origins, journey's, destinations

My father has become stooped, bent, hunched over upon himself; the weight of time and life resting on his once broad shoulders. I don’t know when this metamorphosis happened. When did he go from being this sentinel in my life, tall, shrouded in shadows, silent. I always remember him as if there was a moderate gulf between us, not too immense that it could never be crossed, just wide enough that the danger associated with it was enough to deter us both from efforts. When did his life turn on him? When did he realize that the choices he made have boxed him in until his life is no longer his own? How does it feel to look at your life and know that you are stranger to everyone? I looked at him today and realized that the parts of me that are him are ruling me right now. I don’t want to ever wake up and find myself in his shoes.

Love has always been a question in my life. One I never knew how to answer. How do you tell if you love someone? Harder still, how do you tell if someone loves you? My whole relationship with my father has been filled with words that hurt and silences filled with awkwardness that wounded deeper than any words ever could. I think maybe he always loved me, he just never knew how to show it. To be twenty and freaked out by an affectionate hug from my father probably defines our relationship pretty well. I hit a certain age and suddenly he can’t love me enough. I don’t know if he saw the end of his life or the beginning of mine, and I don’t know which one would have scared him most. I feel like he is trying to buy my love now, and I wish that I could explain to him that all he has ever had to do was ask. It has always been that simple with me, ask and if it’s in my power to give, you have it. But words are still hard for him, and asking even tougher. So we play this weird version of pushme – pullyou. Push me. Pull you. We get a little bit closer and we drift apart. Someday he is going to be gone and I wonder if all I’m going to remember is the sentinel of my youth, or the man he is now?

so minneapolis

If you pay close enough attention to everything around you, you become aware of recurring patterns and shapes and behaviors. There are only so many in existence and they crop up over and over again, if you have a discerning eye. Because we are beings that need to define and own; we single out the ones we think we understand and then give them names. Me, I notice them a lot. I've begun to pick out the repeating themes in my life and assign value to them, i.e. like and hate, logical, useful, paranoia and so on.

I have been reminded of my hatred for triangles. I'll admit to a lack of conviction on many issues but the absolute refusal to allow triangles into my life isn't one of them. But no matter how much I try to make this truth, I realize I have no control over it, I look around and there they are. Now don't get me wrong, it's not like I avoid yield signs or pictures of egypt. It's not an irrational hatred of triangles, but a very hard earned lesson that triangles are no good for me. Especially in the aspect of relationships.

Let's look at triangles, shall we? I mean from a purely aesthetic viewpoint, they are deceiving in looks. Logically you would deduce that the very nature of triangles is stability, balance, solidity; because you always have two sides to support the one. This is an error in deduction. Triangles are not stable. The fact is, the two sides that support the one are always the closer of the three. They experience the same things at the same time, while the point that is suspended experiences something totally different and is always seperated by a set amount of distance from the "stabling" points. This creates feelings of alienation and resentment. Trust me. Now the other big problem with triangles. You might think, well the aforementioned problem is easily fixable, as long as the triangle keeps turning, the experiences can be evened out by the rotation of points. Ah...you silly silly person. That's what sucks about points. Triangles are not conducive to turning. They are static, stagnant, festering, stuck, unmoving.....you get my point?

So I found myself looking out from my stupor at all that used to be my world and all I saw were triangles of people, with me being the satellite point. I'm not sure I know how I keep letting myself get into these situations, as they always cause me pain. I swore after the whole Sarah / Danielle / Me, Danielle / Stacey / Me fiasco I wouldn't do this to myself anymore. But that doesn't seem to be working. And nothing made that more evident than my time spent with Krista and Steven. All of a sudden there is a palpable history between them that buffers me from ever reaching certain parts that used to be accesible to me. I sat in that wooden chair, safe and set in place, fulfilling my duties as a point, and watched as even our positions mirrored a triangle. The overwhelming feeling was an ache to touch what was unspoken between them, between us. To voice what was an awkward elephant in the small cluttered room. How do I fit in your lives now? I'm not what I was to either of them anymore. The weight of Krista's disappointment and Steven's questioning glances were enough to drive me into silence. I didn't have answers for them. I don't think I want to have any answers for them. In fact, for once I want them to have answers for me.

What happens when you shave off the top of a triangle? You are left with a trapezoid. Which is all well and good, a still functioning and stable shape to have. But what about the piece that's shaved off? That's still a triangle. A smaller, bewildered triangle, but still a triangle all the same. I'm afraid that is me, the piece that is always sacrificed for the stability of a trapezoid. A perpetual triangle.

I miss my bed.

stream of consciousness...

got all sorts of things floating around inside my head; like time, and mirrors, self perception, duty, love, living, choices, and million other things all amounting to nothing. Just chasing around and around, feeding my restlessness. Thinking to no conclusion is a pain in my ass. If you are waiting for things to settle down so you can breathe you are going to die of suffocation. What you see in the mirror is the biggest delusion of them all. Analyzing yourself is like using a magnifying glass to fry ants: so much power for such a little cause. By swearing to tell the truth you have already begun to lie. Duty and honor are words lost to a lexicon of yuppie's children. How scary is that? Yuppie's children. Though I am a self proclaimed YIT (yuppie-in-training) I know I will never make it, I am just too too. I can't say that fact saddens me. Everyone needs to be loved, but I don't believe a word you say. I wonder if I ever have? and if I did, when did I lose that? Choices. Choices fascinate me, choosing not to choose is still a choice. You can't get much more circular than that.

I've found all the missing volumes of my work in high school, so I'll be interspersing old work with new, an exciting look into my head as a teenager. I sadly, don't think I have changed much.

Forgive me
if I falter,
but your brilliance
blinds me
and I find myself
shrinking from the light
like I don't deserve
your smile.
If I was half
the person
you say I am
There would be no need
to save me,
so think of
your contradictions
the next time
you hold out your hand.
Who is grasping for whom?

and since I've been talking about Ireland a lot I'll throw in one from my work there.

Transatlantic call

The minutes are
ticking by
and alcohol
won't work tonight,
cause I can't
fool myself
into thinking
I want anything
but you.

The phone just
serves to remind
me of the miles
that span
and it's
only your voice
near to me
tonight.

I'm looking in
on a room full
of people
beckoning me;
with my back
to the ocean
that leads
to you

They don't know
that their pull
is nothing
compared to yours

or that I'm
gripping the phone
so tight
my ear is red
and my fingers white
in an effort
to feel
anything but
alone.