Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Late realizations, thanks to 4 hour bus rides

I realize now, thank goodness for hindsight!, that I was never in love with Johnny. It was something close to it, but my heart never went thump thump. I made it go thump thump. I forced it to pump pump blood blood, but it never did it on its own accord. People are always surprised to find out that we lasted for two years. Honestly, it would have been much shorter if I hadn't been so lazy. I didn't love him, and I realized that before it even turned 2015. I entered the new year on the premise of a lie and I don't feel guilty about it. All I feel bad about is wasting so much time. I didn't end it sooner because I didn't want to think about the dividing of affairs, the conversations with friends, the arrangement of visitations to see the cats. I didn't want to think about sleeping alone. That was selfish. But I can't help it. Perhaps more than I ever loved him, I loved the idea that someone loved me. That was really selfish. But I'm tinged with greed and I gobbled up all I could and only when I was full did I remember that I wanted an entirely different kind of cuisine.

I didn't love him a bit. It was all a grand orchestrated mimic of what I assumed love was like. And when the deal wasn't held up on his end, the piece falling flat thanks to constantly cancelled plans and mentions of his mother, i lost interest in playing at all. Those two years are arguably some of the most depressed of my life. I grew stagnant and mosquitos laid their larvae in my open mouth.

But now it's over. Thank goodness. Finally, I can be happy, or some other close approximation.

Monday, September 14, 2015

Notes for C, September 13, 9:31 pm

I'm thinking of writing a book. I don't know what about yet. I want it to be about a girl named Suzanne. This is how I'll describe her: Suzanne was the only child of two distant parents, and a mother to none. Well, there would have been four, had she planned her parenthood. But she didn't have time for that nonsense - she could barely keep up with her own personalities. How on earth could she be expected to open up her life to a new creature when there's barely enough room in her head?

Plot ideas - Suzanne leaves town for either a. She is looking for the perfect pair of sunglasses, which is the cure for the horrible affliction she has suddenly become a victim of. The color is draining out of her life. This was fine with her, in the beginning. First it was just food, then people. But now buildings and dogs and street signs and all the things she loves aware becoming desaturated and she knows she's next. OR b. To look for a magic man to exorcize her teenage demons, though 23, she hasn't had a birthday not ending in teen. They just don't come. The day doesn't come. It goes around her, sneaks past her, jumps over her, she can't quite seem to catch it. Hoping to finally begin her adult life, she must find the magic man legend to live deep in the forests of Palawan. She travels exclusively through hitch hiking and long long walks. Of course, she finds him, but that's not the point. The traveling is the point. Unfortunately, she'll get exactly what she asks for and immediately owns forty sharp dress suits.

OR at a party, Suzanne drinks too much (she has to numb the pain of being 23) and wanders into the wrong coat room. She ends up in the land of never afters. Here lay all the infinities and the things that nothing comes after. She is over joyed and goes to find true love, but only death awaits her there. Everything there is just death, but disguised and hidden. If nothing comes after, then it's a sort of death, no matter how you skew it.

OR Suzanne suffers from a case of shrinking. Her hands and skin are contracting, but most startlingly she has been losing her vocabulary. She speaks only in 5 word sentences. It's put a strain on all her relationships, but she can't even have a good long cry about it. So she dugs a tunnel under her bed to try and uncover what she's lost, but instead she falls down to the other side of the world.

Okay thats it so far. It'd be shit but I dunno. I want to write a book.

I'll read your text now, my phone couldn't receive it last night.

I can truly relate to aomames up bringing

I want to help you learn how to feel heat. You know I'm not such a fan of air conditioning and other simulated, artificial environments. I'd much rather feel the wind and the sun and the temperature as the environment has dictated it, if you ever sleep over, you'll get it. You need to feel the heat. On your skin, on your scalp, in your bones. You need to let it sink into you, through you, past all your muscles and cartilage until it finds your center of gravity, of being. I think that's what life is about. Feeling the heat. Otherwise, what type of existence is that? Is a curated life a real one? Otherwise, what on earth are we doing?

I hate not being able to tell you goodnight. I hate it. My greeting is stuck in my throat, like a large clump of bread, and it's meant for you but you're far away and I have no way of getting it out so I guess I'll just have to choke on it and let my fingers roam across this empty bed looking for you, looking for you.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

There is something about Wednesday's

In 1974, NASA's Carl Sagan sent a message out into the wonderfully vast and, relatively, empty out there that is space. In 2001, a response came in. 

I have always been amazed that a message direct edge at no one, sent out with no deliberate projection, was able to deliver home a reply. I have, for 20 years now, been sending messages, particular carefully worded snippets of thought, in particular directions, to much closer distances. Objectively speaking. Sometimes the distance between us and Jupiter seems less that that and the rest of the human populace. Especially who ever the message, my message of the day, my daily flavor, is directed towards. That, I would not feel inaccurate likening to Pluto, Humae, Makemake, and Eris and their relationship to our very own sun. I am the frozen dwarves. 

Close to giving up, hell, it took only 21 years for NASA to do it and here I am at 20, one more year to go down, the last domino! I was close to giving up. I am always there, dangling my feet off the edge of trying and not and feeling the sweet feeling of nothing below to catch me. It's a nice spot. A favorite spot. A mental hangout I hold an exclusive membership card to. 

But then something interesting happened. 

While my linguistic skills are lacking and mostly based on modern English, I have tried my best to decipher what this is, what I have received. I won't attempt to write it down. It isn't possible, and not just because of my limited vocabulary. It's more, oh shit, this is hard, it's more - it's a feeling in your finger tips that can't seem to be pressed down to paper, a presence that cannot be expelled through your layers of dermal tissue and adipose. No matter how your lymph nodes try to shove it out, much like the bubonic plague (though not deadly in that particular way, rather, it is rather pleasant), it won't work and eventually it just seeps into you and your organs and becomes part of you and sometimes you taste it in your mouth a bit. This is what I have now.

And it's a package that comes with freebies. Opening the box, the envelope, the telegram, ripping apart the container, I found not only a warmth under my skin, but a place to rest my skin. It's a wonderful place. Perhaps I'll even apply for membership, just like on my cliff. A dual citizen of the cold and hot. It's a place between his shoulders and his neck and that is where I breathe easy. I'm not the biggest fan of this strange exercise of breathing, but there, I find myself understanding the hype. I love the scent of blood, pulsing, living, rushing, hidden but right there, and it's his blood and it's warm and it lulls me to sleep. There have been recent expansions to this property. Here, a hand on a wide expanse of chest, legs mashed together to form a tangled mess a mad scientist would be proud of, other hand plunging deep into his thoracic cavity to find what on earth he possesses inside him that is awakening all my sleeping dragons and making me want to crawl inside and hang myself with his guts. It's a lovely place. Would definitely recommend to a friend. If you're visiting the area, be sure to check this out!

There is something about this person and I like it very much. I think it's the way he says words like actually and surprisingly, words I should know but somehow his tongue and lips translate to something foreign. I think it's the spaces. These little spaces he leaves, as if the vowels and consonants shouldn't touch, like mashed potatoes and green peas. Or maybe they're spaces to grow, for the aaaa's to expand and have room to breathe. I don't know. But I adore it and I would listen to every actual thing that's ever happened to him, anything and everything that has taken him by surprise.


I'm finding it hard to find the proper way to end this. Maybe it's all the murakami I've been shoving into my brain. Maybe it's the way this whole thing feels like a murakami book - real but not real, just two steps away from what my brain can accept. I've known him forever and yet now, I cannot comprehend two things - how I have not held his hand this entire time and that I now am. Updates to follow, as my processor continues to digest this new information, these wonderful feelings, this delicious boy who I love very much.

Sunday, September 6, 2015

On flaws and change

September 4 2015-

If I'd written this a few days, no, a few hours ago, perhaps the words you're reading would've been spelled differently. Isn't that the difference, a few letters, scribbles, consonants and vowels , change what I'm saying? No, not really. Letters, scribbles, chicken scratch, sounds, all they do is serve to translate and transcribe the drums in my head into something coherent. And compared to a few hours ago, my mental drumbeat is entirely different. It's a new composition. Perhaps they fired the conductor, perhaps they finished playing the previous piece.

It's become a fact of my life - to be with someone I must change. It's been drilled into my head by every boy, every lover, every one, all the time. I, as I am, am not good enough. I'm flawed and wrong and that's wrong and. No one wants flaws. It's like throwing a ball of steel wool at a toddler and rubbing it raw. No one wants their innocence scrubbed away, not by my mass of angry, violent, ever shifting never still entropy. So I have to change. And I always consent. It's a bit strange, considering how hard headed I can be. Ask me to do something, and I'll most probably do the opposite. I'd hold my breath til death do us part of someone commanded me to breathe. But, what with my minuscule sense of self and ridiculous self-esteem deficit, any time a boy I like bats an eyelash at me or leaks out a kind word, or -heaven help me- touches me like he cares, I am useless. I will do whatever you want, don't leave me! And of course I'm flawed, yes, I am, I'll fix it just stay, love me, I'll fix it I'll change I'm sorry I'm me, I really am, I can't apologize enough.

For once though, it would be nice to be with someone who wanted to be with me, and not this idea in their head of what I could be. It would be nice for someone to see my steel wool soul and think hey, that's cool.or even, I could live with that. But that's never going to happen. It's a slow suicide, being me, and anyone who wouldn't mind that would be perfect to fall into oblivion with me. I have never met anyone so ready to collapse inwards as me before. I suppose relationships are full of promises, the biggest one is of a future together and my current state barely guarantees a tomorrow. I like it that way, I'm comfortable that way, I'm comfortable being me, and my way is that way. But I understand how no one else can stand it. I understand it's wrong and flawed and of course, so genuinely me (therefore I am as well. Of course. No surprise. I knew that already. I'm sorry).

But I'll settle for second best. And that's not to say I'm settling in any way for what I have now. I phrased that wrong. I did something wrong again. The wall is getting full of chalk marks to account for all my misdoings. 

For the first time, someone asked nicely. And then felt guilty for asking. And I am all turned around like licorice inside since this has never happened before. There has never been a doubt or a smidge of anything but sureness in anyone who has asked me to change. Because! Look at me! I'm a mess. Of course I need to change. I need to change who I am, I need to change what I enjoy, I need to change what I do because it's all WRONG WRONG WRONG I am essentially wrong I am a huge mistake, a miscalculated bomb that didn't go off when it was supposed to so now I'm just a shell waiting for an explosion, something to blast me out of the water and initiate my end. 

So when C came over when I was sick and sad and he listened to me and he asked if I wanted to change, which no one has ever done before I wasn't even aware there was anything but ultimatums at the start of relationships, I melted. My eyes, already molten from the fever, sank back and dripped into my skull and my brain has lost all its wrinkles because of the heat. I lie pathologically so I started a new one - one so convincing I'll even hoodwink myself! - yes. Yes yes yes I'll change I want to change I'll do it for you, it's not because you asked, but because I want to enjoy this, enjoy us, enjoy kissing you and I know you don't like the taste of smoke. I've repeated it enough I believe it and it's no longer a lie, it's the truth. I've suppressed any bad thoughts, I'm very good at that, at burying the dead and the bad and the irrelevant, I'm very handy with the mental shovel. So it's true now. And I'm not lying when I say it. Anymore. I want this. I really do. And if it means killing who I am, well, aren't I suicidal to begin with?

I'll make this work. Even if the 'me' I'm talking about here is still up for debate. 'I'll' figure it out.'I' really, really, really, want this.