invisible
wrapped up...
rapt.
onerous.
pissed off.
on edge.
listening to A Perfect Circle.
hating it and
not.
this moment I mean.
I feel like weeping.
not sobbing, not hysterical crying.
I do not even have anything to be sad about.
maybe it's the fucking hormones.
maybe it's this fucking world.
maybe it's the...
maybe it's nothing.
Vertigo.
"Any view of things that is not strange, is false." ~Neil Gaiman
Friday, February 18, 2011
Sunday, February 06, 2011
Currents
Current Book:
Finishing up: The Fall (book two of The Strain Series) by Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan. The series is super enjoyable. I recommend it. Though the third book does not come out until October and I have stopped short of finishing book two as I know it is going to leave me hanging and totally pissed off. :)
On deck: Let Me In by John Ajvide Lindqvist
Current CD:
Florence + The Machine Lungs
It lives in my cd player and in mp3 form on my phone.
"There's a ghost in my lungs
And it sighs in my sleep,
Wraps itself around my tongue,
as it softly speaks
then it walks,
then it walks with my legs"
Current Link:
Sock Dreams
Current Desire:
A really real vacation.
I would like to go to Nassau and lay on the beach and drink margaritas at a steady but slow enough pace to maintain a week long state of pleasantly buzzed but still functional.
Current Drink:
Coffee, hot and lightly creamed and lightly sweetened.
Current Bane of My Existence:
Tthe tug of reality.
Justified anger. Bane as it is justified and yet it feels impotent. There is no outlet.
Current Wishlist:
2013.
Room to breathe.
Current Favorite Film:
There's nothing going on externally that is visually compelling enough to distract me currently from that which is happening internally.
So, there's that.
Current Color of Toenails:
Gunmetal.
You see, we do have a thing about painting that has nothing to do with sports nor is stolen from another culture... to borrow anothers word/thoughts because it has stuck with me. :)
I think I enjoy being a girl because I enjoy the subtle art of makeup and the secret here is, the more I paint and the more it is both present yet subtle I am rocking my world though it's totally an internal rocking and while powerful and heady--nobody else would notice the ripples.
And when I paint my nails with gunmetal polish.
...well, seriously.
Gunmetal.
It is its own ritualistic thing.
Current Triumph:
Back to running. Even now when my lungs feel achey and full. Not running hard but I'm refusing to give it up this time dammit. Damn my immune system, damn my anxiety. Damn the pressures of day-to-day existence. Those things both precious and mundane. I'm running. Fuck you.
Current Celebrity Crush:
Noomi Rapace
Current Mood:
Achey... a not so quiet yearning.
It's amazing to me how this is an almost year old cut&paste of a current entry and how many things are still the same. Still accurate, still present, still with me.
I am not sure if I feel this as a good thing or a bad thing.
Though perhaps it is like most everything else. Just a thing.
Current Shame Inducing Guilty Pleasure:
Daydreaming.
All the time.
All the time.
All the time.
There's always stuff going on in there. The quieter I am, generally the more whacked stuff tends to be just going on in there.
These gears never stop turning.
Ever.
Current Book:
Finishing up: The Fall (book two of The Strain Series) by Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan. The series is super enjoyable. I recommend it. Though the third book does not come out until October and I have stopped short of finishing book two as I know it is going to leave me hanging and totally pissed off. :)
On deck: Let Me In by John Ajvide Lindqvist
Current CD:
Florence + The Machine Lungs
It lives in my cd player and in mp3 form on my phone.
"There's a ghost in my lungs
And it sighs in my sleep,
Wraps itself around my tongue,
as it softly speaks
then it walks,
then it walks with my legs"
Sock Dreams
Current Desire:
A really real vacation.
I would like to go to Nassau and lay on the beach and drink margaritas at a steady but slow enough pace to maintain a week long state of pleasantly buzzed but still functional.
Current Drink:
Coffee, hot and lightly creamed and lightly sweetened.
Current Bane of My Existence:
Tthe tug of reality.
Justified anger. Bane as it is justified and yet it feels impotent. There is no outlet.
Current Wishlist:
2013.
Room to breathe.
Current Favorite Film:
There's nothing going on externally that is visually compelling enough to distract me currently from that which is happening internally.
So, there's that.
Current Color of Toenails:
Gunmetal.
You see, we do have a thing about painting that has nothing to do with sports nor is stolen from another culture... to borrow anothers word/thoughts because it has stuck with me. :)
I think I enjoy being a girl because I enjoy the subtle art of makeup and the secret here is, the more I paint and the more it is both present yet subtle I am rocking my world though it's totally an internal rocking and while powerful and heady--nobody else would notice the ripples.
And when I paint my nails with gunmetal polish.
...well, seriously.
Gunmetal.
It is its own ritualistic thing.
Current Triumph:
Back to running. Even now when my lungs feel achey and full. Not running hard but I'm refusing to give it up this time dammit. Damn my immune system, damn my anxiety. Damn the pressures of day-to-day existence. Those things both precious and mundane. I'm running. Fuck you.
Current Celebrity Crush:
Noomi Rapace
Current Mood:
Achey... a not so quiet yearning.
It's amazing to me how this is an almost year old cut&paste of a current entry and how many things are still the same. Still accurate, still present, still with me.
I am not sure if I feel this as a good thing or a bad thing.
Though perhaps it is like most everything else. Just a thing.
Current Shame Inducing Guilty Pleasure:
Daydreaming.
All the time.
All the time.
All the time.
There's always stuff going on in there. The quieter I am, generally the more whacked stuff tends to be just going on in there.
These gears never stop turning.
Ever.
Spaz
In a moment of nowhere and everywhere I cannot settle, I am floating. I feel aimless and I feel dislocated and I feel alone and I feel lonely. I stop and I drop. Words here, words there. Waiting.
I do not know for what...
Listening to: In the Waiting Line by Zero 7
Listening to: Eireann by Afro Celt Sound System
Listening to: Just Like Heaven by Katie Melua
...I woke up standing at a deli counter, flipping cole slaw onto a foam tray which was already filled with mashed potatoes and yellow gravy. As I woke into these hands that at first seemed to know how to do this correctly the tray became unbalanced and it flipped sideways. The contents landing on my face, cole slaw sauce dripping into my mouth. I turned around and there were tables of people waiting for food. 100's. I looked back at the counter and at my co-worker who was screaming at me to hurry up, to stop being so clumsy. I ran from the deli, wiping my face on an apron, tossing it into a trash can. As I ran past the crowd waiting for food I saw my cousin Angie, I noticed her red hair. It seemed to be the only color in the crowd.
out onto the sidewalk, and down... still running.
& I'm in my house and the carpeting is wet and I'm pulling it back in long rows and carrying it out into the street. The air outside, the atmosphere, it's grey tinged with yellow and it's slightly difficult to breathe. I drop the roll of damp carpet onto the sidewalk and turn to go into the house. Angela is on my porch (though not my cousin this time, Angela--a woman I know) and she is telling me something but I see her lips moving and I hear no sound... or it's dampened down too. I can hear the sound of her voice but cannot make out what she is saying and the rush of my blood--the sound of it fills my ears though it too is quiet, hushed. It is still louder than her meaning and...
...I wake up in a subway car. It was a long string of subway cars that had been modded and repurposed. I live here. I am standing in front of the kitchen sink and looking at a medicine cupboard... it is full and her voice (her?) behind me said, "you need to throw those all away. She kept everything--we both know that, but medicine... that's dangerous and it's probably old anyway. Look at some of this." And we pulled out dozens of small white paper bags (like popcorn bags only filled with pills). I opened one of the bag and sniffed. The big red pills smelled like flouride. I started to drop them into a canister, one after another. They were all very old. Some of the contents had crumbled into powder.
Later, same feel. I'm walking down the city street, it's dusk. I turn the corner and enter a doorway, walk into a vast and empty room... a cavern carved out of the city scape. The walls are moist though not dripping. I can smell water in the air, it smells cool and clean and I feel it on my face. It eases the pressure inside me--being in this room. I walk toward the back, toward the darkness and then through.
I'm standing in the snow. I am not dressed to be outside but she (the same she which is also ??) is grabbing my hand and dragging me, screaming "run! NOW!" And we run through the snow which is brilliant and white and around me I see dark splotches here and there and we run. It's uphill and it's through snow and it's hard. My lungs burn and the cold air is pulling tears from my eyes. She is slightly ahead of me and I see her stop and I slow. I am glad for this as I feel the snow give way beneath my feet and I am down on my hands and knees grabbing for purchase and only finding snow falling away beneath me and then, finally then rock. I grab and hold and breathe. I hear nothing except the raging of my breath and then I hear her sigh, "look. Oh my god. Look." And I wipe away mounds of snow from before my face while also still trying to make sure my body is supported by something solid and not snow which is still falling away around me. And I see, I see that we have reached the edge, the top and before us is a chasm deep and dark and endless. I am terrified of heights and the world spins before me. I dig my fingers into the rock beneath me. "Open your eyes and LOOK!" And she's screaming at me now. I sense that time has passed, like I might have blacked out and I open my eyes. I look into her face and she is pointing. I follow her finger and I look. Across the chasm, across the deep and endless black before me I see the other side. And there is a chair of red and green velvet. It isn't just a chair though, it is glorious and it is enormous. Even from here, from my vantage point so far away it seems large. I try to grasp how big it might be were I standing before it and I get dizzy again. A red and green velvet chair of gigantic proportions on top of a snowy mountain surrounded by nothingness and dark sky. "It is his," she says and I am falling away...
I wake pressed against cool marble. My skin is warm in contrast and the hands holding me up against it are hot. After the snow everything feels hot. His hands press my skin, hold me up here in this hallway and the feel of his lips against mine is soft and gentle and yet his fingers are hard, his fingers are hungry. That hunger pushes into my center and my knees buckle. He counters and holds me up, pulling me up and into and against his body all the while still kissing me. I can feel the softness of his shirt. I can feel the same softness and slip of the material of his slacks as I slide and press and slide and press. It isn't like skin on skin contact but everything is hot and I can feel the heat of skin beneath--both his own and the answering heat of mine. And the kisses, the slow and gentle kisses that are so soft that I lose track of where I am, where he is and then he opens me, pushes into me and simultaneously I can feel the muscle beneath I can feel my own body my body and his body and as his hands pull me against him yet again, I can feel his hips, his legs, his need as well. My own legs want to open, to wrap, to encase, to pull him in, pull him closer. And my knees buckle again. Regain my footing, lose it again all in tandem to the pull--to this pull like waves and a different sort of heat builds inside me, rages within me. It pushes out from my insides, it seeks and it hungers too. I hear a bell far away, far behind me and the soft hiss of elevator doors sliding open. He guides me back and inside and for a moment I am steady though still lost in these kisses, in the feel of his hands pushing at cloth, seeking skin. His hand slides across my stomach, finally... oh yes. Finally. And I feel him all around me and even still everything is hot, my skin is burning up as though I have a fever, I can feel small beads of sweat pop out across my skin. And the kissing and the fingers and once again my knees buckle and I am (finally) falling. For a brief moment I am falling into his hands and into his lips and I open my eyes and the light is gentle here and warm and barely registers color but then perhaps it is just fading as it's all fading. I cling to the sensation of being touched and being kissed like this and that moment when it pushes inside me and everything goes soft in a way that I have absolutely no control over and I play that moment over and over again as though I have the remote and am rewinding,repeating, rewinding... which would suggest more control than I feel and more control than I want to feel because I want no control here. I only want to be lost here in this moment and in the feel of his lips against my own and I lose the grasp, I feel it slip and I fall... which may only be the movement of the elevator itself but I am losing awareness of my physicality, I am only sensation and only falling...
into waking.
...though the moment of falling.
Oh, it was brilliant. The transition, the movement, the push against and into the brink was filled with the continuity of the whole and not just the dream whole, but The Whole--the one neverending string of sameness that followed me from cole slaw to peeling back wet and smelly carpet to old powdery pills to snow and red&green velvet thrones on top of dark, snowy mountains to kissing in an elevator.
We were moving down, by the way.
In a moment of nowhere and everywhere I cannot settle, I am floating. I feel aimless and I feel dislocated and I feel alone and I feel lonely. I stop and I drop. Words here, words there. Waiting.
I do not know for what...
Listening to: In the Waiting Line by Zero 7
Listening to: Eireann by Afro Celt Sound System
Listening to: Just Like Heaven by Katie Melua
...I woke up standing at a deli counter, flipping cole slaw onto a foam tray which was already filled with mashed potatoes and yellow gravy. As I woke into these hands that at first seemed to know how to do this correctly the tray became unbalanced and it flipped sideways. The contents landing on my face, cole slaw sauce dripping into my mouth. I turned around and there were tables of people waiting for food. 100's. I looked back at the counter and at my co-worker who was screaming at me to hurry up, to stop being so clumsy. I ran from the deli, wiping my face on an apron, tossing it into a trash can. As I ran past the crowd waiting for food I saw my cousin Angie, I noticed her red hair. It seemed to be the only color in the crowd.
out onto the sidewalk, and down... still running.
& I'm in my house and the carpeting is wet and I'm pulling it back in long rows and carrying it out into the street. The air outside, the atmosphere, it's grey tinged with yellow and it's slightly difficult to breathe. I drop the roll of damp carpet onto the sidewalk and turn to go into the house. Angela is on my porch (though not my cousin this time, Angela--a woman I know) and she is telling me something but I see her lips moving and I hear no sound... or it's dampened down too. I can hear the sound of her voice but cannot make out what she is saying and the rush of my blood--the sound of it fills my ears though it too is quiet, hushed. It is still louder than her meaning and...
...I wake up in a subway car. It was a long string of subway cars that had been modded and repurposed. I live here. I am standing in front of the kitchen sink and looking at a medicine cupboard... it is full and her voice (her?) behind me said, "you need to throw those all away. She kept everything--we both know that, but medicine... that's dangerous and it's probably old anyway. Look at some of this." And we pulled out dozens of small white paper bags (like popcorn bags only filled with pills). I opened one of the bag and sniffed. The big red pills smelled like flouride. I started to drop them into a canister, one after another. They were all very old. Some of the contents had crumbled into powder.
Later, same feel. I'm walking down the city street, it's dusk. I turn the corner and enter a doorway, walk into a vast and empty room... a cavern carved out of the city scape. The walls are moist though not dripping. I can smell water in the air, it smells cool and clean and I feel it on my face. It eases the pressure inside me--being in this room. I walk toward the back, toward the darkness and then through.
I'm standing in the snow. I am not dressed to be outside but she (the same she which is also ??) is grabbing my hand and dragging me, screaming "run! NOW!" And we run through the snow which is brilliant and white and around me I see dark splotches here and there and we run. It's uphill and it's through snow and it's hard. My lungs burn and the cold air is pulling tears from my eyes. She is slightly ahead of me and I see her stop and I slow. I am glad for this as I feel the snow give way beneath my feet and I am down on my hands and knees grabbing for purchase and only finding snow falling away beneath me and then, finally then rock. I grab and hold and breathe. I hear nothing except the raging of my breath and then I hear her sigh, "look. Oh my god. Look." And I wipe away mounds of snow from before my face while also still trying to make sure my body is supported by something solid and not snow which is still falling away around me. And I see, I see that we have reached the edge, the top and before us is a chasm deep and dark and endless. I am terrified of heights and the world spins before me. I dig my fingers into the rock beneath me. "Open your eyes and LOOK!" And she's screaming at me now. I sense that time has passed, like I might have blacked out and I open my eyes. I look into her face and she is pointing. I follow her finger and I look. Across the chasm, across the deep and endless black before me I see the other side. And there is a chair of red and green velvet. It isn't just a chair though, it is glorious and it is enormous. Even from here, from my vantage point so far away it seems large. I try to grasp how big it might be were I standing before it and I get dizzy again. A red and green velvet chair of gigantic proportions on top of a snowy mountain surrounded by nothingness and dark sky. "It is his," she says and I am falling away...
I wake pressed against cool marble. My skin is warm in contrast and the hands holding me up against it are hot. After the snow everything feels hot. His hands press my skin, hold me up here in this hallway and the feel of his lips against mine is soft and gentle and yet his fingers are hard, his fingers are hungry. That hunger pushes into my center and my knees buckle. He counters and holds me up, pulling me up and into and against his body all the while still kissing me. I can feel the softness of his shirt. I can feel the same softness and slip of the material of his slacks as I slide and press and slide and press. It isn't like skin on skin contact but everything is hot and I can feel the heat of skin beneath--both his own and the answering heat of mine. And the kisses, the slow and gentle kisses that are so soft that I lose track of where I am, where he is and then he opens me, pushes into me and simultaneously I can feel the muscle beneath I can feel my own body my body and his body and as his hands pull me against him yet again, I can feel his hips, his legs, his need as well. My own legs want to open, to wrap, to encase, to pull him in, pull him closer. And my knees buckle again. Regain my footing, lose it again all in tandem to the pull--to this pull like waves and a different sort of heat builds inside me, rages within me. It pushes out from my insides, it seeks and it hungers too. I hear a bell far away, far behind me and the soft hiss of elevator doors sliding open. He guides me back and inside and for a moment I am steady though still lost in these kisses, in the feel of his hands pushing at cloth, seeking skin. His hand slides across my stomach, finally... oh yes. Finally. And I feel him all around me and even still everything is hot, my skin is burning up as though I have a fever, I can feel small beads of sweat pop out across my skin. And the kissing and the fingers and once again my knees buckle and I am (finally) falling. For a brief moment I am falling into his hands and into his lips and I open my eyes and the light is gentle here and warm and barely registers color but then perhaps it is just fading as it's all fading. I cling to the sensation of being touched and being kissed like this and that moment when it pushes inside me and everything goes soft in a way that I have absolutely no control over and I play that moment over and over again as though I have the remote and am rewinding,repeating, rewinding... which would suggest more control than I feel and more control than I want to feel because I want no control here. I only want to be lost here in this moment and in the feel of his lips against my own and I lose the grasp, I feel it slip and I fall... which may only be the movement of the elevator itself but I am losing awareness of my physicality, I am only sensation and only falling...
into waking.
...though the moment of falling.
Oh, it was brilliant. The transition, the movement, the push against and into the brink was filled with the continuity of the whole and not just the dream whole, but The Whole--the one neverending string of sameness that followed me from cole slaw to peeling back wet and smelly carpet to old powdery pills to snow and red&green velvet thrones on top of dark, snowy mountains to kissing in an elevator.
We were moving down, by the way.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Currents
Current Book:
I am currently reading many books in bits & pieces. Freakonomics, Girls on Edge, Model Home. I was reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest but I borrowed that (well all of them, really) from the library & I took too long reading it so I let it go to the next person waiting & put my name back on the list.
Current CD:
Linkin Park's Meteora.
Current Link:
http://www.thegirltrilogy.com/
Current Desire:
Lisbeth Salander
Current Drink:
Bud Light--it's summer.
Current Bane of My Existence:
Lunacy. Also the tug of reality.
Current Wishlist:
Lisbeth Salander
Current Favorite Film:
Temple Grandin. Claire Danes was absolutely amazing in this.
Current Color of Toenails:
Ruby Red
Current Triumph:
Continued running... have worked up to an average of 16 miles per week. Currently trying to work in an extra day but I've been really sleepy. :)
Current Celebrity Crush:
Noomi Rapace
Current Mood:
Achey... a not so quiet yearning.
Current Shame Inducing Guilty Pleasure:
Obsessive meandering, slow languishing in a vivid world of fantasy.
It would be remiss of me to not pause for a moment & acknowledge my fascination with Stieg Larsson's Girl with a Dragon Tattoo & subsequent books. It took about 150-200 pages--yes, it was a huge effort to get thru the beginning as the story was set up--but once past that the fascination with Lisbeth Salander quickly morphed into something else and I wanted to keep on reading and reading. Stieg Larsson died after the 3rd book & there's currently a huge mess regarding his estate and the books, etc. I am hoping his girlfriend and editor is able to/will continue the story. I really do.
There is one scene in the book... a revenge sequence that elicited an out loud Oh My God--YES! complete with fist. If you read the book you will know the scene. At any rate, the movie is coming out on DVD in July and it's one I think I wish the U.S. would not remake as Noomi Rapace qualifies for the most spot on incarnation of how I viewed a character in a book for me--ever. I am enamoured to distraction. *g*
All that aside--I also feel as though a U.S. remake will most likely not be able to do justice to the story. Lisbeth Salander is savaged--it's part of the story & becomes part of who she is... the story is also very sexual in a way that I can't envision in a U.S. remake & I think it would be less, I really do.
Glimpses:
Current Book:
I am currently reading many books in bits & pieces. Freakonomics, Girls on Edge, Model Home. I was reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest but I borrowed that (well all of them, really) from the library & I took too long reading it so I let it go to the next person waiting & put my name back on the list.
Current CD:
Linkin Park's Meteora.
Current Link:
http://www.thegirltrilogy.com/
Current Desire:
Lisbeth Salander
Current Drink:
Bud Light--it's summer.
Current Bane of My Existence:
Lunacy. Also the tug of reality.
Current Wishlist:
Lisbeth Salander
Current Favorite Film:
Temple Grandin. Claire Danes was absolutely amazing in this.
Current Color of Toenails:
Ruby Red
Current Triumph:
Continued running... have worked up to an average of 16 miles per week. Currently trying to work in an extra day but I've been really sleepy. :)
Current Celebrity Crush:
Noomi Rapace
Current Mood:
Achey... a not so quiet yearning.
Current Shame Inducing Guilty Pleasure:
Obsessive meandering, slow languishing in a vivid world of fantasy.
It would be remiss of me to not pause for a moment & acknowledge my fascination with Stieg Larsson's Girl with a Dragon Tattoo & subsequent books. It took about 150-200 pages--yes, it was a huge effort to get thru the beginning as the story was set up--but once past that the fascination with Lisbeth Salander quickly morphed into something else and I wanted to keep on reading and reading. Stieg Larsson died after the 3rd book & there's currently a huge mess regarding his estate and the books, etc. I am hoping his girlfriend and editor is able to/will continue the story. I really do.
There is one scene in the book... a revenge sequence that elicited an out loud Oh My God--YES! complete with fist. If you read the book you will know the scene. At any rate, the movie is coming out on DVD in July and it's one I think I wish the U.S. would not remake as Noomi Rapace qualifies for the most spot on incarnation of how I viewed a character in a book for me--ever. I am enamoured to distraction. *g*
All that aside--I also feel as though a U.S. remake will most likely not be able to do justice to the story. Lisbeth Salander is savaged--it's part of the story & becomes part of who she is... the story is also very sexual in a way that I can't envision in a U.S. remake & I think it would be less, I really do.
Glimpses:
- fingers entwine themselves in your hair, feel my breath, soft & barely there against your nape. I breathe you in before I take you in.
- hands on hips, pull me in from behind. fingers finding shadows--that curve in the lower back. (my favorite spot) lingering...
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Alignments
...in a moment of weakness and brilliance I am neither here, nor there. I disintegrate willfully.
I pass through you, through you and into the space that lives in the confines of my memory. I recall laying stretched out with you, knee to knee, toe to toe, fingertips touching. I opened my eyes and looked into yours. It was never really real to begin with--just a moment in a dreaming time when I asked you how you were and I meant it. Not "how are ya?" or "how are you (fill-in-the-blank, you the father you the husband, etc.)?" but... how are you? And I meant it fully and was most present when I asked because I know... everyone is wrapped up in the slight and the pain you caused and nobody stops a moment to consider that in this supremely fucked up situation--you are hurting too. You were forced to make a choice and it was an impossible choice, right? A no winners at any corner sort of choice so you made the "right" choice and I can see the hollows carved in the shadows on your eyes--the price you are paying. And so I asked...
And I passed through you, through the arch and I felt the stretch... compelled as I was to reach up both hands and touch the apex. I stopped for a moment and I smiled... I smiled to move beneath it and through it and then... then I was in that space and our fingertips were touching and my other arm was laced beneath my head, a cushion and I opened my eyes to look into yours... No shadows here.
I recall only breathing. I recall only the movement of breath in this space and the warmth of your hand, the warmth radiating from your body stretched out so close to my own and I am filled with your longing--it's hard and vicious. It twists inside me. And I don't have to ask here. I don't have to ask because I know.
... in a moment of weakness and brilliance I am neither here, nor there. I disintegrate willfully.
...in a moment of weakness and brilliance I am neither here, nor there. I disintegrate willfully.
I pass through you, through you and into the space that lives in the confines of my memory. I recall laying stretched out with you, knee to knee, toe to toe, fingertips touching. I opened my eyes and looked into yours. It was never really real to begin with--just a moment in a dreaming time when I asked you how you were and I meant it. Not "how are ya?" or "how are you (fill-in-the-blank, you the father you the husband, etc.)?" but... how are you? And I meant it fully and was most present when I asked because I know... everyone is wrapped up in the slight and the pain you caused and nobody stops a moment to consider that in this supremely fucked up situation--you are hurting too. You were forced to make a choice and it was an impossible choice, right? A no winners at any corner sort of choice so you made the "right" choice and I can see the hollows carved in the shadows on your eyes--the price you are paying. And so I asked...
And I passed through you, through the arch and I felt the stretch... compelled as I was to reach up both hands and touch the apex. I stopped for a moment and I smiled... I smiled to move beneath it and through it and then... then I was in that space and our fingertips were touching and my other arm was laced beneath my head, a cushion and I opened my eyes to look into yours... No shadows here.
I recall only breathing. I recall only the movement of breath in this space and the warmth of your hand, the warmth radiating from your body stretched out so close to my own and I am filled with your longing--it's hard and vicious. It twists inside me. And I don't have to ask here. I don't have to ask because I know.
... in a moment of weakness and brilliance I am neither here, nor there. I disintegrate willfully.
Labels:
desire
Friday, June 11, 2010
Complimentary Lines.
Access to hidden places filled with tossed treasures. Access to higher aspects of self that contain riches aged and softened and comfortable. Handmade things. Glass and cool marble and hardened things. Fingering price tags though because even here, even here things cost.
Exiting through the back door. The stairs twist and change behind me, the way is blocked--inaccessible. I have turned my back and I cannot go back. It's like that although I am not saddened by this because these things were always mine. They will always be mine even when I can no longer find my way.
I stand at the lowest level and I can smell the color green. I can smell rich and lush and rain. This wet and fresh smell moves behind me, moves past me and I close my eyes as it washes the mold and neglect away. Brushes scrub and hands pull and the layers are removed, they are gone.
The yard is littered, in the darkened gloom of storm I see a line to the right, bright and glowing--glittery electric blue and silver shine from empty cans of Bud Light and brilliant shiny orange of ceramic pumpkins. Orange and blue--to the right glowing in the dark.
The house moves into me, from behind I feel it swell and touch my nape and whisper slick it slides inside. Which is really just me. I can feel myself entering this body and I open my eyes to look out from within. I can see my face in a mirror, still and grave. My hair is long, it lays against my back. My hand moves up and touches my short curls and this reflection of myself is still, she stares back at me and I blink. ...and I breathe him in, he is there, standing next to me. I see his fingers, long and delicate but nevertheless, male. They are splayed on the railing beside my own--short and delicate and female. I breathe again and feel the tugging ache. I am swallowed by it, I am expansive and implosive all at once and in my mind's eye I see my hands touching him, I feel his skin, I smell him. I feel his hair brush my face. I open my eyes and I turn to face him--"do you feel that?" I ask and as I exhale my question, softly spoken I share the images that have consumed me and I watch the pain slide from his eyes, down. It blankets his face, it settles on his mouth. "No. I don't." And I see it, he doesn't. And there is pain because he wants to. But he doesn't.
I close my eyes and shrink. I disappear into the dark. I am swallowed by this longing. It doesn't hurt. It just is.
The last thing I hold in my awareness is that glowing line of orange and blue shimmering, delineating, separating... leading to the water and then away, into the blackness, into waking.
Access to hidden places filled with tossed treasures. Access to higher aspects of self that contain riches aged and softened and comfortable. Handmade things. Glass and cool marble and hardened things. Fingering price tags though because even here, even here things cost.
Exiting through the back door. The stairs twist and change behind me, the way is blocked--inaccessible. I have turned my back and I cannot go back. It's like that although I am not saddened by this because these things were always mine. They will always be mine even when I can no longer find my way.
I stand at the lowest level and I can smell the color green. I can smell rich and lush and rain. This wet and fresh smell moves behind me, moves past me and I close my eyes as it washes the mold and neglect away. Brushes scrub and hands pull and the layers are removed, they are gone.
The yard is littered, in the darkened gloom of storm I see a line to the right, bright and glowing--glittery electric blue and silver shine from empty cans of Bud Light and brilliant shiny orange of ceramic pumpkins. Orange and blue--to the right glowing in the dark.
The house moves into me, from behind I feel it swell and touch my nape and whisper slick it slides inside. Which is really just me. I can feel myself entering this body and I open my eyes to look out from within. I can see my face in a mirror, still and grave. My hair is long, it lays against my back. My hand moves up and touches my short curls and this reflection of myself is still, she stares back at me and I blink. ...and I breathe him in, he is there, standing next to me. I see his fingers, long and delicate but nevertheless, male. They are splayed on the railing beside my own--short and delicate and female. I breathe again and feel the tugging ache. I am swallowed by it, I am expansive and implosive all at once and in my mind's eye I see my hands touching him, I feel his skin, I smell him. I feel his hair brush my face. I open my eyes and I turn to face him--"do you feel that?" I ask and as I exhale my question, softly spoken I share the images that have consumed me and I watch the pain slide from his eyes, down. It blankets his face, it settles on his mouth. "No. I don't." And I see it, he doesn't. And there is pain because he wants to. But he doesn't.
I close my eyes and shrink. I disappear into the dark. I am swallowed by this longing. It doesn't hurt. It just is.
The last thing I hold in my awareness is that glowing line of orange and blue shimmering, delineating, separating... leading to the water and then away, into the blackness, into waking.
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