Wednesday, September 29, 2010


In a fit of love and loneliness (funny how those two are never separate), he had created something for her. The creation repeated itself, like a carousel of memories made in a hurry. It repeated itself till she left, because she herself was always in such a hurry. Whatever he ate, after that, never stayed. The rain did, the cold did, the loneliness did.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

on call

i know i make it really hard for you to stay, but please don't leave.

'what are you doing?'
'what are you DOING?'
'nothing. i'm doing absolutely nothing'.
'me too. let's do nothing together'.

Monday, September 20, 2010

eyes closed

it'd be nice
to just walk out
and have something happen
so they'd say
crowded around her
what a pretty little thing
she used to be.

be sound/ birthday post.

she said to me, over the phone 
she wanted to see other people 
i thought, "well then, look around, they're everywhere" 
said that she was confused... 
i thought, "darling, join the club" 
24 years old, mid-life crisis 
nowadays hits you when you're young
i hung up, she called back, i hung up again 
the process had already started 
at least it happened quick 
i swear, i died inside that night 
my friend, he called 
i didn't mention a thing 
the last thing he said was, "be sound" 
i contemplated an awful thing, i hate to admit 
i just thought those would be such appropriate last words 
but i'm still here 
and small
so small.. how could this struggle seem so big?
so big...
while the palms in the breeze still blow green 
and the waves in the sea still absolute blue 
but the horror 
every single thing i see is a reminder of her 
never thought i'd curse the day i met her 
and since she's gone and wouldn't hear 
who would care? what good would that do? 
but i'm still here 
so i imagine in a month...or 12 
i'l be somewhere having a drink 
laughing at a stupid joke 
or just another stupid thing 
and i can see myself stopping short 
drifting out of the present 
sucked by the undertow and pulled out deep 
and there i am, standing 
wet grass and white headstones all in rows 
and in the distance there's one, off on its own 
so i stop, kneel 
my new home... 
and i picture a sober awakening, a re-entry into this little bar scene 
sip my drink til the ice hits my lip 
order another round 
and that's it for now 
never been too good at happy endings...

Thursday, September 16, 2010

before sunset.

sometimes artistic relationships, like a painting, have too many clouds in them.

scene - 2 and the music that was english.

my pores burst open, thirsty for contact.
running, feet red with happiness and embarrassment. the glass doors never did work, did they.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

unfortunate lover

On the phone, she hears the untwisting of a cap. Metal against glass. She hears him gulp; large, even-spaced gulps. The cap is twisted back on, like a sword cutting through air. He sighed. She missed him.

And later, alone, she watches lovers walk like monsters, retreat behind closed doors. She shuts the window she had been swinging out of, resting her forehead on the cool glass. Turns around to painfully finish her now nauseatingly lukewarm green tea. Watches the shadow of the unlit lamp on the locked door. Somewhere, a dress is being unzipped, and she can't help but wonder why it can't be hers.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Summer is choking.

I love this confusion that the weather goes through. Like a person, it doesn't know what to be. Whether to let the Sun stand with its chest puffed out or to let Winter sneak in through the holes in your shirt. It is being pulled in different directions for reason unknown to it.

In her dream, she was at a beach, finishing all the cheese in the basket. There was a child playing next to her sand-covered toes. She looked at the man sitting in front of her, seeing him for the first time.
'You need to realize the infiniteness of your soul. The world and its endless possibilities, like this child, are at your feet right now.'
'But what if I choke? What if the world I trespass is different, but I'm the same? I can't deal with being the same'.
'Don't you realize how different you are? Don't you feel the rigidity of your existence? Your energy is in sync with the universe. You musn't deny or fight what has been written about you'.
'I don't trust authors'.
'You don't trust yourself'.

She closed her eyes, and woke up on the other side. The side where possibilities were suicide-like, and summer is choking.