a prost

“to knowing when you’re home.”

it’s complicated…

It was supposed to be casual sex.
a bit immoral perhaps, but a blurry line I was comfortable enough with.

(fall, fell, fallen)
then, then… so sudden, so hard and fast… i fell, we fell
(love is like falling, and falling is like this)

that is when the guilt crept in, knowing full well where the true line of betrayal lies.
i’ve been before between, half in love with each, but this, this is so much worse…
there’s very little half about it, and ultimately i have but one heart.

my course was plotted, the practical, the academic, the partner… and when i see him, hear his voice, i still love him, still see that road we were walking down… were walking… without thinking past continuous enters the picture, the interrupted past. i want to continue that road, i do… i reach out and touch the screen, his face, his voice, the deep ache… he’s so far away… the course plotted, but….

and now, now, this. so hard and fast, wild thoughts coursing through my mind, the spontaneous impulse looming, tempting me to give it a try, to throw it all to the wind…

and i know, i know… i cannot love two, not each with my full heart, though it tries, it really does, swinging between them as the balances shift, hence the guilt, him and him, multiples of him. i love him, so much, but i know as i fall, in the here and now, that the more i love him the less i can love him, the heart has so much love it overflows, but of this sort, it can only handle so much full on. i don’t want to not love him, i didn’t intend to replace him, but i don’t want to stop with him, though i know i should, though i know the further this goes the worse it’s going to get, the more i fall in i fall out…

it’s just… it’s far… it’s just… it’s happening here and now
and sometimes it gives me the feeling, i should drop the rest and run with it
or maybe drop this and run like hell
though i don’t want to give up the rest, i want this too
the problem is, with him and him, all i know is what i feel… and i know in the here, in the there, in the moment, when we touch, it feels right.

how can they both feel right? these are things that are mutually exclusive
sometimes, sometimes, you really cant eat your cake and have it too

and i don’t know how much is the lust for the impossible, how much is fear of what i intend otherwise, how much is the spontaneous trying to rear its head again… or… if these are all excuses to hide from what’s right, from fear of jumping, fear of commitment, fear of holding on… if i’m afraid of leaving or afraid of staying…
as always, should i stay or should i go… i cant tell anymore what i’m more afraid of

afternoon cocktails

and just like that, a life is over
they come and they go so fast

a start, a finish, a beginning, an end
and so much in between

lived well, full, hard, painfully, joyfully
optimism is not quite the right word
more a determination to take every moment as it comes, as it is
to enjoy them for what they are, good and bad
ornerily savoring every sensation life offers

grinning at misery and finding something fun in it all

fumbling toward happyness, and finally finding it…

i miss you ol’ man

impetuous

there’s a pile of clothes on the floor… my body feels delightfully warm and fuzzy… hands bodies curves spoons, sweaty and tousled

out the window, hunched shoulders, hoodie drawn, the long walk home

someone else has started resolutions early, jogging briskly uphill with the kind of motivation found only in those who havent indulged the night before

the rest of us, in search of truth and some pointy boots

pointy boots and snack crackers, make me wanna walk

feeling funky, feeling loose, feelin mellow

wakin up with a smile curved on my lips

gonna go crawl back in bed, slow and languid, in search of warmth

life is good, if confusing,something is starting, changing, and it feels good, if guilty,

but good all the same, happy new year

friut o the vine

grappa…. tu m’as tué

merci

pieces

pieces of me…

i believe it’s a jewel song, or album, or something like that… all the same, i’m going to appropriate it…

pondering the pieces of me, strewn around the globe, rooted to their spots, all feel like home. i’ve my pied au terre in seattle, in its cozy comfort that leads from capital hill to campus and back; jet-lagged and sleep deprived like no one’s business, leaning out reza’s window gazing at the bustle of le 18eme i felt like i’d returned to place; back in the ol’ hometown, pondering the original canvas, the pieces i could slide back into like a favorite pair of pants…. there are people and thing in these places each, that cannot be moved, that cannot be shared, and i dont know how it is i can have them all…. perhaps i’ll drink more and ponder this… write it up a little better…

so much on my mind, the ol watering hole is calling my name, and my journal is back on my desk….

hmmmm…..

oi…

the quantity, quality and variety of things weighing on my mind, my soul, from every direction, heavy as they come, and then some,  are…

…astounding.

too baffling to even begin.

drift

smokey jazz fills my ear, just the one, as i sit and ponder, wander,
the coffee mug warm in my hands.

so much come and gone, moments, where do i go from here?
accept the the inescapability of time, passing, change.

cup the mug against my chin, letting the faint steam heat my lips
take a sip, tell myself i won’t stew.

distant, detached, disconnected…
i keep waiting for a voice in the wall to say it aint so, say it aint so…

but the past is. neither can it be withdrawn, nor is untrue.
i try not to linger, try to focus elsewhere…

but my mind wanders with nostalgia, for all the grains of time that have slipped
through my fingers, drifted down into the cracks…

as always, there is something deep, aching, something,
that big nameless something.

as always, i’m sitting here alone.
sometimes lonely, sometimes not, but always alone.

a crowded room and i elbow out my space…
drifting in memory, i pull back to the present, so much to get done, so little time

things i never thought

once strong bonds become anemic over time and space, their indestructibility taken for granted too long, until one day inevitable currents expose their shocking frailty, bad timing and a sudden blow shatters something once invincible, irreparable, irreplaceable.

bad poetry always marks the end of love.

Brrr

Brrr, says the label. warm up with a cold one.

warm up, indeed. i think my soul’s gone cold.

i’m detached and you’ve moved on.

i get it. took me a while, but i got it. it’s ok.

it is what it is.

and maybe, really, it’s for the best.

indeed, indeed. the world i know is changing. delusions and hopes once clung to with desperate certainty melt away. oceans stretch no matter what, and there’s not a damn thing to do for it.

from here there’s no going back, and there’s no going forward without full awareness.

there’s no delusion, no denial.

it is what it is.

whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

 

 

 

 

it is what it is

jejeje

and here i’d thought we had a patent on that in w2…

it’s nights like these

outside the blustery rain dies down for a bit, leaving just the swish of tires across the slick roads, then a few sudden flashes, a crack of thunder, hail starts pounding on the street, in the trees, against the house, at my windows. deafeningly loud for just a moment, it’s all i hear… then it all dies down, back to the silent night with the echo of tires and the occasional rumble in the distance.

it’s nights like these that the solitary nature of my life hits me full force. withdrawn from those both near and far, down in my hole, buried in books. worse, i should still be studying, not contemplating these things. but it’s been so long since i’ve written for myself. i’ve written plenty in the last year, could start a rag from the last week alone. contructing and deconstructing and analyzing until it’s anal. how many times can one use words like hegemon, development,  comparative advantage and minimum efficient scale before they just get… old, cold.  i feel… institutionalized.  i need  some creative adjectives and ridiculous prose…

don’t get me wrong, i love it, i really do. but it’s nights like these… i need something else. i need to not. i need, i need, i need. i need a positive sum interaction. mierda.

i need someone, who is far away, to give me a kiss
and tell me to keep studying for my test tomorrow.

which makes me wonder, what to do with someone so far away, if i can wait that long and still feel the same… if maybe i don’t need someone here, or if i shouldn’t just be there, if it’s really all that important. if there’s really anyone anywhere… if all this isn’t just a derailment into the lonely abyss, as i learn more and more the solitary arts of a solitary life, divorced of family, friends, lovers, all human contact…

tu me manque, amour, et je sais pas si je peut faire beaucoup plus de ça…
pas avec les nuits comme ça…

fink

just watched barton fink…

and thinking writing aint shit if you aint got a plot.

otherwise… i’m getting by… and have no clue wtf it is i’m doing…

in other words: nothing new

remember when…

dear shea

i’m out of focus