Rantings and Ravings

…and so I’m sleeping on the couch again. This is more than three months, and my back is killing me and my chest is heavy, and my brain is on fire. This isn’t what I’d imagined. This is killing me. You’ll never understand.

I just want to disappear for a few days. Go someplace high. Where I can see everything. Where I don’t have to feel alone.

“I’ve got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck
Than any boy you’ll ever meet, sweetie you had me
Girl I was it, look past the sweat, a better love deserving of
Exchanging body heat in the passenger seat?
No, no, no, you know it will always just be me” -PATD

Our whirlpool thoughts wash waters grey and false and thoughtless. Smoke rings skate the night sky, blown from deep in our hearts. We will not back down, nor scream, cry “Yield!” With rope ladder veins and coppery breath we will burn and seethe. Until the scars of our skin and the bruises on our necks tout “We have known love, in all it’s dirty glory.”

These lights are way too bright, and the air makes me feel deserted. Like my skin is peeling off in morbid little chunks. I’m sick with your thoughts plastered drunk, neurons firing. I think if we vibrate hard enough we can become molecules. And your skin will become my skin and the blood that seeps out of me will be littered with tiny daggers and car antennas. We’re never what we seem, just electronic pulses firing in so many different directions that it makes me dizzy. I am not the same. Your eyes are always slick with saltwater. If only we could just keep vibrating, just keep moving and shaking, just keep our hands to ourselves and our bodies slightly out of reach. If only I could watch your pupils dilate and your breath go quick. I could watch you die and be reborn until there was a pile of silt on the carpeted floor.

You said that you hated your hair
And the broken glass of my thoughts shattered in the sink
We were bristles and foaming comfort
“A very domestic activity”
When I found my keys and cigarettes
You sighed
And I didn’t sigh that cold and lonely breath
Locked inside the back of my throat
Held hostage by my tongue
And I couldn’t speak
Because I am an idiot when it comes to these things
And you barred the door with wooden arms
Crossed and sullen
And I didn’t storm the barricade
I wished and wished with all my might
To have that wish I wished that night
But my feet were too small
And my hands were shaking
And so I slept in my clothes and regrets

dreamnoises:

it was a loft room in some barn. everything was white with snow outside. we had to climb a ladder to get to where you were, sitting in your wooden room with big windows. you were looking at the forest below. watching for animals in the forest below. we startled you as we climbed. you thought we were animals from the forest with our strange noises & wide eyes. (you had always thought of me an animal. wild & careless & selfish & free. there was that one time in your room, before you moved away, that you grabbed my wide hips & you said ‘it surprises me at night when i don’t hear you howl’ & you smiled a scared little smile.) ‘hello’ i smiled & waited for you to yell about ‘why are you here’ or ‘leave get out’ but i had stumbled upon your dwelling with a friend & you probably thought it best not to offend. ‘hello there.’ you smiled a genuine warm smile. you looked much older, i looked much older. it had been a year, or two, or three. we were no longer wild or free. you invited us in to keep warm & we discussed how our lives had changed. nothing felt like knives as i had imagined each word would. we had grown up backwards. we no longer discussed finances, we discussed exploring our surroundings. we no longer discussed terrible television, we discussed the simple sound the skeleton trees made in the breeze. as the night moved on we lost our words. first i lost ‘you’ & you lost ‘i’ then ‘now, we, past, hate, angry’ until all the words were lost. we made sounds we didn’t know our bodies could. clicks, grunts, whistles, & finally when i kissed you good bye…we howled.

To play the part of God
We recruited Christian Slater
Because he was available
And for the part of Mary
We chose you
Because of your vindictive wit
It wasn’t very long before we figured out that
You weren’t playing that part
As much as hating the way we made you feel
And you tied your tongue to your teeth
Breathed fire and fuel
Lit mouth and yellow flame
And we wished we’d never met you
But instead talked about your charisma

Across from me, an elderly man sits pecking at a telephone that he
doesn’t understand. His shoes are expensive. Beside him sits a small
coat that I can only assume belongs to an absentee spouse. The blue
veins of his forehead show prominently and his face is a constant
frown. Perched on his nose, a small round pair of gold framed glasses.
I imagine him as a much younger man, gentle and solemn, with the
charm of a business executive. A man with good taste in business suits
and expensive leather shoes. As if he was listening to my thought, he
raises from his seat, shoves a piece of folded paper into his left
trouser pocket and realigns himself with his now present spouse. They
debate on proper etiquitte and procedure and she disappears again,
lost at the front counter and visibly confused. A woman with a
boisterous baby stroller sits and the man begins chatting with her.
She tells him about the details of a train ride and an appointment
that was missed. She is disheveled, shoved into a t-shirt two sizes to
small and speaks in a voice that touts ignorance.

I’m so angry right now. Angry at the fact that people take advantage of good human beings by default, angry at the audacity, angry at the constant need to get one over on people who want nothing more than to be cared about.
I don’t know how to tell you this, but my heart is sad for those people. Those lonely souls who destroy lives with their lies and wreck havok on innocent hearts.
Sometimes, this world is too cold, too brash, too deluded and too cynical.

I hope to change at least some of that.