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...with a firm click of a door lock, the story ends.
I am a gambler who just wants to lose...
I'm a traveler, with one last mile my journey is complete...
I'm like a swallow that wants one long last look, before flying east...
Last on my list, and then I quit, to kiss your lips and weep.
- Excerpted from Rob Dougan - Furious Angels (Full Album).
So I think I managed to avoid the migraine this weekend produced. I felt it creeping up, that terrible sensation of having cold sweat on your numb skin while a vice tightens around your forehead. Someone gave me a ride home, and the car was only making it worse, but I climbed into bed right away because that's all I was physically capable of.
I am proud of this weekend. I hardly slept or ate, but the beautiful creations I wrought make it all worth it. I actually felt accomplished, my Garou LARP actually felt like a job that was successful. Hardly anyone didn't pay, which felt very professional, and the sessions both went fantastically: I'm a perfectionist and I'm actually pretty happy with them. World of Quest's End is working wonderfully.
And now, for you, my unrequited love, you I have been thinking about alot.
There's a reason the world dropped me to my knees. It put me there so it could kick me in the teeth.
In the middle of all this madness, exhausted and straining to continue, you called. I came, and you cried like the world was ending, and it was right. I'm glad I was there, you deserve support, even though I was hardly functioning. For great things, you must be willing to suffer, and everything about this weekend was worthwhile. The negative consequences on my physical and emotional well-being pale in comparison to the things I did, my accomplishments.
I tend to have moved in with them within two months.
I got my "no". I had already received it, but I was blinding myself. A week ago, I let go, started the process of deadening myself to you. Inside, I will always love you, but that feeling of being more alive when I touch you needs to go away if you don't love me back. The process had started, but you called me about nothing and oranges in the middle of the night, and I came back. Hope, the fundamental delusion, reared its ugly head and I forgot that our attempt ended in failure.
You're full of magic.
I tried to pull away, but you pull me back. While awake or asleep, it happens, again and again. You reach out, grasp, and pull me to you, and I don't have it in me to fight it. A phonecall, and I come back. A sleep-induced moan and grasp, and I come back. A bow, a flourish, and I try to leave, but you run after me, saying you didn't get a hug, and I come back.
And I told you the secret, that I can't do it alone. That I need someone to push away as I push away. So you did, putting your hands on my hands upon my chest, and pushed, a little physical gesture as simple metaphor to help me leave. But as we extended, your hands grasped mine, and you twirled back to me, back to my front, eyes to mine, and then we were dancing.
Twirl, stop, twist, twirl, stop, twirl, dip, stumble, laugh.
Whatever, I say to myself more than you, I had promised you May, and it's not quite over yet. Then, when my gift to you is over, I can begin being alone again.
Grah, I don't know how people could live without this.
The Vivaldi I am listening to right now.
Download it, it is so good. I mean, if you like strings.
Also, Andrew is a god for putting up this for me.
I am very busy and tired. That is all.
Currently Listening: Darkest of the Hillside Thickets - 20 Minutes of Oxygen
I just wrote something that cuts really deeply. When I was younger, I wrapped myself in a blanket of lies, made myself out to be something I wasn't for the approval of others. The truth didn't go away, it just sat inside me, hidden. I cry, and I angst, and I feel so intensely, always have. But that was a cry for attention, an "angsty gothy fuck" that no one had patience for. So I buried it deep, and didn't share. I learnt that being yourself was to be disrespected, a sign of weakness. But I am honest, so my lies became truth, or at least I thought they were. You wear a mask long enough, you begin to think it is your face, even though yours is underneath and peeling. But I still love these people who knew someone who isn't me.
Currently Listening: Evil Nine - You Can Be Special Too Warning, big download, RAR-encoded. Worth it though, cutting edge breaks to hip hop and massive attack like stylings.
Tired and hungry, staring at statistics homework I really should have done by now. I pace, back and forth, and resist the urge to call her. I really should be sleeping. I'm waiting for food to warm-up in the oven. Maybe sleep afterwards.
A message hangs over my head, its already been too long. It meant "now" even though it didn't use that word. I want to write it, but I've been distracted, busy, tired. Its also daunting, how to put into words a series of events that would cause you to cut ties with another. I mentioned the situation to someone, because I thought they should know. They replied that we'll gossip together about it later, like little girls. I wasn't interested.
Every time the phone rings, it should be them.
You phoned, the witching hour, talking about nothing and oranges. I had been forgetting, letting go, and somehow you were in my bed again. I grasped it, like a drowning man to a paddle, like a current of electricity along a wire. You felt dull and far away, like I had been pushing. Your touch lacked the burning it normally possessed.
The longer you are around me, the more you curl into me naturally. I try to get up and leave, but you reach out in your sleep and pull me back. You cling to me when you stop thinking. I hope it is not a phantasm you cling to.
But while awake, you are still absent. This month dull and uneventful to you, despite the riotous uproar it has been in me. It hurts, but I understand. You know me, so well, and I hope that I might gift you with understanding that even compares to that which you possess of me. And yet, you do not know me. And this difference, I fear and cherish. It's terror makes it all the more awesome.
I want you to reach out, pull me into dark places, and kiss me. I don't want a birthday present. I want you. I want the situation that is required to bring about the promise it entails.
My food should be ready. Goodnight.
Strange thing happened to me Wednesday Night. So I was skateboarding down 1st near Commercial and these three drunk/stupid/stoned girls jumped me. I mean, they didn't do a very good job, but they jumped out of nowhere and started yelling stuff ("Hey white boy, give us your skateboard, stop, fuck you" It didn't even make sense). So my adrenaline starts pumping, because I know this situation might get ugly, but my plan is to just keep skating and ignore them (they are on foot, afterall). However, they run after me, and start throwing shit at me (where is this stuff coming from anyways? Do you carry empty bottles other random shit while wandering the streets at night?). And, I didn't feel it, but I know that one of them manages to bean me in the head. Water bottle, empty and plastic I think. All I know is that it's gonna stop and that these girls aren't going to leave me alone. So I dismount, pull up my skateboard and get ready to rearrange the first one's face with the griptape of my plank.
And then I see them. They're 16... maybe... all of them about a foot shorter than me. I shift my skate to my left hand and step into the first girl, pushing hard (inadvertedly clawing her throat just above the collar bones at the same time). She stumbles back and the other two stop following me and I say "What the FUCK is wrong with you, you crazy bitch?" And they just stand there, dumbstruck, until I eventually walk away. I think they yell some cat-calls, but they keep their fucking distance. I could have killed, like, funeral time, the three of them by accident. I worried about the one I shoved. Can you imagine if they actually tried to fight me? What the hell?
Afterwards, I shook for hours. Fuck I hate violence.
Currently Listening: Wyclef Jean - Party to Damascus (featuring Missy Elliot)
Today I am thankful for the little wonderful pieces of life. A wonderful book my companion (Zodiac by Neil Stevenson still) while laying on the grass of a park holding the tears back. Then my loving brother and a beach with a hacky sack, a place that is just mine and his, with no one else interrupting despite their presence. A chance encounter with a beautiful girl of slim build and good conversation. Finally, an unlooked-for friend out of a stupid situation, a wonderful new perspective as well as surprising generosity.
Today I am sad for the pain I cause in others. I know I'm not ready to reconcile with the various pieces of my old life, yet the more and more I become aware of the pain I've caused them. I don't mean to, but I really can't ... do what they need me to. I might be able to eventually, and if they really needed me to right now I could, it just wouldn't be pretty. Throwing the word "egocentric" at me again and again doesn't make me stop hurting. I am all too acutely aware of the pain I've given them, but that doesn't erase mine. There, some more fuel for your belief, in case you still lurk there. Go ahead, hate me, you might even have a right to. Patience and honesty might have given you what you want.
Who am I to talk though? I hate waiting.
Currently Listening: Sweatshop Union - Truman Show
Too much can make anyone a child. You say you see a child in my eyes, and I think you're right. This much emotion breaks the layer of adulthood, regresses the self. I cry, again and again, because of how much I feel. What would you say if I said I see a child in you too? Barely managing to feed and house yourself, you wither away because of circumstance but also because you cannot be bothered to care. Your own body and self are worth so little to you. Irresponsible, a way of living I am not even sure I am capable of. So very... young.
You are I are much the same, just reversed.
I am fit, healthy, strong, and treat myself with the dignity I deserve. Yet my emotions are a wasteland, uncontrolled and damaged, self-destructive by nature, causing me to do things and act in ways that I don't always approve of.
You are a wreck, physically dysfunctional, and probably possessed of multiple nutritional deficiencies even in spite of your friends' help. Yet emotionally, you are in control. You don't run off and do ridiculous things you don't mean. The scary thing about you is that you mean to do all you're doing.
I hope you leave soon. Not my house, but this city. It's what you want, what you need. If relocation is all that is necessary to start the process of fixing you, then the sooner the better. There's only so much a person's body and mind can take. I worry about you.
I have a midterm at 3pm. I'm trying to prepare, but this... isn't the best of times to be thinking straight or studying. I'm still going to try. You lay in my bed in pain, due to some as yet unknown but not altogether unsurprising physical ailment. For once, you're refusing my offers of help. I think you've come to the conclusion you don't have anything to give back, nothing to exchange. And, like me, you hate charity.
You're still asleep, it's hours later. I can't believe how beautiful you are (a bit of guilt nags and wonders how much it has to do with the streak of pain across your sleeping face). I've never loved anyone like this, although I never love anyone the same as the last. But the intensity, my gods the intensity. Will everyone that follows feel pale in comparison? Do I even want to love like this again? It burns, and my feathers melt from their wax as I near the sun. Am I already falling, the ground rushing up towards me as toothpick trees become mammoth spires before my open eyes?
Currently Listening: Metric - Calculation Theme
I'm gonna link the music I'm listening to from now on. If you can't d/l it, why would you care anyways?
I just want to cry until my tears dry up. So much that I'll name the river that is produced from my affections after you. I want to be lost again, once more falling utterly into the arms of despair. Turn off the mind and let the heart reign, in all its fettered glory. Let go until I cannot see, hear, or even smell. Until all that remains is just the sensation of touch feeling the salt water pour down my face, the shivering spasms underneath my skin, and emotional pain finally and beautifully converting to actual agony.
I want to be a phoenix again. Burn my gold feathers into ashes.
Milestones are interesting. My last post was my 200th. Funny how I manage to be synchronistic like that. Like whenever my agenda runs out of days something significant happens. It's actually a pretty good yard stick, because if I'm not replacing pages in my agenda, chances are my life's gone more than a bit hay-wire.
I just checked back at what my 100th post was. End of the Christmas break between semesters, which was the end of a particularly rough bout for me. I really should learn to not get myself involved in situations that lay waste to me so completely and utterly, but I've been doing it all my life. It's a skill, an art, something I do without thinking or trying.
What would Freud say?
The real difficulty of it is that I think I might actually want to be hurt. I mean, one of the things I find most attractive in others is emotional pain. I also, to a certain extent, worship beauty (which is something I have usually kept to myself because people I tend to hang around with seem to have a fundamental connection between appreciation of beauty and superficiality, probably the result of being raised in a society where beauty is being commodified and they are rebelling against that). So, it's entirely possible that I am trying to be more beautiful to both myself and others. Frankly, it might also be because its easier, that I've done it so often and for so long that it would be just too much of a bother to do otherwise. Or maybe I'm still searching hopelessly and romantically for someone as crazy as I am. It's probably all that and more.
Don't let anyone know I'm a bleeding heart, I have a hater reputation to protect.
However, losing an entire week to solitude mourning the loss of a relationship, or spending a month devoting yourself completely to someone, or any number of the other things I've done in my life aren't only expensive but detrimental to other things that are important to me.
On an unrelated note, my appetite is totally out of control. April and May were mostly upsetting/unsettling for me so I didn't really eat much. Now, to be fair, this is me, so "not eating much" is down to one or two meals a day, probably large ones. But now it's nuts.
Yesterday I ate:
- Wrap with rice, beans, avocado, sprouts, cabramonte, salsa, cherry tomatoes
- Burger with pickles and cabramonte (that's a kind of goat's cheese)
- Grilled Chesse Sandwhich with bowl of borsc
- BBQ Chicken, Broccoli with Cheese Sauce, potatoes
And that's not counting the cookies, cupcakes, apples, ice cream, rhubarb, strawberries, or oranges I ate. Like, WTF? One DAY! How am I going to sustain this pattern? No one's metabolism is as crazy as mine. You want to know how I remain thin as a rake and yet can walk 25km in two days casually without noticing AND eat enough for a family? *points at body* Blame it, not me. Gods, this is expensive way to live, thank gods for family.
See lovely? I hardly fed you at all. If I was actually feeding you, you'd notice.
I hope to see lots of you at party. If anyone thinks this post was disjointed, I hope you expected that from me.
We tried. Waiting, talking, eating, falling asleep, living together out of happiness, out of loneliness, out of warmth, out of hunger, out of sadness, tears and smiles and blood stain these sheets. Huddled after a rainstorm. Sitting at the computer as the other one sleeps. Sprawled on the bed during visiting hours. So many moments. Body littered with marks, I even might get a facial scar out of the bargain. But it didn't work, square peg, round hole. How obvious does the fundamental incompatability - not anything so trivial as hobbies or beliefs, but something ungraspable like Dao or hormones - have to be before you realise it does not work? And when we had exchanged gold for ashes, we learnt you were missing the words "in" and "with".
You do not choose who you love.
I never realised that one statement could be used in two so throughly different ways. I once said it, shaking like a diseased cat, carrying nothing but the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet: I didn't even grab house keys, let alone anything else like a wallet, a jacket, even my mind. I was easily a day's walk from home and it was late at night. I said it, and she told me not to be so intense, and asked me when I'd like to see her again. I loved her, still do, and I wished I didn't. Good luck and timing wisked me back into the arms of friends.
Now, I have said it to someone else, for entirely different reasons. I never would have predicted that, or that it would fit so well. Amanda would be proud, the entire arc of this relationship was so beyond definition that whenever anyone would ask me about it, the best answer I could give was "yes ... and no". We never began even though we did, so we couldn't be ending even though we are.
Nevertheless, I'm glad we tried.
And you might come back, knocking on my window at three in the morning, talking like a roman sky. I'm comfortable with this, but I will live my life as if that moment will never come. Hope has never done me any good. I love life, and certainties, and reality. Wet earth, blood, sweat, love, toil, success, failure. Hope is for a time when humanity had none. The certainty of disease, the certainty of famine, the certainty of the death of your child. These things are what hope were required for, were designed for. These times are gone, I have never seen them, never even felt their passing. I have no need of it: delusions for the survival of a race burdened with the unfair brutality of their life. I am evolved, advanced, burdened with the new responsabilities of a society of wealth and affluence.
Should you appear at my window, I might even say no.
No one will complete me, I complete myself.
Nothing says it better than that. I try, grapple with words, twist them through my heart, around my fingers onto keys and still they do not evoke the simple truth of those words. I only have a moment for this, I've let things slide and don't have the luxury for angst right now. But for this one moment I'll let it hurt me, wound me to the centre of my being. Let me, for this
one
fleeting
moment
be truly and utterly upset.
Tim's house for 6:30pm. I have deadlines, many that I've missed. Too many, I won't make it another.
Get two people as complicated as they are together and you expect a simple answer?
Sheets of rain fall, a statement devoid of metaphor, actual water pours down from the sky in slats. Wind blows them along width-wise as gravity pulls them down, giving the appearance of a painter casting haphazard brush strokes upon the concrete. Trees sway, undulate, and seem to curl, dripping water as they dance. Cold orange glare reflects off the disturbed reflective ground, and I become nostalgic for Italia.
This is how it rained in Roma, all of a sudden, like the sky just decided "That's it, not later, NOW" and wept a fury upon the earth for just a few fleeting moments. Everyone would rush for cover, and merely wait out the storm, so short it was. No one walked in the rain, the sun was back too soon.
Cold, slick streets, it's amazing how similar places can be that are so far away from each other, especially at night. Now is a time that I could walk in the rain, just walk, for kilometers. But, instead, I wait. I have guests coming you see. And when, well, is a bit of a mystery.
If you really want something, you can wait for it.
Wrapped in blankets, nervousness, and solitude. The three walk across my skin along the edges of my bones, behind the ears where the skull ends and meets the spine. Up my spine, along my arms and on the edges of my fingers and toes. Not lonely, just alone.
I really hope you can wait.
Crack, back into the moment says my jaw. Things to do.
So, I've decided that I'm writing my book this summer. Tentative title is Living Ethically in Vancouver: An Easy Guide. I've been tossing around this idea for a bit, and the more and more I go to coferences/discussions/movie-showings or whatever, the more I realise that I need to write this book. Even the people heavily interested/involved in the idea of responsible consumption don't have a clue about the how. I've been figuring out that for years now, it's time I took it out of my brain and offered it around. It's going to take a metric fuck-ton of work, but it'll be worth it. I'm hoping to have it done by the end of August.
School is a cow. Not that I'm attending, but stats is freaking mind-numbing. I'm doing the homework and there's an assignment due tomorrow, which means I'll actually attend.
Some work would be nice, some casual lifting/breaking/helping. If you're reading Mongoose and your dad mentions something, gimme a call. I'm pretty sure I can't do full time, but a day here or there would really help the pocketbook. I figure that between Quinton and Webb, something will pop up. Maybe even a really large amount of something.
On that note, I really need to start looking into government funding for my little book writing endeavour. I know there's grants sitting around for people like me, but I'm not quite sure where to look/etc. Gonna start working on that too, soon.
Cleaned my bathroom, little black dye spots everywhere from Ty and Beth dying their hair. *sigh* Ah well, the bathroom needed a good scrubbing, and getting dye off is a cow so it's really clean now. Which is good.
I'm planning on going to the farmer's market at trout lake again this weekend, in case anyone wants to come with.
Stowed away in the cargo, waiting for the eventuality of the crash. A pair of lovers, dining together, moving their food about on their plates to make it appear as though they are eating. They avoid each others' gazes, and continue their game in silence. Then, it ends, physics being brought into sharp focus as the movement of the train stops and the force remains. Time slows down, people are thrown from their chairs as they make silly surprised faces as they tumble through the air. The metal of the walls begins to collapse, like an accordian cracking and crunching to compression. Sparks fly as each new segment folds and moans with the certainty of steel.
I awake, the dream over. Cold sweat covers my body, twig fingers crawl under my skin, and my innards twist and turn. A dream, constructed out of loneliness.
Today: Korean Movie Monday, "Old Boy," meet at 8pm. Open invite.
Saturday was fantastic. Words fail as to how awesome that day was. Awake, Tim, Angus, Tea, Reine, Farmer's Market, Erin, Food, Jhayne, Napping, Dominique, Strapping Young Lad, Simon, Sin City, Aaron, James, Jhayne, Avery, Shamay, Food, Sleep. That sums it up. Wonderful.
Currently Listening: "Root of Evil" by Kyprios
The results of being a recluse for a couple of years are starting to catch up with me. Almost every single social event I've attended recently, I could give you long dissertations on many of those present, yet they didn't recognise me. I know so many of the people in this city, but it seems that they are forgetting about me. It's really weird having people asking "Have we met?" and I have to hold back "I know more about you than probably many of those you call friends." Doesn't help my lingering feeling of dissasociation, like the watcher from behind a one-sided mirror. I think it might be time to integrate, start actually interacting with humans again. Maybe not, but it might be time.
I don't take well to being ditched, even when it's not on purpose. Too much pride.
Currently Reading: Zodiac by Neil Stevenson
I am not a wilting flower.
To me that's what life is. Something overwhelmingly gorgeous, undiminished by it's eventual withering and end. Is that not beautiful? To me, that is life, meaningless without end.
Laisse-moi te dessiner dans un désert
Le désert de mon coeur
Dans la nuit parfois, le nez à la fenêtre
Je t'attends et je sombre
Dans un désert, dans mon désert
Everyone should listen to Emilie Simon, she's freaking fantastic.
dig me now, fuck me later
and sing it to the tune of faggot faggot faggot
Mindless Self Indulgence has fans. Like, the type that have memorised every single line of every single song. The sound guy was weak, and it affected the show. However, I'm pleased peachy the lovely Patti thought to purchase me a ticket. Everyone broke up after the show, and headed off to Dax's. I must admit, I am thankful, because damn, am I tired.
I'm thinking of getting to the Farmer's Market for Noon on Saturday. For those wanting to come with, feel free to show up at my house for 11am, or merely meet me there, whichever suits thy fancy.
Yay. First farmer's market at trout lake of the year on saturday. You know you want to come with me. Food, glorious local and organic food. Plus cool artisan types. You cannot resist.
PS Life is catching up with me, so tired...
My sister is dating a stunningly attractive boy by the name of Simon. Little sister is officially less little.
For weeks the festidious tinker worked upon his creation. A mass of gears and levers, cogs and pulleys, a mountain of chronography and order and logic. A labyrinth of mechanisms turning together in synchronised order and reason. Seemingly completed, he tried many times to unveil his creation, to seek approuval. But, at every turn, he was vexed. The curtail caught on gears, the technical schematics were unclear, or the audience wasn't listening. Disheartened and frustrated, he tried again and again, but his repeated attempts merely confused the delivery and upset him.
But now, it has been revealed, in all its technological wonder, and he smiled.
So, I just attended my first stats class today. I made it through half of it before I left in disgust. I hate the class and the prof. I may attend further lectures out of appearances sake, but for the most part from now on it's doing the homework and assingments from home and only attending tests. Grr. Well, I'm at my parents eating warm rhubard and strawberries with ice cream, so no real complaints.
Last night watched "Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance". Wow. The cinematography in that movie is mind boggling. That and its both intensely dark humour and also very upsetting at points. The problem is, often people don't agree what is funny and what is depressing. Jhayne cackled her way through the entire thing (with the notable exception of the electrocution scene), whereas I think Ty might have had difficulty watching it due to the cackling madwoman. Man, I hate to think how Daniel would have taken it if he had come. Relatively difficult movie to watch in mixed company because of the grossly divergent reactions to it. Apparently some people cry at the end, I can't even imagine how those people would cope with the amount of laughter that occurred last night. Even if you do find the humour, it's still very grim.
It's funny, but I found my happiness again. Not the superfiscial "I feel nice now" but that strand of "I am fundamentally ok" that is recent to my life. I've been accused of being akin to an angsty 16 year old, and I couldn't help but chafe under that definition because I don't even remember what that time of my life was like. It's been 8 years since I've been paying my own way and living life the way I want to, I've been almost married (Patti sez "Ah, you're all talk" hahahaha, awesome), and sometimes I have to remind myself that people I know have never been independant.
But, at the same time, I understand why people might view me that way. I've never really been free like I am now. It's weird, but it's scarier than being caught in a self-destructive system because suddenly I'm fully responsable for my life. I mean, I was before, but now there's a step of removal from responsability that has been removed. It's been gone for almost a year, and I still can't quite wrap my head around it. Freedom, what do you do with it once you get it? Whatever you want, that's the problem.
I've also realised that I'm made mildly uncomfortable by people who want "a romantic relationship". First and foremost, I am a loner, but I do have this habit of falling completely head over heels for people. I'm no romantic, I just love strongly. However, if there wasn't anyone specific that I _really_ wanted to be with, I would be happy. The idea that there is this slot labeled "romantic involvement" I find really ... strange. You want sex? Go out and get it. You want romance? Got out and get it. But you want to fall in love? ... Jesus, are you damaged? If it comes, great, if not, well, whatever, you're not. What the heck is the big deal?
I find myself unable to believe that someone might "complete me". The only thing completing me is ME. However, I don't mind the idea of completing someone else. Double standard? Not sure. Who cares anyhow.
I seem to live in the present now, moreso than even before. Every moment an eternity, every eternity a moment. Future and past blur with unimportance. The time between awaking in the morning and going to sleep in the evening feels like years.
I just went hiking, did the Grouse Grind. And it was so easy. In fact, so easy that I can scarcely believe it. We did it in 51min and that was me slowing down for my brother. Wrap your head around what I just said = "slow down for my brother". When did I become in shape? I feel broken, shattered, damaged. Yet, my cardio and endurance rocks the pants off most people's (I even passed this guy who was musing that no one had ever passed him before). So weird.
Oh, for you avid readers who actually spend time hanging out with me, "Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance" is on for tonight, 8pm, my house. It is now sitting happily and unopened on top of my tele. I plan to go grocery shopping, eat something, and then watch Gattaca before people arrive if I have time.
Rumpled, ruffled, folded haphazardly like the velvet of your skirt. Soft, early morning soft, like the edges of your eyes still bleary, or the dew of early morning only warm and dry. You are special to me.
The fight's gone out of me. There's sandpaper behind my eyes, and crawling digits underneath the skin of my back, and I feel poisoned again. I don't feel sharp, brilliant, or intense anymore, but merely dull. Ground against a snakestone until only a lump of rare earth remains.
Words from my past flit impossibly through time to enter the present, taking an unlikely and painful route through the short space between us into my ears. Strange how that happens so much to us - the exact same phrases repeated with the same tones and punctuation - like we're in a sick dance that we used to do with others and haven't noticed in the pits of our hearts that the dancing partner is different.
I don't think I can wait. There will always be another reason to postpone the decision, and never making one is far worse than anything else. I've said this before, and meant it, but still I'm here, unable to think about anything else, still waiting.
[edit]Angst removed. Greatly changed.[/edit]
Fuck it, words cannot describe my feelings anymore.
I still give up, but for entirely different reasons.
So, I think I've hit the 24 hour mark for culmulative time spent crying. This is, strangely, incredibly liberating. I rented "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and watched it alone. I must have sobbed for at least 50% of it. I needed that. I needed it back when I broke up with Erin and my brother was watching it but I couldn't bear to break down that throughly in front of anyone. I really needed it now with my self-constructed baggage castle that I'd managed to make over the last month.
My gods did I ever need to completely and utterly sink into despair for a bit. It's like scrubbing your soul clean, I feel free again.
I did dishes, I made food at home. I haven't done either of those for a week. I cleaned my house. I talked to people intelligently about Garou-stuff. I... lived. I'm "in my own skin" again as Erin would say.
As an aside, I've decided that I despise roleplayer-babble around non-gamers. Sure, if the room is 100% roleplayer, then go to. Otherwise, it's obnoxious and makes you REALLY annoying. Even to me, and I take roleplaying really seriously. It's just so... obnoxious. It'd be like talking about silly C++ stuff in front of people who aren't even interested in code. Shut-up, it's discourteous.
Who is that in the reflection? What's changed? What has occured today, other than a simple visit? Like crawling spiderwebs, warm to the touch, shiver their way over me. A carapace, soft and spiny. I have no more understanding than before, arguably less. I still have no idea where most of my life currently stands. School, ethics, friends, family, my pillars. And even some of those are shaky here and there.
There's that feeling again, crawling over my back, just barely underneath my skin. Dissasociation is so hard to shake. It tends to stay at bay, I usually keep myself too busy, too in contact with too many things. Even when I'm alone, I'm connected to my projects, my breathing life into them makes me feel in touch.
Now, even with other people, I feel far away. Like something isn't right. Like I'm only there because I'm killing time. In the emptiness of finals, I lost me. Where did I go? Where's that certainty, that take life on my own terms attitude?
Something's finally gotten to you Chris, and its the same thing that always does. Every ... single ... time.
But now something's different again. This time, I don't know what it is, and this time, I'm going to keep going anyways. Maybe mystery is good, every once in a while.
I have this problem of being able only to describe intensity in terms of pain most of the time. Even positive things in my life, if granted the proper intensity, are alike to pain for me. And I'm stuck with this facination with the macabre that just won't go away. Blood, guts, wires, wings, angels, blades, stone, vines, and thorns. My psyche is swimming in it. Once I just wallowed in my own misery, self-mutilation to suicide, black clothes to sobbing nights alone, violence and despair. Now, I'm not unhappy, not at all, but still this theme resides in me. I really appreciate the goth aesthetic because it's close to mine.
So what do I do? Well, I run a LARP that focuses really heavily on brutal and negative things for one. And sometimes, I write.
And when I feel intensely, like when I fall in love, or when I get into honours, or when I eat something absolutely delicious, I describe it using this... method. Lightning burning it's way through my sinuses, my consciousness lifting from my eyes and pulling into my skull, my innards twisting and turning into themselves, my heart feeling full to bursting until tears start to flow. Am I describing good things or bad?
Just some thoughts in the early afternoon is all. Watched Tae Guk Gi last night, was fantastic. Really really good war film. I now have my Upass, and my driver's license is in the mail, and I got two As and a B minus. Not bad, not great either.
Wires, this time electrical and optical, a spiderweb of telecommunications, coil about me. Silent, bounding, writhing, twisting, like my innards at the sight of a simple photograph. The absence of skin wears down on my soul, feeling raw and open, muscles exposed to dry air. Bitch, moan, whine. Like a monotonous reading of the Raven, speaking of madness and angst.
My mouth an exhaust pipe spewing sewage. Strange how through a filter, it becomes sharp and poignant, like a sword honed to a fine edge that could slice a moment in half. Beauty from shit.
Aahahahahahahahahahahaha.
7 to the fucking 0, y'all. 2 more percent than I needed to pass Micro. G'yeah.
Haven't gotten any of my other grades back, but I don't care. They most certainly are awesome. However, Gorkem's class was stressing me out, so I'm just really glad I got it.
Wooo!
Now, to run the second werewolf session of the weekend, and then head over to Patti's for Beltaine.
Strapped into place, leather bound and tongue tied, rubbing against my skin and teeth. "I miss you," comes the clackityclack of my ivory keys. Stunned, listless, and exhaustion conversation. Like children scuffing their feet, not looking at each other, while they talk in a busy playground. Eyes glowing as if by some cold blue irridescent light from inside your bone, sharing space with your consciousness. I cannot see it, but still I ask why you don't stay. Another time, another place, the exchange stumbles along. A sad little dance.