Posts

If she ...

for a friend:

"Awoke in a daze. 6:31, grey sky. Promising rain but only giving wind. My face won't wake up.  Droopy eyes for another human face. My lids won't open, they know no one is around. Water with ginger, eyes glazed. I stare at the coffee pot, grabbing it. Twisting it open with the day's first act of force. Emptying the spent grounds into the sink. The water washes it down the drain. Look out. No rain."

Post Post-Beginning

Sometimes it takes more than one push.

The first ones may not have been forceful enough.

So a third try for something worthwhile.

Love, yourself, enough to love them that much.

Because it isn't always easy.

It can go in fits and starts as you trust and  confuse

and betray each/other back and forth

Not sure what you want to do.

Knowing what you feel.

That may be enough to get you there.

And if it's not enough, maybe it will get you

to the slope and then you can coast?


Left not right, and not on the spectrum, my thoughts are not political, they are emotional.
The invites turned into deceptions, the promises turned to lies, the lack of strength is all my fault and those who urge it are just all right.
They can't be sure, they are so sure you are wrong.
I'm not sure because I know that is just casuistry and Diogenes is still out there looking for me?
I doubt that sincerely, no cat has landed on it's feet more often than I and still I lay on my back under the truck fixing the lights like some dog.
My mechanisms are straight forward, I say what I think and l lower my expectations, knowing not is a predilection, a luxury that some can afford.
I have another 16 hour day. You?
She was in a one piece, putting on flippers and a snorkel. I could not believe it was her. Was I dreaming?
Precisely and this time she talked with me and her smile was as warm as it had ever been. I noticed some moss on her cheek, a bit of dirt to remind me of her grave. But I dared not wipe it off, lest she discover that she was no more alive than my need.
I left with a small dog on my shoulder, faithfully diving in to the land, and strangers asked me about my town , looking to buy something off hand.
I did not answer, I only smiled.
Then upon entering I saw her lying on the wall, I asked my friend if he saw her at all. He laughed a giggle and looked at me like I was crazy.
When I woke it was no memory, nothing hazy, I cried like a baby saying thank you for the hunger that will be my meal today.
It's late, she's retired a thousand miles away and I sit here still filled with things I want to say to her. The conversations today were too short for my liking.
It is impossible to find all the words that fit the feelings I have when I think of her. With our scant knowledge of each other, we forge ahead with a burning passion. Not lust, not not desire either, we have so much to say to each other. Is that because we've been so long away? You reminded me, after I reminded you that we had spoken of feelings before, in the distant past, in an entirely different reality for each. I could not love because I loved, and you did not love because you loved another. Then we parted and the words stopped. I wanted what I had no right to want...you.

Blown in and blown away

It was a whisper , I first heard it many years ago

but it faded to silence, I thought,

I had squelched it of necessity and fear

These are not love.

And when grief came, it was not for her,

pain and tears, whispers in the dark

"You know my brain will never believe in you"

and the answer lives in the heart...

I am here, as I always am.




Death is an asshole

My head is confused, my emotions are subtle and nearly flat. I don’t really know how to go, so I go as I always have...with perseverance and faith, inconstancy and doubt. I write that and ponder how one death, albeit the most important death other than my own, can make of an entire world an alien universe?
I have survived nearly 18 months of grueling grief. Had I been asked to choose between this and running a weekly barefooted marathon on broken glass, I would have chosen the latter. But there was no choice, Death is an asshole that way, just shits on you and walks away.
But thank you, really, Death. You exposed yourself for the fraud you are. You dare to take their carrion flesh, corpses are your trophies. I shit back at you. Stinking Death.
Nothing you do takes the Love. NOTHING. That is exactly what you think you leave us with. Nothing. But you are so jaded, having killed so many and most without even a thought for how loved they were… But they are still…