Echo

i do notice a lot of scorpio’s in my path lately. mikki moore looks for me and smiles at every game now ever since that night he caught me memorizing his face. the two scorpio maybe gay-lovers were also unusual. i’ve appreciated the encounters though because scorpio is a powerful entity. yet today i remembered the partner who caused me the greatest pain was a scorpio, and i got stung when i was very young and innocent. sometimes i can’t tell when i meet a lot of the same kinds, if my lesson is to not be afraid to get close, or if it’s for me to learn from my past and stay away from things i intuitively fear/know as trouble.

scorpios…are your intentions to help me, or are you going to get in my way?

i reread my last post and i suddenly got the last line. i guess that’s the most honest thing about the night. the real heaviness of the night i wrote but couldn’t deal with right now, so i saved in drafts. maybe post later.

today i met a nov 3, 1974 and a nov 16 1974

the younger one said to the older one, “yeah, those 13 days really made a difference. you’re so much wiser.”

scorpio vs scorpio

best friends or…closeted gay couple?

the way they told stories between each other, completing sentences, having little ego sword fights, was like a married couple.

at one point they were going back and forth and i burst out laughing and couldn’t stop.

“why are you laughing?,” the softer one asked.

“because you guys are the most interesting things i’ve seen tonight. it’s like watching a play. i want to do a table talk with you where we just sit and talk about topics.”

“we would love to,” the bearded one said.

i’d started talking to them because they’d been sitting against the wall looking really unhappy, so i’d walked by on my way to getting water from the kitchen and high-fived them, then spun around and asked them if they were having a good time. that led to a conversation that led to the discovery that the three of us all went to the same college and had an overlapping year.

i ask them, “were you still on campus when the movie con air came out?”

they look at me with raised eyebrows. “that’s a very unusual and specific question,” the bearded one says. but neither of them can remember much about the movie.

i tell them that the only letter to the editor of the michigan daily that i ever got, was someone really pissed off at me for giving con air 4 stars. he thought i was retarded. so i wanted to know if either of them wrote that letter, because that would be crazy to randomly come face to face years later at a friend’s house in san francisco.

that story cracked them up, but neither of them claimed to writing the letter or agreed with the notion that con air is a 4 star movie. (said the bearded one, “did you give it 4 stars before or after you discovered marijuana?”)

the softer one complained about age and feeling old. i asked him how old he was and he said, “35.” the bearded one saw my face lit up but let his friend continue on his negative rant about feeling old, telling him that maybe it’s just a state of mind.

finally, i tell them that when i think about finally meeting “my guy,” i always think 35 is the best age to find him because he has a good idea of who he is, he’s got his shit together. that ever since i got back from living in europe, i can’t tell age. just that unhappy people look “old” and happy people look “young.” age is just a state of mind. all that matters is what you’re doing with your life in the present.

it was the strangest thing, too. the softer one, who seemed to harbor secret unhappiness, began looking younger as the night wore on. we laughed and told stories like the night would last forever. it was an instant bond. i have no doubt that tomorrow morning, each of these guys will be wondering about me–doesn’t even matter if they’re gay or straight. it was a memory being created in the present. the whole night featured deep connections. it was all powerful. spiritual. validating. seeing people and being kind to them and their being appreciative.

i dropped the two scorp’s off at a gas station because they needed to get somewhere closer to main streets to catch a cab. i offered to give them a ride but they said, “oh no, we don’t live together. that’s why this is complicated.” still, had no idea if they were just really good friends or gay. also glad no one brought up having a threesome as a joke. it happens once in a while when two guys meet me at the exact same time. the offer that is. i figured if anyone would, it would be two scorpios.

had an amazing drive home, taking the san mateo bridge while the radio played electronic grooves. deep, powerful, overwhelming emotions. like rushing water, i had to relax and let them come through me, raising me to the surface and pulling me to the depths, letting them pass through so once again, i could be myself.

beautiful night. old friends turned new. new friends turned old. one that i wish could have lasted longer.

i’m not batman. i’m something much more real.

i played out of my head at the gym today. like i was going pro. shoulder felt 100%. even showed off my dribbling by bringing the ball up the court, between the legs and behind-the-back crossovers to evade defenders. so weird. i knew i was going to be ridiculous when i missed every single shot warming up. strange, strange, strange. triumphant. a breakout.

when my parents used to fight when i was a kid, i would always want to lock my bedroom door, but was afraid to because i wasn’t allowed to. so i would just not be able to sleep, waiting for the sound of their voices to end. sometimes i would think about those stories where husbands have had it with their families so they murder them in their sleep. that used to keep me up a lot, too. now grown up, i know my dad wouldn’t have the guts to do anything like that. but it still makes me think, about the nature of fear. when you’re a kid, you don’t know the difference. only when you don’t feel safe.

like eric bana in a red shirt and cowboy hat
who played the husband in the time traveler’s wife
i wondered what it would be like if i fell for a cowboy
he’d been leaning in the corner watching me without watching me
and in that moment, did a little spin with a hat tip that was meant for me
but still without the courage to meet my eyes.

he was dancing for me
i liked that he could be in sync with the whole or
in a rhythm of his own
but i pretended not to notice
mostly out of not knowing what to do
with a beautiful man in unexpected form
thick black hair and neat beard
proclaiming a polite wildness inside him
that he might let you touch if you’re patient enough.
a cowboy.
behold, the unexpected,
i’m being wooed by a cowboy.

he came over and leaned on the rail next to me,
so close i could watch his irises dance with the music
almost feel the heat from the sweat that made his
earlobe glisten
i pretended to watch the band as he
reached into his left front pocket
first taking out his driver’s license
then miscellaneous cards and change
putting them in his pants pocket
like removing armor in preparation for
laying his heart bare
he took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair
stealing a glance back to catch me watching
but still, i pretended to only be here for the band
feeling the band
unaware

we stayed like that for 3 songs
three feet from each other
electricity raising the hair on our arms
but not saying a word.

i can already hear my friends screaming at me for ignoring him

finally, as the band started in on “friends in low places,”
he politely said goodnight to the group on the other side of me
and left without a single look back.

i shivered, feeling a piece of me peel away,
some space inside me he was
occupying without my awareness suddenly empty
like having a tooth pulled
i immediately missed the beauty that had so presently
been so near me
immediately wondered if i would ever see him again
thinking that if he had said hi
i would have been touching the dreams of a cowboy tonight
wrapping him in the safe coccoon of my world where
all secrets fall away under the still blue eye of the moon

i didn’t worry about it though.
beauty comes and beauty goes
the only eternal beauty is the one that matches mine
i think with all the worlds we will conquer
when i meet the one who could really be my partner
the least he’ll be courageous enough to do is say hello

there is no reason why my brother should be on 9 medications.

but first, earlier tonight.

my mom wanted to introduce my dad to the mentalist, but he didn’t want to watch it. even though she’d already sat through a movie he wanted to watch. so i yelled from the other room, “i vote for the mentalist. two to one, majority rules.”

i come into the room a few minutes later and see my dad flipping through the movie channels. i look at my mom. “your dad didn’t want to watch it.”

i look at him. “you can watch one episode. and if you don’t like it, we’ll watch something else.”

“no,” he said, flipping through the channels.

i take the dvd out, open up the player and pop it in.

“don’t you dare,” he said.

i close the dvd player, and search for the remote to change the input on the tv.

“i said i didn’t want to,” my dad said.

“too bad,” i said. “this is where you learn about compromise in order to get along with people.”

i say it lightheartedly, almost jokingly, but it’s tough love. a part of me is beating icy branches of fear through my veins because i worry he might hit me, even though i’m pretty sure he’s too afraid of me walking out of his life for good to do that anymore. it hasn’t happened since i went off to college.

he gets up, throws down the remote. “you guys show me no respect,” and stormed out.

“we tried to share something we enjoy with you and you weren’t interested. your own loss,” i said.

later, i talk to my mom about my brother. she said that he’s on a new medication that makes him hyper. i tell her that i don’t think michael’s sleeping. i’m up pretty late at night and i hear him tossing and turning until all hours. he’s probably been cranky lately because there’s something disrupting his sleep cycles, and it’s tilting his moods. it’s the medication.

she showed me the list of meds to see if i recognized any uppers. i had gone in to see his doctor once for myself, and he’d offered me adderol (speed). i’m always telling my parents that he’s a drug dealer, and there’s something wrong with how they keep adding drugs to my brother’s cocktail.

i just can’t believe the list. this poor kid.

i told my mom what she needs to do is hire someone to research these meds. find out treatments and compare them. find expert opinion who can evaluate my brother’s meds and design a plan to take them off of them so we can see who he is, baseline. got in an argument with my mom, being negative about every suggestion i made, about why we would need a lawyer if we weren’t going to sue his doctor (because lawyers are experts at research. and even if they couldn’t take this on, they would know people or companies who do, because their business is built on research). but still, she was so negative, saying she didn’t have time to do all this, and asked me to do it. i told her that i’m tired of her manipulating me to do the things she didn’t want to do.

she told me that i should want to be helpful.

“so i should be helpful and always do the things you don’t want to do.”

“yes.”

“because you don’t want to do them.”

“what’s the problem?”

“i am not your secretary. you get to work with me or not at all.”

i just got tired of hearing excuses. i could do the research, but i want to see her dedicate herself to him for once, really see him and figure out how we can help him. she loves him and she’s always there in body, but he’s resorting to manipulating her with fear to get her attention.

he needs her right now and she’s trying to negotiate this.

i was disappointed, but just left the room on a sarcastic note. you can’t get mad at people. you just have to be adamant that they can be bigger people than they’re currently being.

*****
update: dad is throwing a tantrum. walked out of his room and back in, slammed door. minutes later, walked out of his room, then back in, slamming door. repeated one more time. sounds of minor banging. one loud, “FUUUUUUUCK.” then silence.

childish.

we, of course, are ignoring him. i’m blogging and my mom has finally seen the light and is researching my brother’s medications.

“it’s like a storm,” i had told her in regards to the members of our family’s tantrums. “you can get irritated with getting wet from the rain, but you can’t get mad at a storm while it’s happening. you just have to accept that it’s storming right now, and find ways to go about your life until it passes and you can come out again.”

i just act like it has nothing to do with me. and when they’re ready to have me back in their lives again, all they have to do is talk to me nicely.

i don’t want to die. i live at the next level. i want to stop having to pretend these trivial things matter in the big picture. i want the world to wake up, so that i don’t have to keep pretending to be asleep anymore.

you can be both intuitive and logical. often intuition is logic happening at such a speed or running in a background program that the process may not be conscious, but it doesn’t make it less logical.

i think i’m tired of how petty humans can be. how narrow the vision. brings out the worst in people, the things of this world. and the closer i get to others who aren’t conscious, it sucks me in, into the blindness, the narrowness, until i’m reduced to a role i need to play to defend myself within this made up world of ego, hierarchy and illusion. and then when i remove myself and can see it with perspective, i see its just that sucking whirlpool that draws us in to things that are not even real, but the negative ego forces that enslave our beings. if each person just listened to their own feelings about things, strived to be better, kinder, more conscious. took better care of themselves. refused to give power, attention or reverence to people who are misbehaving. became more aware of the truth of situations and refused to feed the negative… they would be able to free themselves and others from these negative perpetuating cycles.

i am tired of all this. i’m tired of all this unconsciousness. selfishness. martyrdom. this hamster wheel of bullshit. come find me if you’re real, but otherwise, leave me alone. i haven’t got time to listen to how you carefully manufactured your own personal hell. I haven’t got time to listen to you tell me about all the things you’re unhappy about in your life yet refuse to do anything about it. I haven’t got time to let you chip away at my view of the world when yours is so bleak that you need me to confirm it so you can feel comfortable in owning your own nightmare. i won’t let you resent me for my strength, i won’t let you keep cutting at my wings–you will make a grave error, mistaking tolerance for weakness. come find me if you have real things to share, if you’re also striving for truth, to make something of this life experience. otherwise, don’t bring your hand-crafted tragedies to me. they are not impressive.

i will not be held hostage.

i will not take the blame for this anymore.

I got in the car today, turned on the engine, and in come the opening guitar riffs to Wake Up by Arcade Fire.

What the fuck, I said, under my breath.

This song is following me.

Have you ever had one of those dreams where you really have to pee, and you go to the bathroom and either you can’t get your pants off so you’re afraid you’re going to pee in your pants, or you have the longest, most amazing pee, yet it doesn’t assuage the urgent feeling of needing to pee? Then you slowly realize you’re dreaming and what your dream is actually trying to tell you is that you need to wake up and pee.

Am I being told to wake up? Awakening. It’s something I’m always moving towards. But I secretly wonder if truly waking up in this world means physically dying. Can you fully wake yet retain your tie to this plane of reality? Or does transcendence require extrication from unrealities? Is this song a messenger into my dream world to tell me to wake up from this plane of existence? Once you learn to willfully maneuver in your dreams, you find you’re able to maneuver the world of waking life with much more ease. So much of this world is projection and illusion. But to wake up from a dream means ejecting from the dream world. Would the same happen if I were to wake up from this world? Can I be awake and remain here, as one can in a lucid dream? I’m not ready to leave my identity in this world before I finish what I started.

Last night, I had disjointed dreams where I knew I was laying in a bed and dreaming, but I didn’t know where the bed was (LA, Seattle, Fremont, Florida, a boat, etc), and I kept chanting something that I thought was Korean…e-sun…e-sun…e-sun…e-sun…

Then I realized “e-sun” is Chinese for “doctor.” I woke up with a start, checked myself. Felt fine. Did someone need a doctor? I listened to the breathing of the house. My brother coughed softly in his sleep from the next room, but other than that, only that corporeal silence that pervades the darkness shortly before dawn.

A few hours later, my dad, eating oatmeal in the dining room, would report hearing my brother yell out my name in anger while submerged in a dream.

i’m jealous because you have more friends than me.

did my brother really just say that?

and he really was sorry. he was holding my hand with both of his and he kept pressing it to his cheek. i wondered, is michael saying this because it’s true or is this what my mom told him he was feeling?

when he loses control and then feels so sorry afterwards, it’s the worst feeling. like watching yourself die face-down in mud where no one will ever find you, just because that’s life.

somewhere in this universe, there are gods the size of humans, and humans the size of gods

somewhere, my brother exists

you can’t turn a deer into a tiger.

but can you turn a tiger into a deer.

just take care of yourself.

i have no idea what’s real anymore. to say that it’s whatever you want to be real reminds me of that sketch with The State where the prison has a wide open gate and the warden asks the prisoners to consider the gate (finger quotes) “off limits.” it seems too easy, but if all it takes is faith i will. but sometimes, it’s the not knowing that keeps me up at night.

i started a notebook earlier this year called my left-hand notebook. i was trying to train myself to write with my left hand, and found myself mostly writing things backwards. with a month of dominant hand immobility, i’m curious what i’ll fill that notebook with.

today was a cone shaped day that left burn marks

i no longer have an answer when people ask me what i write.

it has become unfathomable for me.

the other night, i said it’s like putting a cake in the oven and pulling out pancakes.

and i’m standing at the edge of a moment, realizing that to investigate this would require putting my head in the oven. i’m stuck trying to decide if i’m just another poetic cliche, or if i’m about to find the rabbithole.