0248pm.06.26.2013

If I've said it once
I guess the words didn't transmit
My warnings unheeded
But you're not digging MY pit
Seems no sense in stopping
Until you've had your fill
Which is why I'm at your door
Cheering on this debacle
Not my head served up
Nor me behind the grassy knoll
No, that's me outside the morgue
Cheering on your funeral
Not me past the finish line
Not me leaving with words unsaid
But I am outside the cemetary
Cheering on the dead

1250am.06.28.2013

i heard you on the radio tonight

0202p.06.24.2013

i know that you're a warrior
so hear that this burden i bear
is a new war to fill your days
i bring enemies and obstacles
and the death of apathy

...what next?

your peace misread as boredom
all follies surely by the grace of god
were meant to play out their own way
and with no regard for our pleas
the days march by unchecked

...what's left?

voices replace older voices
as tones and timbres are forgot
beaneath the ashes of all else burned
and though i would not dare to guess at her sound
i could swear i heard her on the radio just now

...what's that?

0212p.

Forgetting, and remembering to forget to remember

Sometimes I don't know where I am or where I've been, but when the cider rinses off ten years of ash I can still taste you underneath, I feel like I could still wish you were here, like we could still hide under a blanketing electric lullabye until the stars themselves wink out in respect for... Whatever it is we have, or had, or wish for. You cried for the future, I cried for the past, and together we flooded any sort of present, yeah deep deluge with no outlet, a filled compartment forbidding so much as communication... How to send a message to one whose heart breaks with each syllable uttered? Why do I feel so burdened with something unsaid, when I don't even know the words to this song I hope to sing? And, must I walk this road a year for each drop of sweet liquid history that passes my lips? I must, I must, I wish 'twere otherwise, but such is this life we never chose, full of heartache and despair to temper the good moments into gleaming diamonds, shining gemstones to cling to when all light fails, and night has grown deep.

damn girl
you look like a million bucks
i feel like a damn
dirty old penny
head full of copper

no sense to spare
don't you dare
listen to this
just get on with yourself
i'm overdue
for the gutter

...come here

i found this in an old drawer, a half-remembered page torn from a notebook that lasted me through parts of 2007-2010. i don't think it ever made it's way into a collection, so i'm transcribing it here to ensure it makes it into the 2013 book.

there is a date in the top left, but it is covered by the one small water stain on the page. the juliet in question is a statue on navy pier, meaning i probably wrote this on break at work one day. unfortunately, this does not narrow down when this was.
---

i don't know how but i managed to escape
with a half a stolen sandwich
that compulsive paranoia made me drop
and a borrowed cigarette
which was used to spark an emotional hardburn
jealous bitter desire and longing
which in juliet's shadow makes me as cold as her
as she tries to stare east
across the lake at the rising sun
a theater cruelly, ironically blocks her gaze
eternally awaiting the return of her lover
but never able to look more than a hundred yards
straight east
meanwhile he rises on the sun each day
to look at the earth in search of her
and he has seen her from above and behind
but never her face.

i shrug hard to dodge a memory
wings flutter in response
shake off ethereal dust
don't remember, don't remember...
smile and conversate
...don't remember, don't remember

i'm sorry my mouth doesn't quite work
i believe one of my vocal cords is reserved
the line from my tongue to my brain goes two ways
and my hands are damned
but my lips are blessed
so come here

the unsent portion

i wish i didn't feel obligated to do this, and i wish i knew if i was picking at old wounds by doing so. do you read them? delete them on sight? or maybe you just ignore that email account altogether, and there's six or seven years of christmas emails from me sitting in there, unread, unnoticed. i hope it doesn't hurt, if you read them. but i think it bothers you more that i hope and wish for things related to you, i imagine you just want me to move on completely, to forget about you entirely, to stop stop stop all this nonsense. i imagine us both with this same gaping hole in our lives, this great inner sadness that lurks and lingers and occasionally wells up to swallow us whole; i picture our mutual searches for love, as we try to forget what could never be. and i see you, unable to let go because i cannot let go. i imagine us both caught in a web; when i move, it hurts you, and when i don't move, it hurts me. it feels as though i've doomed us both, and that is the guilt i will never live down. i loved too much, i loved too hard, i smothered and crushed and drained the life from you, all in the name of love, love, love.

if i could do it all again, i wouldn't do it at all, except i'd do it all the same, because i'd get just as caught up, and feel just as unstoppable, like a movie where you know the ending but try to scream at the actors, no, don't, stop... this is torture, and i do it to myself, just me, me and no one else. i would stop doing this to us every year, just stop sending the letters, but i need it. i don't know why, but i need it.

everything reminds me of something about you, i'm sorry if that hurts to hear, i'm sorry for being sorry, i'm sorry...

recurring themes

so i had this dream last night, and while a lot of the setting was familiar, things didn't happen the way i'm used to. call it what you will, but i felt like there was a hand on my shoulder while i explored the same old ground, guiding my steps along a path i already knew but refusing to allow hesitation or deviation. driving north as always, nearing canada, but this time it's not me behind the wheel - it's dad, or something with enough authority over my psyche to translate as "dad" in dreamland. dad and i are going somewhere, brushing the canadian border, when he mentions Her. "she lives right near here, doesn't she?" he says. "yeah," i say, "couple hours away." "do you wanna go? we can spare the time, and i know you really miss this girl." suddenly i freeze, an unreasonable terror slowly creeping over me, at the thought of actually seeing her again. it was the sort of fear i've known few times in my life, a fulfillment of the worst paranoias, the ultimate in "getting caught". before i knew it we were on our way, "dad" taking no further role but to inexorably take me there. it is important that he was driving - in my dreams, i always drive. if i find myself going somewhere i don't want to, i turn the wheel. when the mind has conjured such glorious landscapes and impossible features as to boggle itself, i slow down. dad never did either of these things.

so we got there, at some point. the town had a four letter name that started with O and may have been "Omaj", a rather strange misspelling of "Homage". i didn't get to wander and enjoy it, suddenly street maps were forming and even though the town was wrong and she's not even there anymore it was the same as i wasn't sure i remembered it anymore - down that last long stretch, left on vega, second house on the left. she didn't meet me in the yard like back then, and there was none of that amazing movie-style running-leap-hug in the middle of the airport like i am so fond of remembering. i didn't even get a slap in the face. she answered the door and our eyes met and we couldn't say anything. she looked dead, like something had sucked all the life out of her - not in a cartoony way, or a literal way, but the same way you might say a coworker looks dead after an 80 hour work week. the door was open, and her face didn't change its expression, and i felt a deep seated sadness relax, just a little, as some of it came to the surface. at this point in the dream, emotion trumps reason enough that everything just fades.

there isn't much left to recall, after that. just dad, dragging me to see my "long lost love", only to find that the years have taken their toll, and reality never lives up to dreams. kinda meta, don't you think, my dreams referencing other dreams? not just referencing them, but correcting them, and kind of maybe mocking them a little bit? i dunno.

the mayan long count ends at 7:15am tomorrow. that's about ten hours away. i'll be at work, taking a carefully timed smoke break, facing east.