I have been thinking lately alot about starting a project called "heart on the sleeve", in which I make a bunch of easily applied (read: velcro) patches that have simple emotional statements you wouldn't necessarily say out-loud, and affixing them to my sleeve as different emotional/ personal thoughts arose. I nixed the idea because its adorableness makes me sort of sick, plus I felt that explaining what you were trying to do would take longer than the application itself, and thus would detract from the overall impact of the action. It felt a little obvious, I mean.
I have been also thinking about starting a writing/reading series called "overtly confessional: sharing too much is caring too much" in which, yea, you could read stuff beyond journal entries... thoughts you think that are minute and inane and you would probably never write down in the first place. these little tiny, seemingly inconsequential moments of being. those thoughts you think that make you unique. But I haven't because I think I might be the only one who would want to read at it.
Both of these projects are excuses, metaphors, quick fixes, what have you, for having a crush. That is, I want to share myself with one specific person, but I specifically don't know how, and they don't know me, and its my habit, to have these intense feelings that lead to intense work/projects/trips/plans, these big dreams and imaginings and happenings and the "they" don't ever know that these fictional city-scapes and maps and dimensions and ideas are being constructed around them. Its my bad habit, because this distance is safer, and that constant rush of anticipation, of glances across the room, the agony and heart ache that adds such a silent drama to every chance interaction is addictive.
So I start heartsleeve projects and confessional rant nights. Because I have this energy set to explode. Because I want to share myself with someone, but I'll share me with the whole world instead.
Showing posts with label zach. Show all posts
Showing posts with label zach. Show all posts
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Saturday, May 2, 2009
My love is not less
Thinking about Zach, even in passing or in reference, leaves a sort of overwhelming feeling of hopelessness deep inside my stomach. The sort of "deep inside" that seems to tickle your spine and extend to the outside of your flesh, through your back. It sweeps up and covers the sky, and, apparently, is heavy enough to stop the wind.
"never thought that I could find you so hollow"
In reflecting on the years since (is his departure my new "Year One"? that question is going to have to be left for a much longer/larger debate.), I think a lot about the decisions I've made in re: the future- or lack of decisions, what have you. I think about the year I "lost" weeping for him (I remember most the nights slumped against the compost bin out at the Awful Shark, which I know couldn't have been too numerous, yet seem the most evocative- perhaps it was because I was purposely hiding my strange drinking/crying binges from my roommates? Or was it because I intentionally curled close to a large pile of decaying nature, this being the period of time in which we all thought he was dead and lost? Again, probably a topic for further exploration at a different time).
"But this cup of wine
All salt and brine makes me sleepy"
I wonder a lot, if decisions would have made differently if he was around, and, in conclusion, decided its much like the time when I asked my mom if she regreted having kids (me included), and she said "its just a different road you go down, and, once this thing (kids) has happened to you, you just can't even imagine wanting to know what the other road is even like" (I'm taking liberty and paraphrasing a much longer conversation). And I can't imagine the other road, not even fantastically. This is the road. There is no other.
Talked with a friend tonight about the sucker punch chest ache your recent exes leave with you- how everything-every.single.thing.- reminds you of them, is tainted and touched by them- and how it never feels like it will ever go away or evolve or be something you can escape from. I counseled "time", which I know, I KNOW, feels like a cop out, but is the truth. This is how the "Z" word came up- its been years now (so hard to believe, makes me gasp in awe)- YEARS since the "happening" happened, and I still have dreams/nightmares, I still see "him" (doubles) on the street almost weekly if not daily, I still have huge questions about the where/why/when, and I STILL (see above) feel this huge tidal pull towards hopelessness at the mere mention of his name.
"Were you sleepless, tearing at the air?
Was the water everywhere?
Were you fretful, to wade into the room?
I'd been wanting to hear from you"
But! Above and beyond and BUT!
I now think about the wonderful things. I think about why I fell in love with Big Z in the first place- that initial pull, that strange magnetism- I think about why I care so much that he's gone. Why I CARE.
I think too about all that is wonderful, and awesome, and DONT STOP BELIEVIN' about my life now, and how I do have things and secret plans and wonderful people to hold on to, how drowning isn't an option anymore, and how, even when sucker-punched and surprised by the sadness he is still able to evoke, how most days aren't spent in sadness anymore, not like they used to be, and how, I do love him still, and, if I really LOVE HIM, and not some fucked up, selfishly skewed image of (him + me), or (him with me), or him (just exactly how I want him to be)- well, then, I should be happy for him now, like I would hope he is happy for me- because he is doing what he needs to be doing to be him, and be happy, and healthy, and whole. And if I love him, deeplymadlytruly, I want that which will make him the bestest.
Because we have to love them all for who they are, and not just who they are with us.
"A gentle torture to watch it all recede"
And the ability to say that, now, after all this time, these tears, and all this shit, is cause for happiness in and of itself.
"Hand it over
Hand it over
You're weary, lay him down
You did your time so thank you very much"
"never thought that I could find you so hollow"
In reflecting on the years since (is his departure my new "Year One"? that question is going to have to be left for a much longer/larger debate.), I think a lot about the decisions I've made in re: the future- or lack of decisions, what have you. I think about the year I "lost" weeping for him (I remember most the nights slumped against the compost bin out at the Awful Shark, which I know couldn't have been too numerous, yet seem the most evocative- perhaps it was because I was purposely hiding my strange drinking/crying binges from my roommates? Or was it because I intentionally curled close to a large pile of decaying nature, this being the period of time in which we all thought he was dead and lost? Again, probably a topic for further exploration at a different time).
"But this cup of wine
All salt and brine makes me sleepy"
I wonder a lot, if decisions would have made differently if he was around, and, in conclusion, decided its much like the time when I asked my mom if she regreted having kids (me included), and she said "its just a different road you go down, and, once this thing (kids) has happened to you, you just can't even imagine wanting to know what the other road is even like" (I'm taking liberty and paraphrasing a much longer conversation). And I can't imagine the other road, not even fantastically. This is the road. There is no other.
Talked with a friend tonight about the sucker punch chest ache your recent exes leave with you- how everything-every.single.thing.- reminds you of them, is tainted and touched by them- and how it never feels like it will ever go away or evolve or be something you can escape from. I counseled "time", which I know, I KNOW, feels like a cop out, but is the truth. This is how the "Z" word came up- its been years now (so hard to believe, makes me gasp in awe)- YEARS since the "happening" happened, and I still have dreams/nightmares, I still see "him" (doubles) on the street almost weekly if not daily, I still have huge questions about the where/why/when, and I STILL (see above) feel this huge tidal pull towards hopelessness at the mere mention of his name.
"Were you sleepless, tearing at the air?
Was the water everywhere?
Were you fretful, to wade into the room?
I'd been wanting to hear from you"
But! Above and beyond and BUT!
I now think about the wonderful things. I think about why I fell in love with Big Z in the first place- that initial pull, that strange magnetism- I think about why I care so much that he's gone. Why I CARE.
I think too about all that is wonderful, and awesome, and DONT STOP BELIEVIN' about my life now, and how I do have things and secret plans and wonderful people to hold on to, how drowning isn't an option anymore, and how, even when sucker-punched and surprised by the sadness he is still able to evoke, how most days aren't spent in sadness anymore, not like they used to be, and how, I do love him still, and, if I really LOVE HIM, and not some fucked up, selfishly skewed image of (him + me), or (him with me), or him (just exactly how I want him to be)- well, then, I should be happy for him now, like I would hope he is happy for me- because he is doing what he needs to be doing to be him, and be happy, and healthy, and whole. And if I love him, deeplymadlytruly, I want that which will make him the bestest.
Because we have to love them all for who they are, and not just who they are with us.
"A gentle torture to watch it all recede"
And the ability to say that, now, after all this time, these tears, and all this shit, is cause for happiness in and of itself.
"Hand it over
Hand it over
You're weary, lay him down
You did your time so thank you very much"
Monday, January 21, 2008
more zach-era compositions and fragments
"We are failed people Zachary, and there is nothing noble or disgusting in that. There are no pretty people in this world, just beautiful and disastrous actions and hearts. We are pumping acid through our veins and designing love. And we are making mistakes."
---
"I think about the lies we told, and the truths buried beneath them. I think about flesh, and about coldness, and about the fine threads and seams on a mattress. I think about romance, and friendship, and the quiet love that lies in between the two. I think about the dirt, and your bones, and if i would recognize your face if half gone to the woods. I’d like to think it was green there, and so dense that you felt safely smothered. I’d like to think too, sometimes, that it was barren, snow filled, and so chilling that your visible breath on the air truly felt like it was your soul escaping, and that it was something you could catch, and that it was something you could lose. Other times I like to think of myself, driving up a dirt road, towards a far away vision of you, dust clouded, looking up from some work...and, as you move to stand, the sunlight shifts around you, and becomes like a beacon, and blinds me"
---
"I think about the lies we told, and the truths buried beneath them. I think about flesh, and about coldness, and about the fine threads and seams on a mattress. I think about romance, and friendship, and the quiet love that lies in between the two. I think about the dirt, and your bones, and if i would recognize your face if half gone to the woods. I’d like to think it was green there, and so dense that you felt safely smothered. I’d like to think too, sometimes, that it was barren, snow filled, and so chilling that your visible breath on the air truly felt like it was your soul escaping, and that it was something you could catch, and that it was something you could lose. Other times I like to think of myself, driving up a dirt road, towards a far away vision of you, dust clouded, looking up from some work...and, as you move to stand, the sunlight shifts around you, and becomes like a beacon, and blinds me"
Monday, January 7, 2008
is it really so far away?
If you think I don't miss you, you have more faith in my heart than I.
It's been almost one year since you went un-missing. Did you think that would save us? Couldn't you see how far gone we were by then? Already too far gone for salvation's touching grace. But you were always one for the heroic gesture served only when it could do the least amount of good, weren't you, Mr. Steward? That nobility of the unnoticed.
I still have dreams. They rarely alter. That same dirt road, that same beam of light, that same small sanctity of promise, of potential, of forgiveness and peace. What strange anomaly, the conception of the two of us at peace. At peace with what? With ourselves? With our trembling natures? With our teeming restlessness? What would we be, if not caged in? Bigger people? Not better ones, that's almost for certain. And I'm at a loss to imagine us bigger. Those two unflinching egos, forever at war with themselves. Could the world shrink so much, to allow that permission? Could my thoughts possibly expand further? Could they reach that height? Could they cover the sky?
Some part of you might find it interesting to know that I am happy- or rather, conflicted and enraptured. For once, yes, unsure, but perpetually enthralled by that unsteady grasp. It might be of some small comfort to know that I am saying yes again- to life, to the grand scheme, to all that is unfathomable. That I am again beginning to want that whisper of tiny nothings, those eardrop confessions, the measure of another's breathe, my own palm against palm. That I have found more again than just myself, than just you, than just the rupture and tidal ripping of your loss, of my own loss, of those universes we cannot contain. That I am slowly beginning to dream again. Of other dirt roads. Of others waiting. Of seeking something more than a solution.
Still, I wish I could share some secret piece of it with you, even knowing now, that it would never be you, it would never be me, and it would never again be us. But those fractures remaining, perhaps they could find something far above all this to cling to, and maybe there could be one moment- one solitary single step, that we could take together, in time and out of it. Perhaps we could forgive ourselves just long enough to revel in mutual adventure, in exploration, the in simple ideal of having let ourselves just... go.
It's been almost one year since you went un-missing. Did you think that would save us? Couldn't you see how far gone we were by then? Already too far gone for salvation's touching grace. But you were always one for the heroic gesture served only when it could do the least amount of good, weren't you, Mr. Steward? That nobility of the unnoticed.
I still have dreams. They rarely alter. That same dirt road, that same beam of light, that same small sanctity of promise, of potential, of forgiveness and peace. What strange anomaly, the conception of the two of us at peace. At peace with what? With ourselves? With our trembling natures? With our teeming restlessness? What would we be, if not caged in? Bigger people? Not better ones, that's almost for certain. And I'm at a loss to imagine us bigger. Those two unflinching egos, forever at war with themselves. Could the world shrink so much, to allow that permission? Could my thoughts possibly expand further? Could they reach that height? Could they cover the sky?
Some part of you might find it interesting to know that I am happy- or rather, conflicted and enraptured. For once, yes, unsure, but perpetually enthralled by that unsteady grasp. It might be of some small comfort to know that I am saying yes again- to life, to the grand scheme, to all that is unfathomable. That I am again beginning to want that whisper of tiny nothings, those eardrop confessions, the measure of another's breathe, my own palm against palm. That I have found more again than just myself, than just you, than just the rupture and tidal ripping of your loss, of my own loss, of those universes we cannot contain. That I am slowly beginning to dream again. Of other dirt roads. Of others waiting. Of seeking something more than a solution.
Still, I wish I could share some secret piece of it with you, even knowing now, that it would never be you, it would never be me, and it would never again be us. But those fractures remaining, perhaps they could find something far above all this to cling to, and maybe there could be one moment- one solitary single step, that we could take together, in time and out of it. Perhaps we could forgive ourselves just long enough to revel in mutual adventure, in exploration, the in simple ideal of having let ourselves just... go.
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