musty smell of cabins.
smell of old wood panelling and american beer.
dirt under nails.
guns that are never fired.
the sharp smell of blood when the carcass comes home. open flesh strapped to hoods of american cars. never on a foreign car - something about blood and steel that can only come from detroit. horrifying and sexual all at once. violence carved into skins and honored on the wall. i wonder if culture allowed it - if you would put the hips of every woman you fucked up there. mounted on that wall. cleaned of flesh and bone and love and sweat. bleached and sterile. bones of a conquest. of a moment. of destroying something you weren't ever meant to have.
once i laid naked at 3am on the roof of my parents house. you could climb out through the bathroom window. i went out a lot to listen to my radio when they weren't home. but that night with stars and branches and moon owning the sky - i jerked off for the first time with roof shingles scratching into my back and at sixteen with blood on my shoulders, i was my own trophy. these hips were owned by me. and i would put them on my wall - to honor -
Dreaming of sweat and lust and where exactly we’re all going to be when it’s all over.
When she rolls over and looks at you and knows, you are only for the right now.
When he looks at him and knows it was supposed to be forever, but it’s just not.
We walk through salty night where tears mix with sweat and it’s our human elixir in margaritas and heartbreak and we trade salt for salt.
We’re all trying so hard to be not as fucked up.
And our hearts are breaking for it.
Skin for muscle for bones for an ache
That we can’t shake off
Because we want each other
We can’t trust.
and not in a totally bad way
but i am thinking of people i have lost
and how much trust we put in each others fragile little shells
how delicate hearts and egos and faith can be
how much love it takes
to keep a life alive
to keep it from becoming dulled and hopeless and despondent
what it takes to keep treasures from convincing themselves into trash
we aren't unwanted
none of us are
it just has to feel that way
we were drunk in a bar
and you took me aside
slurring some wisdom in my general direction
and i was distracted
by a blonde girl singing showtunes in the background
but you grabbed my jaw
and made me look
and i saw
that i was a moment from hearing a great truth
'listen - this is important'
you said to me
and then our friends came up to say goodbye
and i was listening
i still am listening
you're too quiet.
this time it's going after buena vista park and pieces of san francisco
it's making me crave big fat sugar cookies
it is so lush and round
it's making me want to swim in a still watered lake
so the reflection can ounce off of my wet skin
while steam rises from our heat in the water
i want to climb big tall trees
and look down where i can't see the ground because
the moonlight doesn't make it through the leaves
it's a beautiful night
the kind that makes sense
when people get a little crazy
i didn't go hear poetry
but i laughed and lit candles
but the ceaning never ends
and now i feel like i need to clean out my brain
just a little
lose the residue of last nights dream
of an awkward phone call with someone who defines comfort
to make some space to work on my art, not even just a little, but a lot
to make acres and acres of room and space for stars and thoughts and dreams, the good kind, to come back around and hang out for awhile.
remember that one time, when you went into your room. say you were somewhere in your teens. on a night that was boring and you felt somehow not a part of anything and itchy in your own skin. but then you put on that record, and it all felt right. you flopped into the bed and felt the good firm of it bouncing against your young thighs. felt the universe of the book you were reading take you somewhere, or maybe it was your own words that came pouring out into your journal or your best friends ear on the telephone. but for that night, for those hours of that night, you were totally present and totally yourself. there were no apologies, no making space for anything except you and the figuring out of you and the just simple being of you and beginning to realize how actually complicated that might be. you, were not so simple, but you were on your way to seeing the beauty in the complications.
i might stop writing here for a while. i think i need to go flop on a bed and remember some things. we'll see. but something needs to be... different
grey and rainy - i wish i was on the beach of keweenaw bay right now, either in baraga or on point abbey so i could get rained on while surrounded by huge pine trees sitting on slate rock and not at all worried about time or work or anything except the philospohy of my own life...
except that i can't reread our conversations, as private as they are - and it's the rereading that i miss. i lose your words like ghosts, and am left wondering, if we ever spoke at all
is there room here for the worm to shift
can we make room?
when i tricked brandy into clicking her seatbelt shut
when i knew it would lock
and she would be trapped
in my parents car, in the summer heat
with the blue velour of the seat
sticky and gummy on her 9 year old thighs
locked away from the water
cool lake relief
she pushed and jerked
at the nylon
finally sliding herself
she made room
where there was none
my seatbelt is locked
how much of me
do i have to lose
to get to the lake?
let's hope it helps clear my mind
already got me to some realizations
i am writing a fair bit these days
(the start of something....)
"your whiskey ran like
the river that i paid for
of violence and cigarettes
when you wanted to hit me
i knew that you loved me
because you didn't
but you bothered
to write it down"
but if someone falls in love with a tree and rolls in the dirt alone in the forest - who cares?
i have to figure out what is stopping me from sending work out
i have recommendations
i have a roadmap in my head
i can help other people do their shit
i cannot seem to take step two
and i don't want to be one of those people
who everyone says is smart and has promise
and never fulfills it
(i am afraid that i already am)
wow - yoga gets me kind of open about sacred stuff in the morning
hmmm, i am sure when i get to work the perky mask will return
in the interests of bravery - public post (eeep)
culminating in the beginning of a mourning process that is six years late
i am angry
super fucking pissed off
but moving forward into knowing
that i can learn how to integrate all the parts of myself
into the me that I walk around with daily
i feel sad and still hopeful
i feel scared
super fucking scared
of where this could take me
but living in fear has never done me any good
we all react differently to our abuse and trauma
i still mostly don't admit mine
but its there
soon i might even be ready to tell people about it
but to even admit
that it lurks
is a first step
walk with me on the baby steps people
at the end of the path
they told me
there are riches