In a world full of Hamlets, I search for Horatios.
Figment.
Of my imagination.
Sometimes you have to skim a lot of shit off the top before you can really see what's there.
He asked me why I don't save copies of the things I sell. He asked me why I don't.
Maybe it's because it's as close as I can come to that momentary celebration. There is only one original. One original painting. No matter how many prints are made, no matter how many photographs are taken. There will be only one virgin orgasm of craft. Always. Enchanted, like the suicide art of a Broadway actor. One chance to get it right. No back space key. No delete.
These aren't the things I save. These aren't the tokens and souvenirs I bring with me.
These are the things I sold. These are the things I leave behind.
He asked me why I don't save all the copies. And I began to describe the feeling of letting go of a kite. Letting it fly away, to some place new. Some place you can't go. I began to express what it's like to stop arguing with entropy, to stop trying to control things that are completely beyond you.
But I stopped.
I stopped trying to describe and express. And instead, I told him not to look for solace in ideas that aren't his. Whatever it is that he refuses to surrender, that which he can not let go, that which he is trying to project onto my way in the Words... whatever it is, it does not belong.
Yours is not the first pathology to fly this way.
Mine grows smaller from exhaustion.
Mine weakens,
as I narrow.
My kite, my reasons.
May 31, 2006
May 23, 2006
Quote of the Day
"No fear.
No distractions.
The ability to let that which does not matter,
... truly slide."
-Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk
No distractions.
The ability to let that which does not matter,
... truly slide."
-Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk
May 18, 2006
Choices that Make Us
There are some things that are...
Possible.
Pay attention selflessly. You may get an opportunity to change someone's life.
All things, from one decision.
Affected.
Infected.
I can read into things. I can read into most things.
But you can't out-run yourself.
Be no match for your mind.
I was 31. I had stopped dreaming.
Changing energies. Changing things. Moving removing. Cleaning cleansing.
And it goes on. And it goes away.
And some things you just can't clean. Some things are dirty from beginning to end. It's easy to be here some days. An some days it isn't.
It is not possible not to think about money. It is not possible here. People who tell you they don't care about money, have it. People that tell you money doesn't matter are really saying, it doesn't matter to them, because they don't go without.
When you read between the lines, everything falls apart.
The Words change. They aren't meant to be seen at that angle. They aren't ripe at that digression. They come undone, become unclean.
All things as meant, like the order of the songs on a vinyl album. Purposeful and deliberate.
You can't out-run yourself.
You can't get away from the things you don't want.
You can honor things as you let them go. Nothing has to be desecrated.
These are choices we make.
These are choices,
That make Us.
Possible.
Pay attention selflessly. You may get an opportunity to change someone's life.
All things, from one decision.
Affected.
Infected.
I can read into things. I can read into most things.
But you can't out-run yourself.
Be no match for your mind.
I was 31. I had stopped dreaming.
Changing energies. Changing things. Moving removing. Cleaning cleansing.
And it goes on. And it goes away.
And some things you just can't clean. Some things are dirty from beginning to end. It's easy to be here some days. An some days it isn't.
It is not possible not to think about money. It is not possible here. People who tell you they don't care about money, have it. People that tell you money doesn't matter are really saying, it doesn't matter to them, because they don't go without.
When you read between the lines, everything falls apart.
The Words change. They aren't meant to be seen at that angle. They aren't ripe at that digression. They come undone, become unclean.
All things as meant, like the order of the songs on a vinyl album. Purposeful and deliberate.
You can't out-run yourself.
You can't get away from the things you don't want.
You can honor things as you let them go. Nothing has to be desecrated.
These are choices we make.
These are choices,
That make Us.
May 15, 2006
"Senseless"
"You've said your peace.
In God's name, go!"
-Echo & the Bunnymen
His jaw dropped when he saw me. Feigning politeness was too much to ask. He was clearly disappointed. Clearly. He had an agenda. And my being female wasn't on it.
He looks around the table as if there might be something there that he can throw on the chair to prevent me from sitting down. I sit anyway. He exhales, put out. He looks shocked as he says, "Ok, ya know what? This isn't going to work."
"What isn't going to work?" I slide my jacket off and wave to the waiter, gesturing towards the Riesling he had ordered.
He's made several cat like noises in his throat while my wine is served. Then he says, "This is very deceiving and upsetting. I thought you were a man."
"Oh, I knew that, as soon as Martin said you insisted on meeting the author in a romantic restaurant on a Saturday night at 8pm, instead of just mailing me a check."
He pretends that's out of line. He pretends that's insulted him. He pretends I'm wrong.
He angles his head and says, "Maybe I wanted to meet face to face to politely tell you I can't use what you wrote."
"Maybe." I sip my wine. "Maybe if you hadn't already booked 2 more pieces."
"I need this in first person."
"Good, because I wrote it in first person. The use of 'I' and 'me' should have given that away."
I open my letter sized portfolio across my place setting, since apparently I will not be having dinner. I let him see that I am prepared.
"You've had your say,
Close your mouth."
He shakes his head as if there is disagreement. "I just don't think you can grasp this."
I hand him a printed copy of his email. I've highlighted the line where he says, "One of the most insightful and gifted writers of gay literature of our time."
Honey, the only thing not getting grasped is the 24 year old male twink ass you thought I had.
He is embarrassed, coughing now, trying to slip his jacket on, trying to not make eye contact. "You've completely missed the point, but there's apparently no talking to you." He shakes his head again, but this time it's looking like something between a nervous tick, and petite mal seizure.
He leaves quickly. I'm sure it was accidental, his forgetting to pay the bill for his wine.
I know I won the battle. But I lost the war. It doesn't really matter how wrong he is, or how well I wrote these articles. He's not going to take them now. And he's not going to pay me. And I have to think about my anonymity and his ability to damage it. He could out me.
And I'm sure I'm not the first person that's thought about that in his company.
"Stupid. Senseless.
Make it STOP."
In God's name, go!"
-Echo & the Bunnymen
His jaw dropped when he saw me. Feigning politeness was too much to ask. He was clearly disappointed. Clearly. He had an agenda. And my being female wasn't on it.
He looks around the table as if there might be something there that he can throw on the chair to prevent me from sitting down. I sit anyway. He exhales, put out. He looks shocked as he says, "Ok, ya know what? This isn't going to work."
"What isn't going to work?" I slide my jacket off and wave to the waiter, gesturing towards the Riesling he had ordered.
He's made several cat like noises in his throat while my wine is served. Then he says, "This is very deceiving and upsetting. I thought you were a man."
"Oh, I knew that, as soon as Martin said you insisted on meeting the author in a romantic restaurant on a Saturday night at 8pm, instead of just mailing me a check."
He pretends that's out of line. He pretends that's insulted him. He pretends I'm wrong.
He angles his head and says, "Maybe I wanted to meet face to face to politely tell you I can't use what you wrote."
"Maybe." I sip my wine. "Maybe if you hadn't already booked 2 more pieces."
"I need this in first person."
"Good, because I wrote it in first person. The use of 'I' and 'me' should have given that away."
I open my letter sized portfolio across my place setting, since apparently I will not be having dinner. I let him see that I am prepared.
"You've had your say,
Close your mouth."
He shakes his head as if there is disagreement. "I just don't think you can grasp this."
I hand him a printed copy of his email. I've highlighted the line where he says, "One of the most insightful and gifted writers of gay literature of our time."
Honey, the only thing not getting grasped is the 24 year old male twink ass you thought I had.
He is embarrassed, coughing now, trying to slip his jacket on, trying to not make eye contact. "You've completely missed the point, but there's apparently no talking to you." He shakes his head again, but this time it's looking like something between a nervous tick, and petite mal seizure.
He leaves quickly. I'm sure it was accidental, his forgetting to pay the bill for his wine.
I know I won the battle. But I lost the war. It doesn't really matter how wrong he is, or how well I wrote these articles. He's not going to take them now. And he's not going to pay me. And I have to think about my anonymity and his ability to damage it. He could out me.
And I'm sure I'm not the first person that's thought about that in his company.
"Stupid. Senseless.
Make it STOP."
May 10, 2006
Jersey
I sat at a traffic light. Watching the red, and the rain. Listening to the windshield wipers and the Eagles.
“Take another shot of courage.
Wondering why the fireworks never come,
You just get numb.”
She was on the other side of the intersection. Different side. Same world. Her world. Where I crashed like a meteor.
And I’ve written about it before. And I will write about it again.
There are moments.
Moments when the whole world stands perfectly still so you see through it clearly. So you can see the deliberate, and the doubt. So you can see the kinfolk and the strangers. So you can tell the difference.
Standing in the blizzard, in the cemetery, in the morning. Watching his whole world. Knowing I would never belong. Knowing he would never let me. Seeing it so clearly for the very first time.
And I’ve written about it before. And I will write about it again.
A fireplace I never had. A team I never played for. An identity I never lived.
It wasn’t an invitation. It was a question.
Just like this isn’t confession. It’s a flashback. And it’s a good one.
The road split. And the life that I did not choose keeps going and going.
I looked out the window today. And I could sense the storm. I know that it’s coming.
“Take another shot of courage.
Wondering why the fireworks never come,
You just get numb.”
She was on the other side of the intersection. Different side. Same world. Her world. Where I crashed like a meteor.
And I’ve written about it before. And I will write about it again.
There are moments.
Moments when the whole world stands perfectly still so you see through it clearly. So you can see the deliberate, and the doubt. So you can see the kinfolk and the strangers. So you can tell the difference.
Standing in the blizzard, in the cemetery, in the morning. Watching his whole world. Knowing I would never belong. Knowing he would never let me. Seeing it so clearly for the very first time.
And I’ve written about it before. And I will write about it again.
A fireplace I never had. A team I never played for. An identity I never lived.
It wasn’t an invitation. It was a question.
Just like this isn’t confession. It’s a flashback. And it’s a good one.
The road split. And the life that I did not choose keeps going and going.
I looked out the window today. And I could sense the storm. I know that it’s coming.
May 08, 2006
Little Cacophony
Judgments derived from full disclosure.
I will know better next time.
There are very few people in your life that will just accept you for who you are. Without masks and guarantees. Without facelifts and without god.
Just you and the Words.
Just me.
Cracked heads on ash Wednesday.
I remember this water. I fought a war here once. Many many years ago.
At some point it breaks. I dog-eared this page for a reason. Save my place. Remind me why.
I have watched the sun rise over Coney Island, I have watched the sun set from Morrow Bay. I have picked passion fruit on Maui, felt the rain at Stonehenge, and swam with the dolphins in Honduras. I have raced up the steps at the Cliffs of Mohr, and across a glacier near Skagway. I've looked down into the Grand Canyon, and up to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I've loved many moments. And many moments have loved me back.
It's arguable at best.
It's weak, at least.
It's real at moments when I can't think straight.
And, it's passing me by...
I will know better next time.
There are very few people in your life that will just accept you for who you are. Without masks and guarantees. Without facelifts and without god.
Just you and the Words.
Just me.
Cracked heads on ash Wednesday.
I remember this water. I fought a war here once. Many many years ago.
At some point it breaks. I dog-eared this page for a reason. Save my place. Remind me why.
I have watched the sun rise over Coney Island, I have watched the sun set from Morrow Bay. I have picked passion fruit on Maui, felt the rain at Stonehenge, and swam with the dolphins in Honduras. I have raced up the steps at the Cliffs of Mohr, and across a glacier near Skagway. I've looked down into the Grand Canyon, and up to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I've loved many moments. And many moments have loved me back.
It's arguable at best.
It's weak, at least.
It's real at moments when I can't think straight.
And, it's passing me by...
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