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.

this looks familiar....

It seems destined that I'll return to this thing every few months. I would have more to say if I ever lifted my head from this trench I've ensconed myself in. But even I would be disgusted with myself if I spent my time filling this little form with drama induced misery day after day. I figure a proper angst filled "my life sucks" no hope update every couple of months is enough.

I had thought that I had left behind the need to live in a fantasy land years ago, but I find myself stepping back into it with both feet. My life is filled with strangers and I've just added a few more. Perhaps the lesson will be better learned after this fiasco wreaks out the emotional havoc. But more than likely not. At least I'm consistent.

I've been too long away from people I love. And each day that I'm stuck in this perpetual circle of nothingness my hatred for the phone grows, even as I'm more and more dependant on it. I'd like to feel the warmth of my friends and loved ones, I'm so excited for this weekend because I'll be staying with boo and I know that at least for the weekend I'll be ok. Everything inside will calm down and I won't feel so cold all the time.

Talked to my friend Jenn last night. She tried to get me to run away to Las Vegas. Or maybe it was me trying to get her to run away to Las Vegas, regardless the idea was appealing. It seems I'm not the only one suffering from the scattering effect, or the catatonic inducing fear of life in general as it is "right now".

Everyone I talk to is so helpful. Everyone that I know goes out of their way to help me in whatever fashion they can, whether it be offers of money, food, a place to live, or just encouraging words. And I hate it. I hate it because I'm such a fuck. I think about all the people who don't have this kind of help, who don't have even an eighth of this help. And I get even more frustrated with myself because I'm allowed to wallow in this pit, I'm allowed to take this time and just fuck up. I allow myself this time by living in absolute denial and lack of action. And everyone else allows me this time as well. And for all their kind words and gentle pats, I just want to scream that "no, everything isn't going to be ok". Even when I have no right to be that oblivious and spoiled. Hopefully I'll get my ass kicked soon and go back to being the less pathetic individual I'm sure I used to be. Before something drastic happens. And hopefully when I'm in a position to offer my hand the way so many have been offered to me, I won't be so self involved as to ignore it.

I've fulfilled my quota for whining and then some. So it's back to a stupor for me. I've been feeling pretty prolific lately (go figure) so most likely I'll be adding some more drivel I refer to as poetry here.

six degrees to love

Free association, logical paths of relationships made in your head, links strung together in your memory; pulling one link leads to a whole different outcome. An end, an event, a tangible manifestation of words.

You are this to me. A chain reaction. Everything reminds me of your name. Your name calls your image to mind. Your image begs to be made tangible, by phone at the very least, since there are always some miles that separate us. Your voice makes my hands twitch to touch you, my eyes ache to look at you, to prove your existence and the reality of my place in your life. Your presence in my company makes my skin burn to be in contact with yours...and so on and so forth, ad nauseum. This is how my days pass, in any number of combinations, from a towel left in the corner of the bathroom to making love to you. From a stop light on 24th to pinning your shoulders against the bed, against the wall.

This is why I show up on your doorstep, this is why I call you at odd times, this is why I stare at you instead of anything else, this is why my arms are reluctant to loosen whenever you try to leave my embrace.

This is why I'm writing this pathetic entry, in this pathetic journal, that you will probably never see.

Because my life has become six degrees to you.

Kevin Bacon ain't got nothing on you, baby.

insecurities

I picked up the phone
But the glaring red
Digital numbers
Glowing 4:25
Made me
Put it back down

I paced the floor
While my frighteningly
Overwhelming need
Fought with
My sense of decorum

You’d be surprised
How many bouts
I’ve had ringside seats to

It’s 4:37 and
Decorum has taken
A beating
Leaving me with
My emotions screaming
Trying to figure out
The time difference
In my head

I’ll be the first
To admit
It’s sad

That I no longer
Believe myself
When I say
It’s all going to be okay

That I need to
Hear the meaningless
Words
From your mouth
Roughened with your voice
For them to
Placate me
Like they should

It’s 4:41
I can hear the phone
Ringing in my ear
Knowing you’ll
Forgive me
This weakness

a letter to boo

Lately I've been forced to sift through the relics that document my past, what with putting up my senior show, and with this way finding project. I've been reflecting a lot on the journey and the people along the way. Of which you are of course a humongous part. It was when I was looking through my photo album that I had a startling revelation. There is a part of me that will always see you as a boy. Your face flush with the weight of the very young, clad in that white t-shirt from cooperstown, black sweatpants, and the ever present slip on shoes. I remember how you hated shoetrings, jeans, and leaving your shirt untucked.

I can literally watch you grow up all over again in photos. Watch your body lengthen and widen, your jaw define itself, your eyes lose the glow of happiness, only to regain it again in later photos, tempered this time by living with choices and consequences. Watch your cockiness become a mantle that rests on your shoulders. Watch all the little infinite changes that happen so naturally no matter how closely you look, you can never really be cognizant of them happening.

I look at you and I see the little boy whose soul understood mine right away. I see the angry lost teenager just living recklessly. And I see the man you are becoming. Turning twenty is a weird quasi period of transition, it was a year in which I learned and grew so much. I hope those same things to you. And know that no matter how old you become, how much you change, there will always be someone who remembers where you came from and how you got here.

I love you. Happy Birthday.

nigh

the end is drawing nigh.

Out from under the pressure I can see the culmination of the stress and rush and hair pulling. I'm gonna see the other side of the tunnel. I'm not so scared anymore. It was hard to see past the immediacy of the moment, it doesn't make the problems and the struggles any less important, just filled with more perspective. It's the process of anything I guess, you keep whittling away until you have it at a level that you can manage.

I made the trip to be with my friend when he got his test results. Negative. He says he's changed for the better because of this experience, that he's getting his life on track. I can't have anything but faith in him. And when he stumbles I will be there to help him up without the I told you so's.

2 weeks. And I will be free again. How did the Indigo girls put it?

"I spent four years prostrate to a higher mind, I got my paper and now I'm free"

yeah, I couldn't have said it better myself.

really...

I'm not that unhappy and things are never as bad as they seem. But I tend to let things build up until I have to get them out of my head, hence the immense overflow of words that is the previous entry.

And today is looking up, I have an open space to live in the city of my choice. Now I just have to come up with the dough. Yeah, that'll be easy.

So I'm flipping off the slammed door and crawling through a window.

Fitting for a thief.

simplicity

I have a tendency to be melodramatic. It sometimes feels like breathing to me. I have tried to hold my breath until my lungs burn and I think maybe, just maybe this time I might lose consciousness. This time I might be able to rest. But I always let go with a great gasp and draw another breath, rapidly, one after the other.

I graduate in exactly one month and two days. I get caught sometimes in a fold of time, so that I'm still present in the now, but overlayed smashed together is some scene, some memory from four years ago. And I stop and remember, the people that brought me here, and I remember the person I was. I find myself getting nostalgic at the weirdest times, so caught up in the past my heart actually aches; to the point that I'm clutching my chest and clenching my eyes closed.

I'm absolutely petrified. My greatest fear is about to come true. I've spent four years and 100,000 + and I'm coming out the other end still lost. Still floundering, still looking, still on the fringe. And I can't figure out if that's because I'm still running from the things I should be facing, if I'm still telling everyone what they expect to hear, if I'm still putting on the same old mask when everyone already knows my secret identity. Or if it's just because I'm not ready to be who I'm supposed to be yet.

Everyone tells me this is normal. This is natural, everyone feels this way. It's the 22 year old freak out.

Well A. I'm not 22.

And B. I guess it's normal to have some fear and be confused, but to feel total apathy for the future? I'm pretty sure that's not normal.

I can't help but look at exactly where I'm going to be in roughly four weeks. I'm going to be homeless. I'm going to be beyond poor. I'm going to have no direction and no aspirations. I'm going to have no job. I'm going to have a pretty piece of paper that's supposed to mean something.

And what's worse is that all of these wonderful things that are going to happen are my own choices, whether through fault or chance.

And there are still more choices at hand: there's always San Francisco, or Chicago, or New York. And Michigan. I always have choices, but I've already established that I'm just looking to fuck up my life (I think I've done pretty well so far, let it never be said that I did anything halfway)

At a time when I should be happy and excited and looking toward the future with great anticipation, all I can think about is death.

My best friend called me Saturday, he'd just gotten tested for HIV. He has a week to wait for the results. A week that is tearing him up inside as he relives his past choices over and over in his head. It hurts to know that he never learns until the lesson is his life. There are an infinite amount of ways to throw your life away, and I swear he is working on them all. Not that I have much room to talk.

For as long as I can remember I've been afraid to pick up the phone. Because it always heralds bad news. Sometimes I sit and stare at it, letting each ring go unanswered as the digital tone slips into my ears and shudders down my spine. If I let it ring, everything will be ok for a little while longer. Harboring delusions and living in denial isn't healthy, I know. Is it wrong to avoid your loved ones, your friends and family, because you know you can't take one more thing. You can't take one more hospital visit, or doctor's report, or cat scan. You can't take one more death, one more broken heart, one more sob filled phone call. Because you are in no position to do anything to help. You can't even put your arms around them because you are at least 700 miles away from anyone who ever mattered to you. And that's all you want to do, make it all better with the force of your presence.

I'd like to let the melodrama go, to make my life a model of simplicity. Equate breathing with the taking in and letting go, the natural cycle of things. Like the waves on the shore, so that if I'm weary it's because I've lived a long life of being worn down gradually, gracefully.

randon ditty

We've been
ending our nights
in paper cups
filled with
strawberry wine

I've spent
all summer
trying to pick
a cherry
from your bush

trying to avoid
the pricks and pokes
nature seems
destined
to put in my way

I just know
it'll be that much sweeter
for the struggle
when I do.


*****
and yes cherries do grow on bushes, nanking bushes to be exact. heh.
http://www.almanac.com/garden/01.summer/nankingcherry.html

Krista

I'm weighted
down
leaden
with the
ways of the world

Today
someone's life
ended before
it began

And you've
become a
cavern
sucked dry
past tense
usefulness

Stripped bare
you're burning
bridges
left and right
trying to become
who you are
alone

It's never wise
to start sculpting
a second
when you
haven't even
finished the first

I understand
choices and
consequences
but that doesn't
stop me from
sleeping the whole day
through

Knowing I can't
be there
for you.

there are no choices

Slowly
pull by pull
I'm being dragged
towards the truth
by this
chain
tied to my heart
tied to my
very soul
And with each
tug
It becomes harder
to rationalize
to explain
to even understand
these feelings
And I wonder
if the rut marks
my heels make
are trying to
convince
me or them
of my reluctance.

dreams

I can no longer
remember
what it is
I feared so much
but I am always
awakened
by the cold sweats,
pounding heart,
and gasping breath
that tells me
I'm still running.

accountable

The world
has its
revolutions
and my head
is spinning
and all
the things I need to say
are not coming
and all
the things I want to write
never cross my mind
and I find
that the world has it easy
cause it owes
no one
any declarations
or expectations
or god forbid
any explanations
but I do.

again

I want to tell her
that I have no words.
There are no words
that can change anything.

I want to tell her
that my lack of speech
is because I know
platitudes fall on deaf ears
and that I am torn apart
inside
too.

I want to teach
her to speak
without words
with her body
I want to ask her
with my own
let me heal you,
heal myself
tonight.

I have no spoken words.

still waters...

Under this calm veneer
is a living breathing need
Would you be surprised
to know that
I would mark you
with my lips and teeth
I would taste you
with my tongue
I would hold you
through the night
within my arms
I would watch you
ride me
with your legs
wrapped round my waist
I would touch you
just to connect
just because I could
just to feel you

the woulds are driving me crazy
under this calm veneer.

underwear

Clothed
in the skin
of leopard
I bet she stalks
her prey

How I'd like
to let her know
I'd play dead
for her.

cheers

I have a promise to keep to my friend Bernie. It's St. Patrick's Day so...

I raise my glass to you and hope you're raising one to me as well in a pub by the quay. I know Ireland is treating you right.

To itsy, the road is long, the path is dark, but a little rum will guide our way. Thanks for walking with me as long as you could.

To megan, a bottle of red, a bottle of white, double shots of vodka, and gin. The only person in this world that can match me drink for drink. You're a wonderful friend, red.

To tory, I hope you've found what you were looking for, a pint to you for old time's sake. I know you hate to drink alone.

A toast to the lot of ya:

Health and life to you;
The mate of your choice to you;
Land without rent to you,
And death in Eirinn.

choices

I woke up this morning all cut to hell, like all the crap I never deal with during the day attacks me in my dreams. Making me fight till I bleed. I don't remember much of the night before, I've got the highlights but I don't know where I got all my injuries, or why I dreamt the things I did.

I find this increasing more and more. I'm convinced I'm just looking for all the ways to fuck up my life. Given any given choice I'm going to choose wrong. Like I finally believe it's too late. Yeah very early in my life it was too late.

I went to a party full of people I barely knew, I think I was the youngest person there. I sat in a corner with my humongous bottle of cheap wine, just drinking and thinking. Until I didn't have to worry any more about the constant doubts that whisper in my ear. I was listening to Ernst and Julio Gallo and laughter all around me. Until I could live up to my reputation. "Oh you're so much more fun when you drink!!" this is a compliment paid to me more times than I like to acknowledge. What exactly does that say about me? But I don't have to think about that cause my bottle is empty and it's time to move on.

And I laugh, and talk, and entertain until these people are in stitches. I'm sure I see the pity in their eyes despite how great I am, but I don't have to be what they see. I don't have to be a direct reflection. Cause I'm so much more fun when I drink and I've got a bottle of wine and three beers coursing through me.

I went to bed disgusted with myself and woke up bruised, bloody, and cut.

time

I would have thought a year would be long enough. Long enough to get over you. But time is proving itself to be relative. Because three years was a long time to love you and on days like to today it doesn't seem long enough. I've figured out the solution though, I'll be fine if I never have to see you again.

All you had to do was walk in the room and I remembered. The half smile you'd get when you were happy and the way your eyes shone when you looked at me. The way you felt in my lap when I'd hold you. The way my hand fit perfectly splayed across your stomach. The way I was never quite warm enough unless you were touching me. The way you look in boxers. Thousands of little things locked away, seemingly forgotten. Little inconsequential things.

I had been lucky to forget just how easy and how much you could hurt me. You'll be honored to know I've never met anyone who could hurt me quite the way you do. Let it never be said you aren't talented. Just the sound of your voice was cutting.

I'll be honest. I couldn't look at you, or even acknowledge that you were there. But can you blame me? Yes I'm sure you did. I could tell by the sound of your voice, by your dismissal of my existence in return. But I could feel your eyes on me, aimed straight at my back; making sure to let me know just how happy you are, now. With him.

Yeah, a year definitely isn't long enough. Say hello to Mike for me won't you?

birth

and another blurty's born.