This is just the umpteenth time this has happened
and i am so angry and so heartbroken and
things like this make it even harder
to make any progress
out of the depression i have been in
for the past year and a half.
My birthday is this upcoming tuesday.
a few days ago my mother called and began leaving me messages about
'oh i want a 'playdate' with you for your birthday!'
Now already in the past 10 months
she has attacked me three times on family vacation for things i didn't do or say
repeatedly come into the city near a significant holiday or event to do something and has seen another one or two of my siblings without even bothering to tell me; even when they were less than 5 miles away
suggested that i would allow myself to be intoxicated when being a care provider for a minor (NEVER, NEVER NEVER NEVER WOULD I EVER EVER DO THIS, Not Alcohol, Not Weed, Not even Sleep Aids or Tylenol or Advil- NEVER)
But i; not wanting to end up estranged from my mother like my father was from his (who just passed away, whom my father refused to have a relationship with and therefore denied my sisters and i countless opportunities to have a relationship with; meaning that i haven't seen her in almost seven years and didn't get any chance to say goodbye to); tried to be the better person that she always seemed to want to teach me to be- called her back despite feeling like telling her that i would rather sit alone all day on my birthday than to feel like i was being 'treated' so that her guilty feelings for treating me like shit could be assuaged and that my affections could be so easily bribed.
I said; i have no weekends, short of tomorrow (meaning this saturday- today); but plenty of weekdays free. She said- Lets pick a weekday in July (when she gets back from Italy, before she goes to China- vacations, both). We pick a random day. We have to cancel random day because my father beeps through with the news of my Grandmother- his mother, passing away; My parents have been separated since i was 4, background)
So whatever, it is up in the air.
Today; doing nothing but watching TV and lounging in the house with my husband; go on Facebook.
My mother, posting a picture of her and my stepfather (and quite possibly my brother as well, their son together) at a delicatessen in NYC.
'A little lunch before we go to the theater, yay!'
The one free weekend day i have this month; which happens to be closest to my birthday.
i feel like a trash person.
someone you just throw away.
someone not even a mother could love.
my heart is broken because my father couldn't make sure his kids knew his mother because he was so bitter from years of depression for not getting over things done to him when he was teenaged, not even abusive things, just shitty things.
my heart is broken because i have forgiven my mother for abuses and shitty things from all aspects of my life for years and years and years-
you know, she picked my birthday when i was 5 to be the day we moved from our house to a rental property- one of my most vivid and early memories- she let the real estate agent tell me the night before as i was going to bed that my parents were divorced and that i would have to leave my house the next day.
she- beat me in the street because the first bike she bought me was too tall for my short little legs and i couldn't get started (i could ride it like a dream, i just couldn't reach the ground to kick off with a balance) while she sent my sisters around the loop- hitting me while they were out of site, then pretending to soothe me when they came back around- for four or five hours- the night before she left us for a summer on African safari with her then boyfriend- my one day stepfather. My sisters saw nothing- and they hate me to this day for even mentioning this; or how my mother told everyone i was lying about it until i was almost 20. Do you know what that does to a person?
and yet, for just some of these slights- and many more, too many to list, i remind myself that i have forgiven her for.
i have forgiven her for promising to help me move all day one day ten years ago- the drive was an hour from my apartment to her house- where i was going to stay for a few months to save for an apartment close to my job in the city- and when she showed up, with my little brother, she said 'you get a single load, i am not spending all day on this,' and my idiot kid brother threw out my whole wardrobe of expensive office clothing and kept bags of trash- while thousands of dollars in cookware and furniture and books and makeup had to be abandoned; as well as every porcelain and precious keepsake i had saved in all 28 years of my life at that point- went into the trash- broken- beyond saving. I had no one- no one who could have helped me save those items. I know it is just stuff, just junk- but they were mind and i loved them and i will never get them back- little porcelain rabbits and delicate swans, half a dozen snow globes with unicorns and castles and snowy scenes; the lamb shaped flower holder in which flowers came to my parents when i was born. All gone. Gone now.
and what could i do? cut her off over this?
despite that rend in my heart- no- i couldn't; i love her- i want so badly to be loved by her the way my siblings are- and i have no idea what i have ever done to be singled out this way- other than perhaps i am smarter than my siblings; able to see the truth of her selfishness where they only see a beloved mother who would never hurt them deliberately.
i am so tired.
i am so tired of it.
What would you do?
What do i do?
what do i do. I sit here, and i feel the emotion overwhelm me, and i vent it all out into this void, and i tell myself it would hurt her too much and not change or accomplish anything if i told her how devastated and hurt i am. and i continue to work on loving myself, being kind and considerate to myself, trying, desperately trying, to convince myself that i have worth; that i am worthy of better; that my love and forgivenessness of her makes me better than her; and that i should take pity on her that she won't ever see how cruel she is, how she hurts me- treat her as if she were a stranger- smile, nod, say yes- and otherwise avoid depending on her for support of any kind; avoid believing that she means it when she says she wants to see me and remember that when this happens, it is because she is assuaging some secret she doesn't want me to know that would otherwise be hurtful towards me.
i hope you enjoyed your day in the city, mother. i hope it was worth it.
I was living at my fathers again- and it was moving day. In my mind I could hear my stepmother bitching, and in my mind she is always in her shower, not the one she died in but in that condo in Pomona; that's always how I picture it.
My dad is trying to roust me, he has a good spot outside the garage and it's way early in the morning and so I grudgingly get up to start loading the car. All of my things are scattered around the basement room and the garage- the cardboard boxes are all crushed and falling apart. My little sister is there and she and my dad are standing each on one side of me- not helping but watching. Jeanette shows up with a tour of my friends and I rationalize that she is one of those people who you just know will show up like that.
So I am loading his car from the front of the garage and also taking things to the trash out the back of the garage. There's a concrete step up and just as I am about to go back down it a lady comes thru the garage with a baby carriage that holds three children and appears to be made of shopping carts, the old metal kind. She's really haphazard with it, trying to get it up these concrete steps and keeps dropping one side of it and banging up her kids pretty fiercely. The contraption looks like animal cages and of course every time it bangs down all these kids with their pink mouths start crying and wailing.
I am not upset with her about the children, ( tho I am), I am upset about how she is blocking my path. I have limited time and she's in my way. I say this to her and of course she cops an attitude with me. I jump down into the garage around her but she comes after me and hits me across the face. Her hands are smooth and worn, and warm on my skin. I warn her not to hit me again, but she knows I won't hit her back. She keeps attacking me. I start yelling back at her and chase her down the back parking lot and into a bus. It's night now- and we continue fighting on the bus. The passengers side with her and she is crying now- so we both take our seats. We go into this tunnel where the bus is actually lifted from the front and pulled up a spiraling tube that is all this gothic brick work. When we reach the top- we are all at a museum, the bus is gone, the woman is gone. Jeanette is there with Eion and Barry and a tour. It's some kind of science museum and I wink at Eion and tell him that there are portals to Brian and Jeanette's house everywhere, behind every door if you just open it at the right moment and with solid belief that it's true. Jeanette hears me and like a Mary Poppins says that it's not true. But I go to the nearest door and open it and there is the hall between the kitchen and living room of the house on highview terrace. I walk through it and everyone is there, it's new years and real confetti is falling around us as Brian goes around telling us it isn't impressive.
I woke up thinking I was still at my dad's and in needing to move again. I was delighted when I realized it was all just a dream.
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.
that i have good friends to surround myself with
strong family ties that i can turn to when i need them
and the ability to constantly find inspirational things around me
and hold each one in the weighty measure it requires.
some from movies
some from family thankful speeches
some from laughter
and some now
reflecting this day and
upon my life.
although i do not speak of it much any longer-
each day i rise is a testament to the human spirit;
that nothing can truly dampen it nor deter it
there is nothing that cannot be overcome
if you set your mind upon it.
i know i talk of grace and silence;
of being easily brought to happiness by the details
and also of the howl within my heart-
but i don't know that
anyone will ever truly get
i am thankful everyday for my whole skin
for my body both for her soft flaws and her own kind of beauty-
i am thankful that i know i am the only one it matters to if it is seen at all.
i am thankful for each breath i draw; every blink and sniffle
every tiny sensation; from pain to pleasure-
and every emotion; from calm waters to perfect storms.
i am thankful to feel
i am thankful to know i have loved
and that in some ways, and at some times
i am loved
i am thankful for the guidance given to me by those who feel they know a thing or two
regardless of whether or not i take it, regardless of whether or not i want to
usually when someone gives it; they are trying to spare you pain or
somehow otherwise see you find a happiness
i am thankful constantly
to a flaw
for all of the universe
down to the smallest of empty spaces within atoms.
is in its way
in comparison to things which hold such steadfast permanence;
our lives are so short
our time so limited before we are called back
and we waste so much of it on the inconsequential
or the meaningless-
pursuit of material things
pursuit of self gratifying activities
pursuit of some crazy ideal that someone once told us was 'perfect.'
try to constantly remain stopped;
for every rose-
try to introduce the idea of savory
to each aspect of life
to never assume
and most especially
never take for granted.
i am especially grateful
that these life philosophies
also have not resulted with being
committed (as in, crazy!)
nor that the bottom of everything has fallen out.
i am grateful that
some of my foundations
are well shored
so long as one of them can still stand
so shall i.
And i am thankful to know;
realize and acknowledge
that i will always have
to depend upon for that.
i am thankful that the world still exists to explore
and that there are millions of places i have never been
but are just waiting-
i am thankful for each chance i have had in my life
to get out into that world
and for the amazing things
i have seen;
and the people i have seen them with.
i will be thankful for the few hours of sleep i get tonight
and with that
i thank you for reading.
Peace and Love;
i worked Oklahoma!
here at the local theater.
Theater feels almost as home-like to me as the Faire does;
i have belonging, purpose and merit there-
and when the first piece loads in
until the last one is loaded out-
there is always the thrill of the next curtain.
It is a job like no other job;
the people are like no other people
and this particular group was such a pleasure;
the actors and actresses were competent and normal;
the crew was minimal
and the show ran so smoothly and spot on.
It was good to work;
seeing the truck in the morning and then
loading it back up
reminded me so strongly of Terrorwerks and
even tho that is A LOT of work
i miss it dreadfully;
i would have given nearly anything to change the show truck
to a Terrorwerks truck
and be on the road ourselves to the next town.
It was a tinge of sadness that i felt as we drove home;
to know that it would be the spring again before my next show
and also to know it was continuing somewhere onward without me
that i was only just one stop on the tour-
and that shows go up every night that i could probably get involved with.
i never felt the great need to go in for crew on a professional level;
but sometimes i wish for that life on the road;
to me it seems almost to be the epitome of a life like mine-
always moving around
never in one place for very long.
and yet it is the constant moving and displaced feelings that
i have fought so hard against
most of my life.
i suppose i find balances;
make trade offs between lifestyle and standard-
and to always live with a kind of nobility and grace
no matter what it throws at you or where you end up.
and even tho i struggle
i am happy
just to breathe, just to be here, allowed to pursue beauty and visions of it.
it seems that the convention season is at an end;
there are no more faires or festivals or shows-
it is time to settle in for winter;
curl up and lay down against the cold
dream of springs and summers and the joys of life to come.
i read some of my posts from the last year
trying to date a thought in my mind
a moment of the muse having once touched down
in a simple sweet word
a whisper in the desperation of my drought;
the few little lines she had given me
and how they seemed to have been echoing
in this year past.
If i had to call it anything
i would call it
and the realization and
acknowledgement of that
sits deeper nestled than
any insignificant insecurity;
a deeper positiveness
than i have felt
in a sincere
i am happy with my choices
This is the base recipe for my beloved special Chicken. I won't say much about the ways i modify it
(i cook up the onions and leave them for the sauce)
but simply share it here
for everyone who's ever had it made by me
in the love of my heart
this dish = Love
Mod it however you prefer- and as always;
(Clicky for hi-res, full-size image)
and while i love it there and love the people i get to spend all my time with
there is a big hole there where others used to be
that it just doesn't feel like the 'real deal' without-
old friends, musicians and acts; missing-
leaving a rather flavorless impression in my mouth;
in memory- this could be any year;
and i suppose i consider it a building year rather than
a significance of anything else.
There were a few important things of note;
firstly, i got to participate for the first time in a Wench walk.
I got to sing my favorite verse to 'Roll Your Leg Over'
(If Laddies were watches in shiny gold cases, i'd be the hands, and sit on their faces!)
and lay a big red smacker on my friend Ro; whose fiance had arranged his wenching
on the occasion of their engagement.
Nothing can really beat the face of the realizing victim
when they turn and see all of the lips and buxom women coming towards them
with wry, teasing and vixen-ish intent. ^_^
being there for the high moments of others was awesome too;
to see Leslie hit her all-time high numbers,
to show Hillary our flowers,
being the 'My Little Pony' of the horse clans;
Bee Time, random dancing, photobombs and
a few other moments passing-
and yet the past season only felt like it was rehearsal;
the warm up for the real thing.
Maybe because i have seen so many seasons there-
maybe because the move and other things were preoccupying me-
maybe that is why i didn't feel like i was thoroughly engaged.
The most touching moment i felt was
when the EarthQuest parrot-peoples offered me one of their baby rabbits
to take home and love;
which i had to graciously decline-
someday there will be room for rabbits;
but that time has not yet come to pass.
Still, i would rather be at the faire than many other places;
rocking and roaring or quiet and introspective-
the faire is still the one place on earth where i feel more like i am home
than any other.
This week i am housesitting at my new diggs;
there is a rooster, a cat and dog and a pond of koi under my charge
and it is kind of nice to know that most of my company this week
emotionally i think i am empty of most other cares for humanity;
i've just about been hollowed of everything i have to give
by those who only know how to take.
i have written a few things:
on my move:
No matter how strong I feel I am
Life always finds a way to break me
As stoic and steady as I try to be
I can't do this by myself anymore
I don't want to always be so alone
I either want this life to
be done with me or to find my belonging
Just doesn't cut it
on having to break plans:
Destined to watch everyone
Enjoying those things I desire
While endlessly searching
For something fulfilling
I do not begrudge them it;
I merely wonder
If ever it will come for me;
if ever I shall have that happiness
These moments spent in
The joy of sharing
And all love embodies-
Life keeps me from it;
Orchestrates complicated scenarios
Which give the impression
That I am aloof
But the solid unabated truth
That I am spent in longing
That I am constantly caught in daydreams of desire;
Sad melodies never to be realized.
i had thought to share some other writings
but doing so would be to point to specific indicators of my emotions and feelings
and i am not looking to lay fingers against anyone or thing;
sometimes my emotions so intense and so well hidden
that the startling truths behind them
revealed to those reading eyes
can cause more harm and havoc than
holding these passions in for the nonce
and only revealing them when more personal explorations may happen.
how many many candles i burn in the darkness;
how many dreams pass and fade in this solitude;
the promises in 'hello;'
how the empty and the hollow
make the world seem worse for wear
when in fact
it just happens to be the conditions of life;
those things we all must each learn how to deal with.
i will forever be this person who i am;
someone who seems to be a bottomless well of
devotion and love;
generous in her waters and her grace
desperately attempting to seed love
in the hopes it would bloom into succulent gardens;
humbled by the simple, fragile buds which at least
raise their heads
before the harsh realities
wither them all.
my dreams for a while
in this new scenario
will be a little self focusing;
sometimes i must begin to keep myself away;
save those things up in reserve
for the next time
to land true.
As i watch the words from my past
scatter under the blades of marching time;
they each remind me
This has been your Emily-Update;
perhaps soon again i shall find more words.
so the rooms are utter mess and chaos
and it amazes me how many things i still have.
I listed all i could up on Craigslist tho and hope to sell some stuff this week-
the month is going by so fast-
i am trying not to let it get to me
but it has been a real struggle;
it makes all of the little things seem like big issues
and i don't like feeling this way-
tense and ready to snap at any moment.
i have had one outlet this summer
and even that too shall soon be over-
i just cannot wait until the day
when the ground beneathe my feet
is firm and unmoving.
This whole Mosque two blocks from the World Trade Center- anyone who is getting up in arms about this or who wants to forcefully drive the congregation away thru 'strong messages' or, as it is called-- Harassment-- needs to go back and freaking read their American History. THEY HAVE THE RIGHT TO BUILD WHATEVER WHEREVER THEY WANT; THAT'S WHY WE ARE A FREE COUNTRY, THAT'S WHAT MAKES US GREAT!!! They aren't building it there to piss anyone off, they are hoping tho that by building it there they can strengthen understanding as well as relations with 'the west.' I can understand why it might raise hackles; but honestly- the ordeal that this is turning into just illustrates how ignorant, bigoted and close-minded people can be; no matter if they pre-cursor their words by saying 'well, i believe in Freedom of Religion and all, but...' It makes me sick to be an American to know that we can't be bigger than this.
My heart is breaking, the wheel of my life is turning again and i can feel that everything is going to get tilled over; uprooted and once again find us wandering. No Rest for the Wicked... :-(
would be a damnation against the Lady;
but the bitter joke
the utter rub
is generally at her
unlucky would be at best-
even when things seemed
was only turning a trick.
i tempted fate for the third time;
and then i simply had faith
and the third request
was neatfully dealt
some fluff thing
the flick of the wrist
the grace of the joystick-
how precious the moment
when raises the claw.
And in my heart
i thought that they should not not be a part
of my life
my friend in ernest
won me two-
and with his permission
gave the little pink bird
to a child of perhaps a year
blonde in a little pink dress
sitting with her grandmother
while her mother worked the kitchen
eating blueberry pancakes
with syrup and jam
all over her face;
and i remember i;
peanut butter and jelly head
with my fingers askew
making faces from the beginning
to see a little smile...
i approached the table
which had been behind ours while we were eating
where she had only just noticed us behind her
as we were rising to pay the bill.
we played a game of waving
of copying one another;
i played her peek-a-boo
and she asked me to raise my hands together-
she smiled at us all and coo'd;
so when it was that
fate had it we won both toys
wanting to pay it forward
i showed her the little pink bird
and she changed from crying into
as we left the restaurant.
and the joy of it also is
is that i have won
the little pink lucky seahorse
which i had wanted to win
to gift to my dear friend Crystal
to bring her some cheers!
i just thought the story was cute
and wanted to share.
To my Darling Friend;
i am spreading joy in the name
of bringing you joy
to help bring more joy in general to the world;
I cannot wait to see you
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!” -Jack Kerouac--------------------------
about to loose my voice
sickness, drugs and chemicals-
in this theater of my youth
and pretend for a while-
under the light of the full moon;
my- how glorious and like the day it is;
and watch the shadows and clouds
play across the valley.
the evening hues
those deeply blues
are always the ones for me;
the fading embers
the trees remember-
their leaves like spiders
against a web of stars;
a cricket's chorus
the frogs' revue;
and cicada lull-a-byes--
there was a time when i could sit and write like this
when i could spend hours telling you
of the dreams within my heart
or the things which haunt my soul
and i could make those endless words
all seem like
lucid flowing thoughts
which brilliantly illustrated the feelings
that i had been
wrestling and delighted with-
frustrating or alternatively
and the rare instances
when they eclipse one another
in those ways.
and either the pendulum of my life has slowed to it's
the art of remaining ever valiant and hopeful
has become lost to me
of the kind of sparks
is it that i have changed
or has the world just been
solidifying around me?
the longer i walk upon it
the more sure of foot
and cautious to emotion
loosing some of that passion of
youth and naievity
ought to be a fair trade
for the lucid
of my thirties--
i can never escape
the hanging sword;
the ticking clock
that notion that i am always
just slipping past
death's searching grip--
((because i could not stop for death;
he kindly stopped for me...))
where do my thoughts go-
where did my keen vision to austerity and its beauty
flame and air-
that it is as if
the glasses through which i saw those
have been misplaced
or emerald lens
affix'd to ensure
how would i have spoken to you?
how would i have sung my song
when once i had
i would have said;
the night calls endlessly to me;
her dark corners cloak me in their potentials
and the tendrils of her hair
encircle the throat of my thoughts
to poison my mind
with the sweetest of dreams-
i would have written of
those simple things about you
the memory of your smile
of the lingering tingle upon my skin
when your fingertips touch me-
how my heart races
just to be near you--
of the exquisite torture
my longing sometimes enduces
simply hearing the familiar thrum of your voice;
leave me fearful
to step much farther into their very feeling
from so many
do i truly disdain my carefulness now;
that i come back around to how i once had been
before i knew
what the world was like?
i suppose i miss the headlong rush;
the thrill of the unknown
those things which take us 'up-'
and however long we can hang there dreaming
before reality and truth
bring us crashing
about the journey;
is it not?
do i say;
walk with me a while-
share with me these moments;
until our paths divide
let us count only those times we spend together
in truth and wholeness
and forget the times apart
as if they were only shadows
between the brilliance of
the light you are
and that we make
amidst the dance floor
that is our universe;
let us dance awhile
before spinning away again;
they refuse to find common ground.
my heart wails;
like a child, lost
and my mind reasons;
like an old hat.
somewhere between them
i struggle to surface
and relay what thoughts i can from the front-
there used to be a kind of touch i had
and while in some ways i have perfected it;
in the pursuit and others
i have lost it entirely-
i may as well have been struck dumb with the wonderful job i have done composing myself.
although nothing happens, the urge, the itch
the desire to write exists.
my life is empty
i fail to see beautiful things
they chased me-
once upon a time the words leapt up at me from off the page
and the world i lived in came alive---
i should write----
this morning the clouds were so grey against the pale blue morning sky-
it has been so phenomenal to wake and watch their lucidity
float in the layered green hills of the valley
over which our house sits.
the clouds move as they would over the vastness of water
in the open mouthed harbors of old new england-
yet our valley rests here, landlocked-
peaceful with itself and the scar of the highway
that runs along up it.
there are so many things these mountains hold for me
that there are memories connected here that i no longer need flinch from
that the good ones seem to be the ones that come to mind
as the bad ones have seemed to completely melt into oblivion.
i suppose that is part of the process that is needed to heal
running so old and so deep...
i have taken to sleeping out upon the back deck;
the lower level of which is screened in and has furniture and a futon-
it was thrilling to lay out there and be able to be still in the darkness
and the wind lightly dancing in the night
around my mother's garden.
sleep came when unguarded;
and awaking was a surprise at each turn;
startled like a small animal or
feeling the sun calling you to awaken--
i spent most of monday morning watching the clouds
purge their lightning upon the valley
the sky above the house
bright and sunny
while the space below
framed by the trees we have in the backyard
lay in the gloom of the rolling storm;
it was so lovely and relaxing-
and i wished that you had been there
laying beside me to share it-
a day spent under the blue
under the rain
with the world
vibrantly happening around you.
i shouldn't think of you in these ways-
i am even a fool now to breathe life into these very words
but eventually my heart breaks my logics down
pleads with me on this one
willing once again to take a chance-
the mind doesn't take long
to fall harmonious;
i am a happy person--
and if this leads me more often into hurt
for the pursuit of a noble cause
i don't mind so much....
i should stop writing them;
sometimes for words i can no longer find inspiration.
It is hard to want it so badly
and be denied so long
the cool touch of the embrace of the muse-
to be given a voice
and allowed to shine-
who had an abundance of hope and reasons to be happy
who could make people laugh until they cried and found talking to strangers
as a fish finds swimming.
she could flirt, she could express her emotions- her desires and her hurts-
and has now turned into someone
who never lets anyone see her cry
and who would take the daydream of kissing
over the chance of a someday heartbreak...
a lady who prefers to silently howl alone
feel anything at all.
sometimes, some things wound us so deeply
it seems as if we will never recover
we erect simpler truths to illustrate the world as full of hope
then are crushed under the weight of the fact that the more complicated truths;
the truths by implication-
the truths known so well by the heart that they ought to always be rote
all of these-
knock the simple truths into seeming lies.
and in thus we gain the knowledge that we lie to ourselves.
truth is ever evolving;
undoing itself as it further defines itself.
there still feels to be a great hole inside of me-
i had wanted to escape-
((there was not a flock of birds present to help...))
and for a heartbeat logic almost circumvented the securities i have wrapped myself in
for so long...
circumstance presented an argument and
as i realized the consideration-
shut myself down immediately;
avowing no abuse.
i didn't want to face 31-
it was a hard week
and has set up several hard weeks before me-
i honestly do not want to face any of them
but i am screwing my heart to the sticking place
and desperately telling myself that things are aright in the world
even if it feels as if we are dying;
as if there is no longer air to breath
of future purposes.
i give all i am
as often as i find chance
and still within it i find myself
in the truth of my continued solitude;
an open, weeping wound
the heart upon the sleeve
the promises heard in 'hello's
the muscle memories only
of passions once felt;
long grown cold now.
it hurts to know i place my heart so thoroughly into each thing i have done
so much deliberate love
to see now that none of it really mattered
it was temporal,
forgotten once received;
the illumination failed to either inspire or transfer;
it simply ceased to be;
went out in a puff of smoke;
the blink of the eye;
breathed in all in one moment; useless upon exhalation
and of no more note
those granted things
which even when gone
are not missed.
the logic here instates that
forms of escape
are useless too;
it whispers to me of the insurmountable;
with repulsive thoughts
of this continued struggle;
and bows in abeyance
i believe my hour upon the stage
has not yet come to pass
will suffer these failures to launch;
the bottomed out hopelessnesses
and the persistent heartbreaks-
until such a time
as it graces me-
and shall just have to live for now
of when this will all cease.
because i must learn patience and faith
because i have to have those things for and in myself-
to trust that there will be something that clicks.
because i feel so broken.
and so worthless
because at the end of it
when it all breaks down
it is in this way
i want to dig my heels in and swear off my age
i am not ready to face 31
i had not planned for any of this
and my life has just crumbled in my hands
despite how much hard work i have put in to being where i am
and in attempting to make just one of my dreams come true.
none of it has distinguished me in any ways.
i don't want to face any of it and any of the uncertainty my life now has-
and i am so tired of fighting to find that security
from earlier this month
because the despair that had me down in them
and i feel like i can express the sentiments
without causing anyone worry for myself or my state of being.
i try to remain grateful for every day;
and to not let my nerves overwhelm my somewhat sense of wholeness.
a while ago
a friend of mine implied through conversation that on this journal
i tend to bleed for everyone to see
and that the knowledge of this openness might turn some away-
but the further truth is that in ways i am always bleeding
i always have raw wounds upon me
there is always something underlying which prevents me from
committing to any good moment with 100% of myself;
knowing that eventually even perfect moments are unravelled by inconsideration and
the gentle abuse of taking another person for granted.
i cannot but think of when the time will come and i will be gone
knowing how much of today is wasted in waiting
in staying a little aloof
and not living with purpose and intent.
yet my views are colored by my brushes with the unknown and with death;
the urgency i feel does not permeate to everyone
and i remind myself that my lesson is patience
and that i must savor every moment of life
because it is so short and
at any moment we could be done with it.
i cannot see my path any longer
the road under my feet has turned into a concrete wasteland
a parking-lot along the journey of life
one from which i can see no exit
a lot which i must scour from horizon to horizon until i can find my way back out again--
until life decides to lead me onward again
and the quixotic hopes
of the nigh impossible.
curiously hot, humid days where the sun beats down upon us all as if we were the redheaded children of someone else.
the return of the sun signals the return of green everywhere
the honeysuckle have bloomed this week
and already down the blocks in astoria
the first roses since fall tumbled into winter have bloomed along the brick walls between the streets
tiny plots of magnificent gardens;
anything to blot out the concrete grey, brick red, black-top and otherwise drab city colour palate.
there is a kind of singular rightness in saying that i live here;
in knowing that i can always return to my apartment
having passed the year mark as usual is a curious feeling-
but it does in its way take the edge off the stress of being so nomadic;
when they called us wanderers, they weren't kidding.
never in my life have i felt so uninspired and listless, restless.
despite the comfort of my home i still deeply feel inside a sense of non-belonging;
as if i tried this too yet it does not hold.
i let the foolishness of my heart guide me inevitably into the same cycles
and still i wonder why it is i always end up walking alone.