Tag Archives: nature

It has been a carnival ride…

Everything is a matter of perception (if you don’t believe me go see the new Coen Brothers movie about a serious Jewish man because Ethan studied Philosophy and those brothers, like Colbert, seem to carry a lot of weight in the world with their strange humors and wits). I love their visual and musical sensibilities too.
I was in Eugene this weekend. Lolligagging on the Amtrak like the little girl lazily tugging her bunny roller pack along the tracks to the end carts, sandwiched between the dining bar and the bathrooms. I sat staring out the dark rectangle of night and thinking about what kind of relationship I would re-invent when I reintroduced myself to Adam, after a month apart, and nearly a year of speckled, incongruent conversations, some intellectual, and some emotional, draining and uplifting, and devious, and cleansing. I waited as he forgot the time and ran in a puff from his new place, a small cottage that resembled the Berenstain Bears’ tree house, with a loft and starry skylight, and spindly wood rails, shelves, stairs and cupboards inside.
He sat me down and I attempted to talk as he gazed at me smiling mischievously. He wanted to kiss me and I didn’t want to kiss him! I talked and I looked away and grinned at my feet and ogled all of the little details of his new cottage house. And then we kissed and I pulled away and insisted we go to dinner at the Lucky Noodle and we did. But after pad thai, and some wine, we returned and we did it again. We always do, of course, and then I fear that what piques his curiosity and passion the most has be relieved and the rest of the time will be some sort of compensation for stealing his life force. But this time I suppose I had heart break on my side, as it wasn’t directed at him or anyone else, but lately has been more in general, a general dampness of spirits. And we bickered some, and argued about the serious man, the cliche term “in-joy” so grossly exploited in Eugene, and about the countless guest singers in studio recorded pink floyd albums (because on Valentine’s day we went to an awe-inducing production of dark side of the moon in ballet…the dance of death with an angel stole my breath….and two modern existential compositions with smoke, lights, jetes, horns, long hippie hair and chiseled long limbed dancers)….but we also got along pretty nicely.
I suppose I’m stubbing out the grief of being his “whore”, it’s just a smashing pumpkins song, and I do adore him as he does me, even if he is a freak and will never ever give me a conventional love affair again. I am both finally completely at peace with my independence, and open to whatever relationship could pop up tomorrow. My anxieties concerning other parties that once broke my spirits have all but vanished. I feel cleansed by affections that don’t wane with difficult encounters. (Though increasingly melancholy again to think this is solely due to the impersonal nature of these affections, but I’ll stop short on that for now…)

Joy is all based within matters of perception, and good and bad can be measured by the scope of our visions, but I seriously do think real LOVE encircles friends and lovers in much the same way, and I have in this preposterous joker from the past a real good friend, if not boyfriend or anything else of consequence. I could never knowingly regress back into a romantic bondage. I watched the movie “Crash” (90’s with James Spader, the NC 17 version of course) and thought how numb these people were, aching to hit the edge, to feel something, and in repetition and perversion, feeding the numbness into a state of emotional oblivion. I can appreciate more the rarity of our affair, and find solace in again feeling seen, felt and appreciated. It has been a flustered carnival ride of relational fluctuations between various hearts. In short we have all returned to what we knew before. I for one, am only returning to myself, in-joying days with books, cat, bubble baths. Even dad and I are getting along as much as is possible with a shell. He called me, surprise! And he is going to do the annual winter week of solitude in the mountains and snow, with his small pack and clear head. Like him Adam is always going out and away from the world to his own corner to deliberate and to get immersed in nature. I guess I’ve been selling computers for enough months now to wish for only one thing, to have time to wander around in nature, and feel it against my skin, and in my hair, and all over me. Even in my lust there is no one right now I desire more than I can bare. I am happy to be alone. Finally again. I am grateful for Adam’s love, and to know the fickle short breath of the other boy’s heart, to have come to this conclusion in my own perceptions…I am rambling. None of my words really suffice, either, as Martha Graham the dancer said: “The body says what words cannot”.

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Death heals fumbling accessories…

Limp and Pasty

Her tongue hung limp and pasty, like a tube of dried paint.
Bed bugs and wooden nickels,
Like a rabbit with hemorrhoids,
Let’s cross fingers,
Runway blasé surface change
Our separate ways,
Faces the same,
Ghost worlds linger,
Split our separate ways into
Nothing stays and actions
Guess my cherry-on-cake dream
to treat the men you could be an exit ground over juicy romantic ideals,
Dense stars,
death heals fumbling accessories.
Mind-control,
What I am paying for?
Loans too large,
Infatuations too abstract and dull,
Addicted to splinters,
polarity, my eyes,
Missing pieces, working on you, weaving into fear and laziness,
and out through life,
Walking in an objective, rational sleep,
Into your eyes,
A heavenly essence of life’s illusions,
Floating time.
Where does it lead?
Meaningless, eat some chocolate.
Bitch-slap loneliness, bratty conceit, fuck me dreamer-weaving excitement
Colored rose lenses absolutely brimming over too much.
I am consumed.
Passion drive me filled to move,
And his smell,
And I feel like slate against slate.
I need to feel love in nature or die,
I need compassion,
To live, feel hope.
I know nothing beautiful and little,
Fighting myself, lonely, projecting,
Running away,
I know better.
I took his pain inside me
when he rejected my love,
I wanted to feel weakness.
I fall back on strength.
As good as love gets, it gets strong with faith.
Inside all associations, all stories,
there is me and love,
and fighting, and then being back in life,
and the sun of mornings.
Movement, new, change,
and acceptance.
Go forward into hell and head spin,
and music and wind and original sin,
And internal worlds and if only this could last forever or die and come down and die, eventually, to change and come inside yourself.
Explode love into a million times a million dreams,
Of happiness tasteless starch,
and creamed envy,
Melted and moved
Into the world market,
Everything looks distorted,
Unhappy beings,
Wanting perfection, feeling used.
I’ve let my guard down, now I am strong,
My shield blinded love.
Blind love is fear and dependence and death,
My friend deceived and a lost human being. He shaped my world
Into a thousand pieces.
I saw love grieved and even music lost an answer.
Anthills they had climbed, and bites
we received happy to feel.
I want that reflection.
The truth to cry again,
Beauty returned to love after I screamed
And revolted with hate and sedatives
And Paxil and romance.
Yesterday was an anthill worth
my while.
I dreamt on a world of sadness
and color sprouted
and a flower of yesterday’s divine kiss
made new love from me the world outside flowered my heart burst into,
Into more dreams,
Thirsting for more, I spilled my drink and dried up and sprouted water
From beneath my feet,
From roots of pain,
I hurt the past,
I crushed my past and my dreams and loved to live for less to lose.
Water sprinkles in my secret garden.
The rest of my pain.
I am shaking and happy,
in misery I feel alive.

Like architecture is poetry, it can continually be redesigned inside, but the overlaying structure remains the same, so without edit, I expose some of my nakedness to you, um, reader.

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