other people. cutting out MJ cut out a whole host of talking human bodies.
it's ok though. it's love. and i know it'll be coming around again. i am not good at being patient, but my hands are tied. actually, my leg is tied. to a tree. and i'm upside-down.
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