I promise I won’t always be this way. Living in between reasons to live made me unprepared and unaware of people getting close to me. I want you to live in a house with me. My books and scarves are all I have to offer. I’ll drink cup after cup of coffee, if you’ll serve it to me. The caffeine will make us shake as we complain that we don’t know who we are. Our bed will be a place where we sit with our cat and laugh about our day. When its sunny, we’ll pick fruits and vegetables from our garden in our dirty barefeet. I’ll sit in my rocking chair reading Chomsky, while you play mandolin all night. We won’t have any pictures from our past loves. Only empty frames on the wall. You won’t look at me with Holden Caulfield eyes. Only your rough hands. You’ll brush my hair and I’ll trim your beard. We eat too much and not sleep enough. You have a stupid haircut, but I don’t care. I have a yellow smile, but you don’t stare. Like I said, my books and scarves are all I have to offer. But, you could tell me all your secrets. I promise no one else would never know. This house be could our house. But, we only glance at each other. never saying a word to each other. I promise I won’t always be this way. Too scared to put my book down, turn my ipod off, and speak. One day I’ll be brave enough to not be a stranger. We’ll take a walk through prospect park and ditch all these things that are eating us alive. Memories of past lovers won’t haunt you from a stained futon. I’ll buy a queen sized bed. You’ll build me a big house. It could be our house.
Your house. The wood floor is rotting. The ceiling leaks. The foundation is cracked. You never go inside. Spend your days fixing the exterior because that is what people see. lay down fake silver bricks, which you painted gold. Your neighbors will turn green when looking upon them. I’m peeking from under the cover from the drive way. watching you work so hard to solve the problem in the wrong approach. You come over. Take the cover off and start fiddling with my engine. I will never run. Only sit and rust, like every other broken down chevy station wagon given to a kid by their grandfather. Their immigrant grandfather who was burnt out from the world wars and nostalgic for the old New World. The grandfather who told your father tales of his life in Ireland and tried to teach him right and wrong. He obviously didn’t get through. The bruises on mother’s face were proof enough. You try to get me started because you are really ready to drive. Ready to get behind the wheel, step on the gas and never look back. I can’t. Burnt out from dream chasing too. Can’t take you down the road needed. Need to do it yourself. On your own two feet. Frantically turning the key. Cursing. Praying. Hoping. But, nothing. Slam hands against the steering wheel. The horn works. No longer able to hold back, you burst into tears. Exhausted from desperation. climb into the back seat and go to sleep. The back seat where you always sleep. You would not dare sleep in your bed. That horrible place, which you sat up all night listening to them fight. Nor would you sleep on your living room couch, where your mother placed you to be raised by tv. No, you would not dare go inside your broken down house. The house where you played chess with grandfather for hours. Watched A Star is Born with your grandmother. Painted and played guitar all day. Why would you want to go in, when you can remember from a far? A view from a far is unsharp & shallow focus, where most is unclear. It has been month since you have gone in the woods in your backyard. Would you even recognize the places a girl once loved you so? The river you swam in and fire to keep warm. The mud you held each other down in. Can you even remember a time you were happy? Growing in happiness and love with a friend. If she were to come back, would you know her face? Your vision is clouded from ghost of the past and fear does not allow eyes to open. She in your bedroom waiting. Visible from the window you blindly cover with fake gold bricks. You sleep in the car your grandfather gave you, but forget all the wisdom he passed on to you. He always said, “When opportunity knocks it is not enough to open the door, you have to walk through it. Even if it is not exactly what you want, you need it. You never know where it could lead. Action builds character. If you don’t do any thing, you will never become any body.” Open the door, go inside and walk around. You might begin to smile again, create and rebuild.
Move in or break up.
I hate all or nothing requests.
What I want and what is possible are two different things.
So I guess, we break up.
For real this time.
we can get high off each other.
But, can’t remain good friends.
So we’ll make each other want to die,
to give each other strength to walk away & stay out of the way.
Maybe years down the line,
my name will come up in conversation
& you will have nice things to say.
And I’ll see walking down the street, I’ll smile & wave.
Until then I’ll hate you,
For holding my hips in your hands
and then pushing them away.
(Saying goodbye & growing up are two things we’ll never learn to forgive.
Not being able to let go & fall out of love are two things I’ll always regret.
Realism defeating romanticism will always break my heart.)
This is meaningless. I have no meaning, don’t look for meaning in here. There is no need for alterness, nothing will be thrown at you except this nothingness. I’m abandoning my aspirations. Why have I decided to do this? You don’t expect me to answer that? At least, not yet. You’ll have to wait. Don’t let the antiticaption kill you. Okay, I’ll give you a little tid bit, NOT EVERY THING CAN BE EXPLAINED. Think about that as I smear my blood all over your face as punishment for getting us into this situation. Let us let this manifest itself, until some cosmic truth is revealed. This will cause destruction as often as possible, but always with compassion. How do these things happen? Our communication broke down causing us to jump to conclusions. Our assumptions cause colisions. I don’t know how we calculate these things. We are fools, interpreting experiences that mean nothing. It means nothing to no one at all. I appreciate your lack of interest in these meaningless states of low self-esteem Every thing spontaneously repeats over and over in this. THERE HAS TO BE AN EXPLAINATION FOR THIS. Maybe that’s only how things appear to be, reasonible. This could be so very important or so very unimportant. Is this really real or I’m just imagining it? Like a dream? Whether or not it is a dream is determined by how you interupt it since it may or may not be real? It is meaningless to try to explain subjectivity. It means nothing to objective men. It is meaningless.
This rational way of thinking is abusing my intelligence. Jesus Christ, spare me your opinion of me, please! I don’t see a mirror when I look up at you on your high horse. I resent you for making me feel like I’m not entertaining enough to keep you interested. Your attention span for individuals is lacking and your compassion is questionable. I live for happiness, I live for sadness. I live to die. I live in repetition moving through space and time until my powers of observation fail and I reach my final venue. I’m a product of the new world looking for truth, no matter how perverse. Your lies I discover make the truth appear self-evident. Even so, I still find myself asking, “Is this for real? Is the disenfranchised renegade mistaken?” I’m exhausted from my efforts to capture and internalize this moment. My thoughts are connected but extremely elusive, stripping me of my dignity.
July 31, 2009 at 5:00pm
On the bus, I meet this guy named Robbie who has a twin named Bobby. I wrote this on my cellphone as text messages so forgive it for sucking.
Caroline was in the infirmary of the Elder Care Living Community when her doctor told her that she was pregnant. Caroline always wanted a child but never had any so she was somewhat pleased. But, Caroline was puzzled by this conception because reason would make this impossible. Being a logical woman, she decided that this pregnancy was a gift from God.
Caroline went into labor after only 4 months making the pregnancy even more peculiar. She gave birth to a boy. A boy she named Obby. Obby was very tiny, underweight and ugly child, who was taken away from Caroline so he could be feed and once he was healthy, he would be returned to her. A few weeks went by and Obby was beginning to get bigger. As he grew his nurse noticed a small growth on his back. She didn’t think much of it. He was health, but still ugly and slightly deformed. The nurse brought Obby back to Caroline’s room. Caroline was asleep, the nurse didn’t want to wake her. So, she left Obby in the crib that sat next to Caroline’s bed.
A few hours later, the nurse went to go check on Caroline and Obby. Much to her surprise, she found Caroline dead. She called in her supervisor to tell her to make arrangements for the remains. Obby was crying as if he understood what had happened to his mother. The nurse picked up Obby to comfort him and noticed that the growth has grown twice as large as it was a few hours. With Obby’s body resting on her chest, she could feel his heart beat. She then rubbed her hand across his back to calm him down. She notices something strange when her hand went over the growth. She could not make sense of at first. But, after awhile she knew what it was. It was another heartbeat.
She rushed him to the hospital where the doctors performed emergency surgery to remove the growth. Obby and his growth were under observation for the 4 months. Obby was perfectly healthy, but still repulsive looking. The growth was transforming rapidly. It went from a heart surrounded by a pound of flesh to a well-developed infant in a few short weeks. The doctors and scientists were bewildered by this case, which led to the growth child being referred to as B.
B and Obby began to grow at the same rate. A rate that was like nothing that any one has every seen. Both boys reach the age 20 within 5 years. Another 5 years went by, but neither boy aged at all. The boys received all the same opportunities and resources living in observation. But, B seemed better at every thing than Obby. B was intelligent and so was Obby, but Obby had to struggle with things and every thing came naturally to B. No longer being minors they decided to sign themselves out of the case study.
Living independently was a hard adjustment for Obby, but certainly not for B. B was working in a coffee shop and going to college to become a lawyer. Obby was staying at home drinking and hating himself because of his deformity. B would go out to bar every night and he would force Obby to come along. People would stare at Obby in fear and disgust. And people would stare at B with longing and lust. Obby would wake up every morning with a hang over and B would wake up with a different girl every morning. After 2 years of this routine and still not aging, B started to be embarrassed by his brother and Obby became envious of his brother. But, the routine continued.
Over the next year, these feelings of embarrassment and envy, slowly transformed into mutual compassion and desire. B began to bring women home less and Obby was sober more often. Then one night, the brothers made love. B’s heart was full of joy and Obby was ashamed. The following night, Obby went out and brought home a hooker to make him forget his feelings for his brother. B found Obby and the hooker in bed together and killed them in a jealous rage. B loved Obby and didn’t want to be without him so he ate his body. B then put the hookers body in a trash bag, drove out of state, through it in the lake and drove back home. B was exhausted so he went to bed.
B tossed and turned for hours. He couldn’t sleep. He went to the bathroom to take a shower, but when he past the mirror he stop because he could not believe his eyes. He was deformed and could not recognize his face. He stared for a while, and then began to feel his body. Lastly, he brushed his hand against his back and felt a small lump. He held his hand over it until he could feel it grow and then a heartbeat. B smiled warmly knowing that it was Obby.
I want to befriend and nurture. Veil your eyes and cover ears to shield from my evil sight and sound. Try to protect my body from your touch by childish tools so immature that they can’t even be imagined. Powerful hands reach me on multiple levels. You enter my thought, externally of course. Internally would be an annihilation of epic proportions. Intertwined under our uncomfortable gaze. Jerking back and forth, burning, sinking deeper until we form a single blur, an androgynous form of ecstasy that is unrecognizable. A temporary new language shared between us, our comprehension melts away in the mourning’s rising sun. Reality vanishes in your eclipse. Fully stripped to the bone, no embellishments, no tricks of the “real world”, nothing but what is making me invisible. Looking into my mirror with the blindness you have given me. Attempting self-reflection, try and try, search and search all the while having the ultimate distraction, you and my denial. You, my conquest are rigorously on my mind. Your heart is elusive and if that fact ever registers mine will never be calm. There would be an absence of purpose. The universe would dematerialize.