every day that i walk into physical therapy, i’m a different person. i know, because i calculate that.
naughty naughty naughty with the lesbians. when they look at me, i know they want to know. it’s in their eyes. and i just won’t give it to them. i pretend i’m not aware. but i know, given enough time, it will become their obsession. It’s always so innocent at first.
it happens. people don’t meet me. they fall into me. and it’s a thing that gets out of control. it feels immoral to allow people to get close to me, knowing what can happen.
in so many aspects of my life, i let my morals and principles dictate. it has been the only thing that tames me. but i’ve often wondered, what would happen if i went all the way?
i called a boy named dominic. but when we met, he introduced himself as drew.
“oh, is drew your real name?” i asked.
“no, my real name’s dominic. but most people call me drew.”
“okay,” i said, but to be honest, i didn’t know what to call him.
i’d brought him a gift, as a sign of good will. hey, we were meeting for the first time, why not.
when we said goodbye, he called me back. “hey, what about this?”
he’d looked a little punch drunk the whole time we’d talked, like he didn’t know what to make of me. maybe he thought i was trying to sell him something?
“it’s a gift. a sign of good will,” i said.
“oh wow.” he was actually surprised. i said goodbye, closing the door.
Are you alone for a reason, or are you lonely for a reason?
“Be careful,” he told me.
“Why?” I asked. Sometimes goodbye looms larger when it hasn’t been said.
“Many men will love you. But few will have the strength to honor you.” His dark eyes glowed–warm, dizzying, kind. I ached for home.
“This is a hard thing for a man to have to admit to himself,” he said.
Under the glow of the streetlight, the gentle breathing of the ocean behind us, we memorized every line, shadow and curve. The secret heartbeat.
He kissed me softly on the cheek, with feeling, with apology, our bodies the closest they had ever been.
And with that, the night swallowed us, swallowed our story. By morning break, we would each find ourselves drifting alone once again on an ocean of distant ships, nothing real except all that exists above, all that keeps us afloat below, and a belief that at the end of the horizon, will be someone who finds within us the answer to their own personal myth.
I was just pondering this concept last night while thinking about how I came to my understanding…through ants, and this one contradicting visual image that I used to always see in my mind as a kid, when I thought about what the universe was (a drop of water emerging from a faucet, and despite their being an entire universe outside of it, inside, was just as infinite and expansive of a universe. I would look inside the water and soon would see that infinity of all outside the drop was also contained within the drop, until I would lose my grip and the line between inside and outside, what is large and what is small, would become very thin). Then last night, the lyrical poet sent me this link, but I didn’t open it until now since I was so deep in pondering. I think the fact that so many creatives intuitively perceive the same thing is clear evidence that it’s real.
“We are the story we tell ourselves. In this universe, in this existence, where we live with this duality of whether we exist or not and who are we, the story we tell ourselves are the stories that define the potentialities of our existence…a story is the relationship that you develop between who you are or who you potentially are, and the infinite world. And that’s our mythology…a person without a story, does not exist.”
Are you enjoying your addiction?
Who inspires you?
You:
Me: Trinity from the Matrix, Angelina Jolie. The version of me that makes giant beasts of men follow without question, and quiver under my touch.
3 Things You Believe In
You:
Me: Light, dark, and everything in between.
What is your greatest fear?
You:
Me: I’m afraid to let people know my greatest fear, in case they use it against me. But I will say my 2nd greatest fear is for someone to break into my car and take a shit in it. Because I’m telling you, if that ever happened, I will set my car on fire.
If I met you in the dark…
You:
Me: You are having either a very good night or a very bad night. Either way, you won’t forget.
“So I took her back to my room? I never do that. Is it possible I have game?”
“Apparently you did last night. She was quite taken with you.”
“Really!”
“No. She’s a prostitute.”
“C’mon.”
“Think about it. You met in a hotel bar.”
“Plus her name was Ginger, Donny. Throughout history there’s only two Gingers who weren’t prostitutes. Ginger Rogers, and Ginger from Gilligan’s Island. And I still have suspicions about the latter. In fact, Gus. I’ve made my decision. She was a dirty pirate hooker.”
From Psych. Shawn and Gus run into Jules, who’s on her way to meet a guy for coffee. After Jules leaves…
“Jealous much?”
“Of who? Richard? The man looks like a cab with the doors open.”
“Please. That’s why you all ‘What do you mean? Like a date?'”
“Alright. First of all, you have to stop using the “I’m not falling for no banana in my tailpipe” voice every time you imitate a white person.”
Secondly, I’m a grown man. I’m confident. And I can admit that yes, I’m a little jealous.”
“So why don’t you finally do something about it? She doesn’t sound too keen on the guy. Besides, you’re not getting any younger you know.”
“Yes but my hair is getting thicker. And I have seeds to sow. Don’t worry, guy who uses words like keen. There’s plenty of time for me and Jules.”
i hope not. or maybe we of a better mutation need to organize our rise.
“We’re so self-important. So arrogant. Everybody’s going to save something now. Save the trees, save the bees, save the whales, save the snails. And the supreme arrogance? Save the planet! Are these people kidding? Save the planet? We don’t even know how to take care of ourselves; we haven’t learned how to care for one another. We’re gonna save the fuckin’ planet? . . . And, by the way, there’s nothing wrong with the planet in the first place. The planet is fine. The people are fucked! Compared with the people, the planet is doin’ great. It’s been here over four billion years . . . The planet isn’t goin’ anywhere, folks. We are! We’re goin’ away. Pack your shit, we’re goin’ away. And we won’t leave much of a trace. Thank God for that. Nothing left. Maybe a little Styrofoam. The planet will be here, and we’ll be gone. Another failed mutation; another closed-end biological mistake.”
~george carlin
Maybe you will always be
Just a little out of reach
i was standing in the kitchen washing fruit when i thought, “i miss home.”
and then i remembered, i don’t have a home right now.
standing at the reaches, i am a satellite.
i lied in an earlier post. what i really told her was that writers are haunted by ghosts or angels, but it’s up to the writer to decide. the difference between ghosts and demons is that ghosts are real.
experimental stream of consciousness writer who may or may not be a liar. sanest person you've ever met but i'll look you in the eyes like a computer eating magnets. what i don't know about you, i'll make up. and you'll still love me because you don't know where i went that moment you swore i disappeared. my moods chase the seasons and i hear it makes an interesting read. i like smelling good.