...With an Exoskeleton of Steel...EDIT!!
Neutral
I've managed to stop thinking about you on a daily basis. Managed to stop associating you with everything I once did. It's been a long haul since last May, but I am healing nicely now that I've stopped re-opening old wounds. This will be the last time that I directly write about you, and it's not because you aren't worth it. I'm not going to write about you anymore because now that you're a great distance away, I can see you better. I thought that I could see your pores being so close, but all I saw was skin. The meat that is you is much more translucent from 1400 miles away. Your life just seems so bitter, and you pretend to like it. I think you wish for something better, if just a little. Love did not exist here, though I thought it did. I like this thought process--all skin and bones and honesty with myself. Thank you for the mental preparation, kiddo. I now know what I want, and I can it.
I so want to feel that I'm bursting at the seams because I'm full of life, and sometimes I'm manic enough to act this way. There's a lot of hurt going on right now, but there is also a constant. I am being proven wrong by a boy in all the ways that count. He isn't full of hurt-words or angry fists, and he doesn't seek me out to use me. I've been meaning to steal this wool hoodie of his, and he knows it. Brought it to my house tonight, and it smells like him and his house. It's comfortable like the presence of his hands and just as free of pressure
.Words are never "just words" anymore.
I spent this past weekend at Jay's house without him in it. Pumpkin-carving party to watching Gene Hackman submarine war movieness. I read part of his favourite book on the couch in his room just because.
I didn't drink today, and I didn't need to. (The apocalypse is coming soon.)
Fuck grammar.
Cold fries have now replaced poultry on my food pyramid.
I have a new hookah buddy named Frank. He has a Mya acrylic (boo!)
After a few month hiatus from musical instruments, I have been playing Beatles songs religiously on the piano.
Heather, I'm wondering about you, but I think you're sleeping.
Road trip coming soon!!! Photos of foilage to come soon.
And that is my life today.
Oh, and Happy Halloween.
EDIT:
Stolen exercise from Heather. Here: [link]
My 11 Things:
1. Lewisnoski was never a person, though we thought he was. Falling in love with his letters was pointless because he was just a pseudonym of a deranged writer--writing for kicks in falsified boy-font.
2. I wish I could exist inside hwy 56 with you forever with the bass of a borrowed car vibrating our backs. I wish I could remove "F" and "G" from the alphabet of your mind forever, and stop your family from ever knowing that we failed miserably.
3. I still have your red hoodie with the black cat on it--the one we got when you were in love with puffy duck. I know you have the 3.5 books we bound in red velvet and green ribbon. I wish the sandcrabs would've lived.
4. "I just don't think..." is all I remember about you, and I'm glad.
5. I'm sorry.
6. Brokedown Palace Soundtrack, track 5. I didn't stop listening to it for a month, though I told you I wanted you to leave forever.
7. You claim that you don't know how to show that you care about people, but that's bullshit. Isaac N. Smith knows otherwise, and so do I. I'm glad that we've patched things up, and i wish you would be honest with yourself. How many stars can you count tonight? (I'd rather waste some time with you.)
8. I'm working on getting over my superficiality. When I have, we'll mean something to each other. This isn't fair to you, but you are still my grape.
9. I hate how you always mispronounced my name. I know you were lying about being an Ansari, but I didn't care.
10. You remind me of Saul Williams and Mary Karr, but more pretty. Stop writing fluff.
11. I regret none of this.
Devious Comments
--
its not too late to become what you were meant to be
(I hope you come "back" now...)
--
It´s self-assigned penance for problems with easy solutions
-Death Cab For Cutie
--
Blog: One Night Stanzas
Magazine: Read This Magazine
Store: Read This, Etsy!
Consider this a New Age Movement, in which I am THE Jim Jones.
Coming with me to Zion?
--
"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am."
--Sylvia Plath
____________________________
Supposing that fairness does not enter into it, what does?
--
"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am."
--Sylvia Plath
____________________________
I find myself saying that a lot lately, and then refinding people like I've got a compass in my belly.
I've undiscovered religion and rediscovered love.
(if that makes any sense.)
my Church dropped off the face of the planet, because the last time I was there, he was sitting next to me in an orange sweatshirt and I wanted to throw a chair at him and proclaim him in the AntiChrist.
There's one of those things, you know, that go along the lines of - get the Hell out of Church until you fix your life-loves first.
I've had some people to mend, that still need mending, that are just as hurt as me, but forgot everything when I couldn't get out of bed, passed me the orange juice of a shot of vodka, and held me through my wild animal yells.
O, I've got prayers on my fingers now, I've got hugs to give.
(Sean keeps asking, "But how is God?" and I say, "O dear Lord, indeed, he is loving me." and I think that makes Sean mad, a little, because he always suspected that I just did it all for him, and he needs a "I told you so," right now. But maybe not. At this point I am working on forgiveness for all of this too).
So now my Sundays are waking up at a horse ranch, usually, watching the dogs and sky and off-roading in a jeep, and his eyelashes, midnight-colored and satin.
I haven't experienced a spirit like this before, all freedom, but attachment simultaneously. He grew up Catholic and then lost it, makes jokes about Churches for sale signs.
I wake up on Sundays to him pretending to fly fish in his kitchen-bedroom, wearing just boxer shorts and a determined face.
I haven't figured this out yet. But I know I was fairly certain God was an asshole for three weeks straight and I said, "I hate you."
And as soon as I said that, Jerrad showed up in his mud-splattered jeep, riding over the curbs to make me scream, and smile, and to defend me against any bad word said now, anything that hurts me at all.
I feel stronger than I have ever felt in my life.
Glory be.
*smiles real big*
--
I hear
your voice
down the hall, through the window, above
all those trees, a light
it seems
& you are singing. What song
is that The words
are beautiful.
-LeRoi Jones
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