Tuesday, March 20, 2012



I wasn't trying to ruin her life, I was trying to make mine better.

Another new train journey and I’m thinking of you again. I sit facing backwards, so I can only see the past. We wanted to share absolutely everything, especially the best bits.  We called it An Afternoon of Extraordinary Delight. No one else could touch it or come near it. 

You can stop. You don't want to. When you want to, you can't.  They plummeted together into the skywalks of shame, into guttural waste and spring's first cherry blossoms, into white builds with green eyes. Someone abandoned a smile on your face.

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows.
Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
And the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
Which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide.
And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart.
I carry your heart with me
I carry it in my heart

We had a lot going for us, we had found the secret glue that held all things together, in a perfect place where the noise didn't intrude. We had a lot going for us, though it all amounted to nothing. Our world was empty and it was so, very complete.

Anxiety was a full-time job. The more I worked, the less I painted. The light kept us awake all night. Then it was the pen scratching on the paper. Then it was four stitches across your forehead. I put the stitches on your mind, like you put the disease in mine.

With a jolt inside your veins, you could hear Jesus singing. Need to stop. Using. Need to stop. Crying in delight. Crying. Finally. Because we cheated our way into absolute delight.

It takes a lot of planning to stop. And a lot of unintended consequences.

Cold. Feeling so, so cold. Then hungry, then not. More pills to stop. Restless. In stitches and aches. Promise you we'll stop.  Empty, screaming, howling, empty. So angry. Cry into your hands, disconsolate and uncontrollable. Exhaust yourself into faith. Events build up, and we're back to square one. And still you cling to the concept of change.

Move to the countryside, away from it all. Knock out a hole in the roof to let the skylight in. Whatever happened to that beautiful little girl. We just cried together all the time. Together, but always crying. Scared together. But always scared.

When you were busy cleaning up, she was busy moving away. Busy hating the sound of your voice. Because she became you at the same time when you became her.

All the wax was melting on the trees. One night the bed caught fire. He was handsome, and a very good criminal. It was the Afternoon of Extraordinary Delight. Days cruised by like hungry sharks. I want to try it your way this time. You came into my life very fast and I liked it. We squelched in the mud of our joy. Then the whole world tilted. There were flowers on the side of the bed, but the baby, he died in the morning. His heart pounds like a voodoo drum.

A whole lot of surf and bubbles to make it all go away. Jesus was singing again, slipping off my fingers like honey gold.

Promise me you'll stop. Promise me you'll stop before me.

So she was the one who ended up with the nervous breakdown. Sat alone, white building, glass, though you belonged there. I really didn't understand what was happening. Everything was dead. Everything was turning blue. Everything you were capable of, everything you ever needed.

And that was it. The world was full of startling new concepts. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I was just waiting for him to come back because he was everything. He. Was. Everything. To Me.

And then I couldn't wait.

We're spinning again. And he was crying. Said there was no going back. Said it was good to remember how nearly it all fell apart. Said, grab your keys and go.

And then the music changed. 

This post derives heavily from accidental overdoses, transit lovers, Heath Ledger's Candy, deviantart and E.E. Cummings. Reference yourself. 

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

The Apology


It began, as these things tend to, with a “We regret to inform you”. To break the fall, there was a claim to “careful consideration” in a syrupy, fructose voice.

Processions entered logjam funerals, chanted deeply in sorrow as their own voices drowned within themselves. Classic Chilean heartbreak at a 9.6 on the Richter scale. Zoom out by a scale of 20, voices become quagmires, zoom out further till you find clarity in the fourth dimension. A drop of water, like a painted fingertip, up your spine.

I want to hide out in the folds of your skin, in the lines on your palms forming centuries of mummified madness. Pensive days that extinguish into orange nightmares through which you weep like a scared child. Fall in and out of sleep, coax your way into them, forget that you are Madam X. Forget that the slip of the strap down your shoulder releases floods upon farmers along the Nile. Forget that he alone has the power to hide your deformed fingers into a shower of gold. Undo one button at a time. Move slowly, gently, slowly.

Your inner climate spikes at 104, you eat your telephone, your eyes form spiral digits which he loves on days the crop is purer than the rest. Cradle you in my arms all night, hold you in like a final breath, blow on dusty flowers with broken stems and place them in air-tight jars, and wish for your scent in them.

I have loved you greatly, tragically, like only great men deserve to be loved in books, without a thought of consequence or conscience. The intensity of my suffering is so great because it matches the intensity of my love for you. Forget this, forget everything we’ve done right or wrong, just remember that my eyes are in prostration, except when they rise to meet yours.

I'm thinking of you again. This is so bad.

"I would rather fight with you than make love to anyone else."
True story.