There is no suc…

There is no such thing as a holiday. Just big hair, big heart, and the refusal to be reduced to a headless enabling figure. Being a crazy careless kid is fun, but one day you wake up and you’re not a kid anymore. That day is either the worst or best day of your lonely life.

this time

I was reunited with an old friend, someone I met in 2005, someone who lived three doors down from me on the sixth floor. A man tickled my feet and I couldn’t stop laughing. Do you want me to stop? No. Our hands and feet were beautiful as we stood outside in the warm sun and stared downward, upward, all around. We fixed our hair and faces and bodies and everything was perfect as we walked outside in the foggy mist, down the hill, heading downtown. We smiled for pictures and struggled to time them in the correct ways, but laughed when we saw the blurry results. You are better at looking sad than I am, she said. For a minute I was scared of the next four minutes and thirty-seven seconds but then everything was okay, we were still here in this moment on this bed smiling and posing. I realized that you were all wrong for me, you were wrong for any any any any any person with feelings and baggage and a past and emotions and a heart and a desire to be healthy and a desire to change and a desire to be permanently better. And at the same time you were right for my heart when I couldn’t quite find it. I couldn’t be a robot for you and I will never apologize for feeling betrayed hurt broken sad angry. I was not wrong, the whole situation was wrong and I didn’t get out until it was much too late. I smile when I think about certain things, like the time you drove 500 miles because I was alone and needed help. None of this will ever be forgotten, not the best, not the worst. I want to forget sometimes, I want to forget everything, erase everything in my head and float away into the distance, not thinking of anyone, not knowing anyone, not feeling anything.  And I want to cry and never stop until everything is out, until everything has rained upon the earth and given the dead life again. When you feel lost, nothing is ever okay. Your heart is in a constant state of panic and there is always something stabbing at it from every angle, ripping it apart into a million pieces, and there is nothing you can do to save what was once a beautiful organ filled with love hope and acceptance. There is a constant lump in your throat that won’t disappear, won’t lessen, won’t listen to any of your pleading desperation. And sometimes, like the moment where you go to turn the faucet on and you spot a purple bruise on your forearm, you are reminded of the most specifically painful moments that mark the insignificance of your life.  You never stop crying, even when you’re exhausted, cant see anymore, are bleeding from laying on a glass-covered floor, ripping hair out of your head, begging to be taken away.

When the doctor first told her she was ill she felt like she was swimming in a pool of blankness.  She would sit by the window every night and stare out at the dead bodies in the ground, smoke billowing from her lips.  She had never before felt so connected to something. Pain and death were what made her feel like she truly belonged somewhere. Then she would slowly get up and stare at herself in the mirror. Her arms were always covered in bold bruises and there was a constant source of confused satisfaction regarding them.  I will never stop loving this, she thought to herself.

There was always that scratching sound at night, almost like a woman whispering cries for help from behind the wall.  There was always a recital. Then there was  a period of remembering things vividly and listening to the same song thirty-one times in a row.  I’m back to big hair and biting the skin of my fingers.  I’m tired of talking and getting used to the silence. I’m tired of falling to my knees. Everything is seduction. Everything seduces me, everything seduces him. It’s hard to be better when you keep forgetting that you’re trying.  It’s hard to move past your demons when they keep pushing themselves deep down, back into the heels of your feet.  It’s hard to not step on glass and watch as your broken skin cries out for cover.  It’s hard to push past what’s hard, and it’s impossible to be in one place for too long.  It’s hard to control what swims through your head and how wet your face is when you wake up at 5 in the morning.

return

I sat there, thinking to myself, this is the day it will be different, this is the week it will be different, everything will be different this month. There was a time when I never spoke of the terrible things that had happened, but now I was constantly bringing them up to myself and everything hurt. At the end of the day, nothing got better and I was no different than I had been last night. I really didn’t think I was being reckless but there was always the same empty feeling when everything ended. I kept crying and he kept staring until I was forced to feel empty, blank, lacking everything I wanted and needed. When will things ever be different? There is no reason to constantly be scared of what tomorrow will bring, what the next ten minutes will bring, what could happen in the next five minutes.

I fell. There was a time when being alone was beautiful, radiant, perfect. The thought of anything else was horrifying and I was incapable of thinking of permanently being somewhere with someone doing something. Night after night I drank in potency, smoked in the bathtub, let you sleep next to me while I laid awake feeling empty but full of grief. I was anything but simple, and my life was full of holes that I eagerly welcomed. When you, whomever you were, left in the morning I felt nothing but exhaustion. Sometimes there was that slight feeling of am I supposed to be feeling something different? but for the most part, I just continued to lay there until I fell into a broken slumber of disturbing pictures. When I woke up I was always cold and starting to bruise nicely. I would make my way down to the ground and eventually slide slowly over to the window where I stared blankly into the universe.  I knew it was full of secrets just like I was. I guess you could say I was afraid of feeling anything new, but I just didn’t believe in new – I had seen it all before. I stared out the window and kept feeling the cold damage pour into my body.

Legs and veins always tell stories. I find myself thinking the worst is over, trying to convince myself that I am moving forward but there is always something worse. Don’t worry, it will find you.

I choose to exist again.

easy tumble, easy doll
easy rumble, easy fall
i get up on easy love
i get up on easy questions

21/25

She noticed the skull laying on the sand. Some displaced animal had been brutally torn apart by twin bullets, its cerebral cortex desiring escape in all directions, though still half trapped under bloody flesh and fur. With Beethoven flowing in circles against her eardrums and bruises covering her exposed arms, the sun harshly continued to cook her skin. She stared out into the water, contemplating a sea-burial and extending her long legs over the nearby rock. With soothing linen hiding torn muscles and time floating into the sky, she became an expert witness of the life and death surrounding her.

We rode our bikes under the umbrella trees until our legs begged beautifully to rest. My hair blew out behind me and wrestled with the dry air as I watched his hat float away and roll lazily along the dusty trail. We rested our dirty wheels against the aging bark, tangled our fingers together in an awkwardly comfortable embrace and began to walk toward the shed. It smelled like photosynthesis and age as he bent over to pluck three daisies from the  long grass and slowly braided them through my tangled hair, inexperience shooting out of his hands. It tickled and everything was okay.

bukowski

“Human relationships were strange. I mean you were with one person for a while, eating and sleeping and living with them, loving them, talking to them, going places together and then it stopped. Then there was a short period when you weren’t with anybody, then another woman arrived, and you ate with her and you fucked her, and it all seemed so normal, as if you had been waiting just for her and she had been waiting for you. I never felt right being alone; sometimes it felt good but it never felt right.”

abusing of the rib

I know she’s been put through hell , I can feel it; and I know she’s touched heaven as well, trying to steal it; it came on, it taught her a song, it strung her along, and it caught her when the guard was gone, now to the break-of-dawn she’s wants to feel that fix

long term

I got up and rubbed my red eye into a swollen pit of clarity. It was 4am and I tiptoed downstairs and quietly flew out the side door. She was waiting for me across the street, eyes glowing, shy smile and all. I carelessly crossed the street and wrapped my arms around her small frame, breathing in a soft floral scent that glazed my eyes over. We stood there taking each other in, eyes closed, imagining, dreaming, full of love and exciting hope. This would be the final time we’d see each other. It ached; then I realized I’d been smiling for hours.

When it’s cold out, we seem to most need people. Bodies to cling to, hands to clutch, mouths and necks to kiss. The summer brings a sense of aimlessness, wandering around in the sunshine, I don’t care if I’m alone behavior. There is nothing that I want more than to fly across the state and temporarily into your life but mountains are higher than ever, rivers deep, emotions completely unavailable in these moments. I am so in love with the idea of being perpetually distant that I don’t even know who I am anymore as I drift along the broken earth in this stupid alone-but-not-lonely daze of mine. There is a sense of painful comfort in this, like when he puts his hand around my throat.