01 December 2013
I remember volunteering and slowly watching the outcasts mimic the patches I wore on my clothes, and their hair got shorter and funkier the longer I stayed. I tried to say it wasn't me, but the delusions wouldn't stick. I had little followers and didn't do anything with it. I was too scared to figure out what it meant. maybe all I needed to do was exist and show that it's possible to be different and alive.
since I moved, my sense of self has been out of whack. I have this new community I influence, and again I'm trying to ignore the impact I have. what do I do with it? I try to preach words of inclusion and tolerance but I don't know how far it goes. I don't know how much it matters. I am still an authority figure to some, and a friend to others. my failure in the past was in holding myself too distant but there's the other side of things, where I get too close. what do I do with this? where do I go with that?
27 August 2013
the people I think about enough to mention have already been written out. my proverbial pencil is down to a nub thanks to Pants and ex-otter and ex-husband. all the other people I'd want to write about, people like von or bones (she finally left me, 3 or 4 years after the fact) or anyone else -- I just don't see the point anymore.
the thing I could write about, my cat having cancer, I just don't want to bring up. I talk about it to Fig. I don't keep a lot in these days. I guess I have other outlets. I guess I don't want to talk about it.
08 August 2013
27 February 2013
but a dullness and inability to think or focus. a balance. everything feels better and part of feeling good involves not acknowledging the shit. so that just bobs away, concealed by some kind haze. a brain-wise haze.
sometimes I love this, when I don't get analytical. writing is the worst thing I could do in this frame of mind.
20 January 2013
wrapped hard around his hips, carried into every room in that apartment. he fucked his pain away. I let him use me because I needed it. it's so trite, it's so sad. he didn't want to leave and I didn't want to be left but we had so little to do with each other. me in my coat and furry hat, stomping in my untied boots. him reminiscing of ex-girlfriends burnt in my image. I wasn't them. I wasn't right. he wasn't right. we were only ever wrong for each other.
but I remember whipping him once and his gritted teeth. I remember the marks on his body and the sweat on his back. his shark's eyes, black and staring. but never at me. he always seemed to be looking through me, or near me, rarely at me.
he mattered so very much to me, but my memory of him is fading. but he cannot forget anything. it's his curse, he would say.
I don't know why I loved him except that for a short, very short, time he needed me. and I needed that so badly. every moment I was with him was a compliment. he was so unhealthy for me. I never had control. I still don't.
the worst part is I was so rarely myself.
no, no, the worst part is that I miss him.
and I don't want to talk to anyone about it.