touch

sometimes it feels like i can just reach out and hold your heart in the palm of my hand.
and sometimes it feels like running my fingers through lemonade…fizzy and sweet and tingly.
and sometimes it feels like trying to hold on to broken pieces of china as they crack and break and slip out of my hands.

...meh?

I'm having trouble making myself care about anything today. It's weird. Most of my emails are unopened. The paper is unread; online news ditto, and most of my feeds also. The Masters work I was supposed to finish is barely touched. I couldn't read more than a few pages of any of the books I'm reading. Nothing on TV held my gaze, although, well, that's hardly new. And I ignored the phone. It's all kinda meh. Why meh? I'm kinda tired, but not hugely. I hurt an old back injury yesterday, but not massively...there's no good reason to be so flat and blah at the world. Did someone put prozac in my tea?

.......

and then

except then you get there, and you think...okaaayyy...now what?

next?

neruda

When I die, I want your hands on my eyes:

I want the light and the wheat of your beloved hands

to pass their freshness over me once more:

I want to feel the softness that changed my destiny.



I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep.

I want your ears still to hear the wind, I want you

to sniff the sea's aroma that we loved together,

to continue to walk on the sand we walk on.



I want what I love to continue to live,

and you whom I love and sang above everything else

to continue to flourish, full-flowered:



so that you can reach everything my love directs you to,

so that my shadow can travel along in your hair,

so that everything can learn the reason for my song.

running out

i seem to be pouring myself into everybody else right now. it makes any time alone - really alone, doing something for me - seem kinda precious.

Can't sleep.

Sometimes I feel like my heart will crack, and all the me will run out. And then there will be nothing left.

reach

...lady lights a cigarette, puffs away, no regrets
takes a look around, no regrets no regrets
stretches out like branches of a poplar tree
says "I am free", sings so soft as if she'll break...

grope

there's a pattern of silence i get into, and i'm doing it again.
when even i can't make myself talk.
but there are silent shouts and screams just under my breath ... sitting at the back of my throat. coiled quiet against the terms of endearment and the swallowed tears.
articulate, prithee, speak? nothing. i just open and shut like a gaping ... ha, fish out of water.
grope, gasp, grope. shhhh.

gehaftet

.....but i am so much more!!

Houston

Boss: "We have a big problem, now."
Me: Oh? (Thinks: Oh, crap, what didn't I do now??)
Boss: "Yes. The thing is, this issue you've done is going to be so good, you'll have to live up to it somehow in the next issue."
Me: ...

...Okay...There's the arse-about compliment for the day, then. Um...woo!

pavane pour une infante defunte

sad, tragic even, things keep happening to people that i love. cancer. death of a husband. car crash. death of a parent. miscarriage. death of a child.
such important parts of their existence. of their identity. we structure our lives around the tender tendon connections and then when they’re torn they leave an aching, open, hanging void.
and...i can’t help, or even begin to salve. it feels so helpless! part of me wants to be the good-in-a-crisis type (like frideswide) and run around making casseroles and phoning people. sending flowers and making lists. the other part...thinks responding in any other way rather than in person, with hugs, just seems cheap.
think. what did you want people to say to you? what did they say, that helped?
...nothing helped. i just wanted someone to hold me and rock me while i cried and cried until i until i couldn’t cry anymore.

light

oh, yes, that's right. that was the really good reason not to fall again. because the light it casts throws everything into sharp relief, and suddenly you can see all the gaps and holes. and aching voids. are they always there? just patched over with little cobwebs of denial? glossed and daubed with a carefully balanced apathy that seems real enough to dance on most of the time. because underneath is far too real.
i wonder...if you could live in the deep of the underneath all the time. and not got mad? probably not. it would be too intoxicating. or maybe there isn't a division, really. 'praps it’s all the same, just different angles. different light. falling at different times of the day...or night. ha, that reminds me of
O chestnut-tree, great-rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?

awake

sometimes
when i stay up (like this)
(for days)
or, at least, a night and a day and a night and a day
i wonder whether you even realise that i'm not sleeping next to you.

prank call.

hey, you.
gutless wonder
why not
have the guts to say
i know what it is you want, but i can't give it to you.
or
there is something i need to say, but i can't find it.
or even
i can see where it is you ache, but i can't even deal with my own pain, let alone someone else's.
and
why not
have the guts to not be afraid of people loving you. especially loving you in different ways.there are lots, you know. they don't all require you to give away part of your soul.
or not.
stay up there and away, it's easier anyway.
so, are you ever going to actually engage? yeah, me neither. it's way easier just to float along the surface of the plebs below and graze when you need to. they'll never know, right?
isn't it such a damn drag when everyone else is so inferior?
stay disengaged, bubble, disconnected. hangup.
hangups! oh, yes. yes, people are so transparent, aren't they? you can put your fingers right through in some places.

argument

i shouldn’t compare
i shouldn’t set you up to fail
i shouldn’t create tests in my mind
thinking you should say ‘this’ when i say ‘that’
and crumbling when i don’t get what i ask for

i shouldn't hope that one day you will just love me, and say just the right thing
should i?

my bright companion

ONLY in my deep heart I love you, sweetest heart.
Many another vesture hath the soul, I pray
Call me not forth from this. If from the light I part
Only with clay I cling unto the clay.

And ah! my bright companion, you and I must go
Our ways, unfolding lonely glories, not out own,
Nor from each other gathered, but an inward glow
Breathed by the Lone One on the seeker lone.

If for the heart’s own sake we break the heart, we may
When the last ruby drop dissolves in diamond light
Meet in a deeper vesture in another day.
Until that dawn, dear heart, good-night, good-night.

fly away home

sometimes i think it would be nice to have people when they are flying high and at their peak.

so often i come to people when they in the dark, or in a rut, or have lost their way somehow. and we work through where they’re at, or try to, and i am happy to delve if it helps, it makes me explore myself too. all of which is good. but sometimes i wonder if it would be nice to *also* have the happy flying yay and smiling times…. rather than just sending healed hawks out to zoom around with the others and watching like some stupid big-sister figure from the window. why can’t i go out and play too? well? what stops you?

i'm sure i don’t go looking with that goal in my head…to heal and hand over. i think. nor do i go looking for the lost and the lonely. well, i don’t think i do. i used to wonder if i somehow searched out the saddened because i needed to see problems that i could fix, hearts that could be heartened. well, i can’t fix them. like my own fixings, all that has to come from inside. i suppose i can lend my mining gear :)

but still. i wonder what it is that i project that says, over here! and then, game over, insert coin. if i could find it, and pinch it off at the source, i'd probably make people a whole lot less uncomfortable.

...that thinking makes it so

what do you expect of people?
what do you expect when you talk to someone?
enter a deal? a conversation? a contract?
share a joke?
how do your expectations alter what you get out of the interaction?
how do they shape how you feel about it afterwards? during?
if you reach out, do you expect to be responded to?
will you reach out anyway, if you get no response?
for how long?

:)

talking to you
makes me feel like i can change the world :)

live, love, laugh

"The best art and writing is almost like an assignment; it is so vibrant that you feel compelled to make something in response. Suddenly it is clear what you have to do. For a brief moment it seems wonderfully easy to live and love and create breathtaking things....in a sense, these are assignments -- in the same way that the ocean gives the assignment of breathing deeply, and kissing instructs us to stop thinking."

I like this project. Simple things. >> learning to love you more