Showing posts with label skull. Show all posts
Showing posts with label skull. Show all posts

25 June 2013

the last conversations

I stayed up until 3 with Gunmetal; when I arrived he was with date. She was poised and pretty and as I went to the bathroom I shut the door and sang a tune to myself- it was about someones plenty, I was trying to remember the song "when you're gone" by the cranberries. I heard him repeating the lines through the door. I opened it and lit his toothbrush with paste. He began to pee and with foaming mouth hurriedly asked me hushed to tell him immediately of any impressions I had of the Date. 

"I know she may seem just pretty, and that's why I asked her out because I just saw pretty, but now I know she's actually smart, and you can throw a ball at her, if you throw a ball at her she'll quietly hold it, she'll subtly toss it around in her hands and then she'll fling it back. So you can do that. So you should, and it's important to me what you think, as a girl too, as the only girl in new york who's most like me." He finished pissing and brushing and I thanked him for the complement. I told him I didn't have enough information left...

He made her a cd which he held out on over dinner, uncertain if she was worthy or not. He ended up giving it to her, along with a bar of chocolate wrapped in white tissue paper. I said, okay mom, and am not sure if he was wise. I suppose now, though, we'll find out on which side she stands. Afraid much? Don't let in on him. 

After awhile I tended to feel my head heavy; my eyes dried up in my skull as the contacts hadn't been taken out in a day. I didn't sleep at home the night before, and in fact avoided the place for a day. But only because I knew all I'd see was remnants of good times past. On the coffee table there still sits tobacco flakes and spilt wine etcetera from a thursday weeks ago, the last thursday of some certain loves. And the beginnings of others. Soda left back to Tucson and the glass-eyed cowboy turned a little to dust. And cups with ancient lemon slices sitting in their bottoms, from the night of white horse when K bellowed my name, face inside the toilet bowl... I need you! I didn't want to come home to these pretty filthy little memories and to the cat Mexico, the only person on whom I can depend. I hate that I have to call the cat a person now, and that when I arrive or awaken it's there, white and with a mew, and I say, oh hi, Mexico, oh hi baby kitty, how are you. And then I kiss it and tell it I love it. Go to work and people accuse me of kissing white fur as it's decorating my face and lips. Pathetic! So I stayed away for a night, the night previous, and, eyes dried, head hanging, back in pain, wanting a massage. So Gray grabs me and feels my spine and accuses me of having scoliosis, which parannoys me. 

How can you tell? I ask him. He says, imagine how many women I've slept with. Imagine how well I know the curve of each spine. My first girlfriend had intense scoliosis. I used to have to tighten the screws on her brace. I interject that this conversation is really making me uncomfortable. That I have to go peel my eyeballs from my head. He begins to dance, telling me that this particular song on is "so yours." I can't dance and he hugs me and gives me a kiss on the mouth and I leave soothed, wondering. Are best friends in a future for me.

The night before I went out when work finished. A boy in particular I was to walk home. He said to me, I would invite you up but it would be a bad idea.

I said okay, and we walked and there was his house. We looked at one another for ten seconds. He said again, I would invite you up but it is a bad idea.

I said, okay, well if you do I am going to accept.

He said okay.

He apologized that his spotless room was a mess. Labradors on bedsheets. He said, this is awkward. 

No, we're just going to sleep. We got into bed, his arm around me. After a few minutes he said he thought maybe we should take our pants off, dreams ensued.

In the morning the sun shown down intently. I was in a sweat and was greeted with nervous breaths and corner eye looks. This was a bad idea we shouldn't have done this, he of course said. He left the room and I said aloud to give us breaks. I dressed and he stood in the doorway. He started a conversation while silently urging me to leave as I put on my socks. I sat there after trying my shoes and we stared for longer. I got up and he asked me for a phonenumber which somehow punctuated a patheticness that was to immediately radiate through me. 

That day I camped out in ft. greene. I watched four episodes of sex & the city at Dave's. They were about threesomes, blow jobs, and finally, pregnancy. I got a little tearyeyed, on the inside of course, during the last episode. And vowed to myself to never again watch such heartbreaking trash. 

I refuse to have the guilt complexes and fearfulnesses of all the others radiate into my little existence. I am still regretless, as best I can, and am pleased to make the avoidance of these disconcerting little neuroses. True I'm all too eager to acquaint myself with these awkwardly delicious human beings, feeling and feeling and feeling again, and a tearing at a face to smile later. 

03 January 2011

this year already better than last; an example

Saturday 2 January 2010


I am nervous. The heart goes in and out the veins, the heart thaws me numb. I have the dog panting at my side, the guitarmusic panting in rhythm, my own breath beating, the blood beating. I have been watching too much show, but today, but yesterday was my last day alone. Jon is back, invisible but with traces; the rabbit is gone, the kitchen is clean. And he is going to return from Arizona. I have to pick him up at the airport at 10:30 pm. I am about to have an attack. My fingers can’t find the letters, I can’t find a way to be. I do not want to see him and I feel certain of that, but then I do not want to see anyone at all in my house. I want my own little place, which has no one. I love the dog & cat. But I would rather give them up for my aloneness. I cried without tears, it was raining so I don’t know if it’s true, on the walk from the bar in between friends & acquaintances & coworkers; we left the bar on new years and I wondered, is new years over yet. And I could only think no, I don’t want to keep up like this, I don’t want to go anymore, I don’t want to deal with anything. Like being a human. I don’t want to look at him and listen to how much he missed me because I missed him, yes, on new years when we’re having a party it would have been nice to have him. I missed Kari but was mad, annoyed at her not being there; but who can I tell this to, I am no writer, after reading writing makes less sense, why do I think I could. If my only method of escape is this? how? I can’t write, I can’t put the letters together, nothing is honest, even, save for automatic spell checker. If I am to escape, just constantly for myself. From myself. I just need a break from being me. From the internet distractions, the sounds, my visions haven’t been. My tears haven’t flowed, my breath hasn’t come in gasps, I am not of passion anymore, and he will see this when he arrives. I want to trick myself, to say well now that he’s here I will be so happy! Finally the emptiness isn’t! But when he comes, I will have to be here, too. I don’t think there’s any way to live here. I want to be alone. Without roommates. If I really do go to college one day, in new york like I think, well I’ll have to be damned prepared. Also, I will be ready to be around others. I’ll have to be. So alone in new york. So alone but never far enough. Here the expanses can be great… and still so lonely. I liked the big dark house, empty but for us. I liked not thinking about anyone coming home, or complaining inside about my lackings. I like not thinking about anyone. But I hate not thinking. I numbed myself around, and am, just to avoid the true honest thoughts. I don’t miss Adán, he is a distraction from the real empty pain I feel when I’m alone, the pain which leads me to search frantically for something real to devour, and I am numb and searchless now. I can’t see anything. I am blinded bored.

8:42

It is restless. The struggle over I over it. My mouth is dry as can be, there are songs coming out (songs coming out of me) and the programmed static is like rain on a tin, and the things which jar and strangle. F pyramids. F hillary.
I was struggling okay all these things I have to articulate, and do I hear sounds of voices. Ah, the bright lights. I am panicking, learning forcing to force by means of love. The soundtrack of the night playing, of course, the important role. The progression of moment through music. Of feeling and the tinkle in the lobe of a basedrum.
            I suddenly relaxed. After hanging up all my favorite dresses (duresses) aloud saying, “I must throw all these away!” suddenly so jovial! Ah, the mere trash! I have to stop watching that trash, any trash. My trash, my treasure. Why does my heart explode my body? The theories, I see!
The height of the night, the eggs of sweet little salmon
passed around to us on loose baguettes. I used to know
the finnish word for baguette. If only.
Reluctant relaxants. Cigarette in the yard.
Unpaired socks are called loose ends. For right now
they sit on the feathered nest made for all of us. I
have never laid there.
hearts and bones……..hearts and bones………hearts and bones
The timing will tell a story if remembered. This is about the arc of a love affair. I haven’t a story to tell. My life, as I already described, is a numb skull.
But the dog is perfect
so the fleas too, are perfect.

“Why won’t you love me for who I am where I am”

this is a story! It is true, I dare it!
If gayle could only have married paul simon
would she then be called gayle simon?
They would have looked lovely
in pictures together.

Then to be called gayle marie, of course.

No, I do not think it’s the time to try to write a poem about my mother. For she isn’t really my mother, except maybe once, or for a time, but then only because I felt like mother is this faraway, unobtainable being, who can’t care for you or protect you but who wields absolute power. Is there a better phrase. Absolute, without a doubt, oh, doubtless. Incontrovertible control. Yew
She was my mom, of course. Molly’s mom. This is a replication of the cabin. I could try for an upper upper situation.

The soft faraway look of the dog, eyes semiclosed, gazing panting gently, and the pink earlymorning at far rockaway some hog july summer relate in an instant, stirring a spark up. But I was so desperate for those occurrences. Something in me has since died. And I am wont to bring it back.

Alas, at this fair hour I anxiously await the welcoming home of my beloved. I am aching inside, tiny dagger-stuck innards. The whistle of a train!