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Aug. 5th, 2004 11:02 pmi am a loon - leaving work early to go to a movie and now I think maybe I have some balance back - enough to enjoy, enough to remember, enough to look around and not feel naive for feeling happy
new poem coming soon - by the way -
*****
last night was both so good and so bad - I feel torn up today
not in a whoa dude I am hung over - or even in a didn't get enough sleep sort of way, though both of those could be options, since I did do the tequila dance last night, and even once home couldn't sleep, until that wonderful moment of REM around 5am, when the cat decided to start her scratching at the wardrobe again which had me up and moving around at an obscene hour
No - it's not that. It's a distance I am feeling - I am being pushed away and though I am following the guts of my dreams, the necessity of my art - the bedrock of my heart has tectonic plates pushing against it. I had a poem in my head last night while I was trying to sleep - it was about holding distance instead of holding each other - that sort of distance scares me, it morphs too quickly and spirals too fast.I have lost so many friends to that distance, it's just too dangerous.
This week is two nights out, four if you count from saturday to saturday - last weekend was a full day and night gone - am I just asking for isolation from my life? and in that context, where do I define my life and it's importances - I know the two most important things are C- and poetry. Friends I love, but friends don't give me ulcers if I ignore them. As I am moving forward - enthusiastic, excited, I have to hold room for everything.
next week goes crazy with my event and getting the ball rolling and trying to make this crazy poetry shit work for me and not eat at the lining of my belly until no amount of milk can stop the bloodied swiss cheese of what was once a happy stomach from boiling over
I was listening to Leonard Cohen cover songs on the way into work on the local college station - singing Rufus Wainwrights version of hallelujah at the top of my lungs, smiling like a fool, feeling like I had it all - love, poetry, and an enthusiastic sense of self and friends and the reality of the change in my soul, the reality that I don't just talk the talk anymore - but for myself, for my art, I am walking the walk. Is it naive to believe that I can have it all? I am still poor, maybe that evens it out?
Shit.
I did a ritual on the blue moon, asking for many changes in the next 30 days - I was warned it was powerful, is this the transition into those changes - that pain that blossoms into strength and goodness?
new poem coming soon - by the way -
*****
last night was both so good and so bad - I feel torn up today
not in a whoa dude I am hung over - or even in a didn't get enough sleep sort of way, though both of those could be options, since I did do the tequila dance last night, and even once home couldn't sleep, until that wonderful moment of REM around 5am, when the cat decided to start her scratching at the wardrobe again which had me up and moving around at an obscene hour
No - it's not that. It's a distance I am feeling - I am being pushed away and though I am following the guts of my dreams, the necessity of my art - the bedrock of my heart has tectonic plates pushing against it. I had a poem in my head last night while I was trying to sleep - it was about holding distance instead of holding each other - that sort of distance scares me, it morphs too quickly and spirals too fast.I have lost so many friends to that distance, it's just too dangerous.
This week is two nights out, four if you count from saturday to saturday - last weekend was a full day and night gone - am I just asking for isolation from my life? and in that context, where do I define my life and it's importances - I know the two most important things are C- and poetry. Friends I love, but friends don't give me ulcers if I ignore them. As I am moving forward - enthusiastic, excited, I have to hold room for everything.
next week goes crazy with my event and getting the ball rolling and trying to make this crazy poetry shit work for me and not eat at the lining of my belly until no amount of milk can stop the bloodied swiss cheese of what was once a happy stomach from boiling over
I was listening to Leonard Cohen cover songs on the way into work on the local college station - singing Rufus Wainwrights version of hallelujah at the top of my lungs, smiling like a fool, feeling like I had it all - love, poetry, and an enthusiastic sense of self and friends and the reality of the change in my soul, the reality that I don't just talk the talk anymore - but for myself, for my art, I am walking the walk. Is it naive to believe that I can have it all? I am still poor, maybe that evens it out?
Shit.
I did a ritual on the blue moon, asking for many changes in the next 30 days - I was warned it was powerful, is this the transition into those changes - that pain that blossoms into strength and goodness?
