"Get outta here you f*ckin' flies... We've got flies comin' for us. F*ck!"
LOL Hilarious 'net junk from YouTube. (Contains explicit language)
28 March 2007
26 March 2007
kite
Her patience is wearing thin like the pages in my notebook, and I can recall when everything was clean and new, unmarked by my faults and inadequacies. A picture was painted, she painted a portrait of me and now the colors are running, a stained canvas. Does she still recognize the man from our first encounter on that cold night in December? Or have I become a friendly stranger? A long lost friend, barely recognizable?
Earlier today I saw several children flying a kite in the afternoon breeze. The kite darted and dove as the children playfully struggled to keep it aloft. After much fanfare the kite crashed and the kids hurriedly raced to the crash site.
The Forces of the Cosmos had won but the children were undeterred and soon the kite was soaring again, higher than before. The children gazed heavenward, their faces glowing with accomplishment. Beautiful.
Are those Forces -- the same Forces which brought L and me together -- slowly tearing us apart? Or is the paint on my hands? Have I -- and I alone -- smeared that December portrait?
There is nothing left to conceal now. No brush strokes will hide the cracks of my personality -- I stand naked. What horrid portrait would L paint now if brush, colors and canvas were at hand?
Is it possible for us to return to the crash site, examine the wreckage (wreckage stained with my fingerprints), collect the pieces and soar again?
I love you, Panda Bear.
mc
Earlier today I saw several children flying a kite in the afternoon breeze. The kite darted and dove as the children playfully struggled to keep it aloft. After much fanfare the kite crashed and the kids hurriedly raced to the crash site.
The Forces of the Cosmos had won but the children were undeterred and soon the kite was soaring again, higher than before. The children gazed heavenward, their faces glowing with accomplishment. Beautiful.
Are those Forces -- the same Forces which brought L and me together -- slowly tearing us apart? Or is the paint on my hands? Have I -- and I alone -- smeared that December portrait?
There is nothing left to conceal now. No brush strokes will hide the cracks of my personality -- I stand naked. What horrid portrait would L paint now if brush, colors and canvas were at hand?
Is it possible for us to return to the crash site, examine the wreckage (wreckage stained with my fingerprints), collect the pieces and soar again?
I love you, Panda Bear.
mc
25 March 2007
retreat
She said goodbye and exited my car. I watched her until she disappeared around the corner of her front porch, put the car in gear and slowly drove off.
Not even a kiss, a kiss goodbye.
It was only noon and I was leaving. I nearly left the night before but settled myself down and stayed the night. L recently moved to _____ (about an hour and twenty minute drive from my place) with two friends and this was my first weekend there.
Why the early departure? It's difficult to explain. Or is it? I simply enjoy the comforts and the familiarity of my apartment; my apartment is my home and I enjoy the safety (figuratively speaking) of my surroundings. I feel secure here. Here inside my bubble. The sounds, the smells and the feeling of apartment #1580 mean no surprises. The faces are known. The faces are familiar. I trust the faces. The faces are few.
In _____ I felt temporary. A stranger. Foreign surroundings in an unfamiliar town. L's hospitality provided many moments of valuable peace (I don't want to leave the impression that the entire weekend was hell -- it wasn't). I love L like I've never loved a girl before. She has showered me with love and kindness like no other, and I know I broke her heart leaving at such an early hour but my bones were yearning to retreat and I had to leave. I had to. I would have lost my head if I remained. There is absolutely nothing she could have done to make me stay; my decision to leave was based on my neurotic behavior/habits.
And now there is this strain between the two of us. I wish I wasn't such a neurotic fuck-up, and I'm afraid my inadequacies will be the death of our relationship.
I'm in #1580 chain-smoking cigarettes like tomorrow isn't coming and I'm wondering what will become of us.
Is love enough?
mc
Not even a kiss, a kiss goodbye.
It was only noon and I was leaving. I nearly left the night before but settled myself down and stayed the night. L recently moved to _____ (about an hour and twenty minute drive from my place) with two friends and this was my first weekend there.
Why the early departure? It's difficult to explain. Or is it? I simply enjoy the comforts and the familiarity of my apartment; my apartment is my home and I enjoy the safety (figuratively speaking) of my surroundings. I feel secure here. Here inside my bubble. The sounds, the smells and the feeling of apartment #1580 mean no surprises. The faces are known. The faces are familiar. I trust the faces. The faces are few.
In _____ I felt temporary. A stranger. Foreign surroundings in an unfamiliar town. L's hospitality provided many moments of valuable peace (I don't want to leave the impression that the entire weekend was hell -- it wasn't). I love L like I've never loved a girl before. She has showered me with love and kindness like no other, and I know I broke her heart leaving at such an early hour but my bones were yearning to retreat and I had to leave. I had to. I would have lost my head if I remained. There is absolutely nothing she could have done to make me stay; my decision to leave was based on my neurotic behavior/habits.
And now there is this strain between the two of us. I wish I wasn't such a neurotic fuck-up, and I'm afraid my inadequacies will be the death of our relationship.
I'm in #1580 chain-smoking cigarettes like tomorrow isn't coming and I'm wondering what will become of us.
Is love enough?
mc
park
Dead grass and concrete.
It is 42 degrees and I am walking through a park, silent
The children are absent and
The swing sets do not move,
Just the sound of distant cars on black motorways
And a memory of you:
An old cardigan, tattered blue jeans and I was playfully chasing you on a chilly night in October
The way she touched me parted skies and
Made missing children cry.
Where have they gone?
And where are you, Vandalia?
She is miles away
Sorting knickknacks and colored fabrics.
I could fabricate a lie
Tell myself I am not alone
But it is 42 degrees and this park is empty and
The swing sets do not swing.
Dead grass and concrete
Under my aching feet
The bones do not fit and
My flesh is aging.
"Abandon the flames raging inside your head and embrace the love of Christ!"
Is what the man on the television shouted.
His suit was well pressed
And his Rolex glistened
Like the plastic and confessed.
My confessions are concepts
Tasteless confections lacking nutrients and significance.
Dead grass and concrete
And above my body
Clouds like castles tumble and collapse
Shift and slide like the chemicals inside.
Cold rooms, a shattered mirror and bottled medications await my arrival at my place of residence.
If I could cast a spell and
Sprout wings from this weathered spine
I would drift above the tree tops
Cradle broken angels and seal their crystal wounds with off-key lullabies,
But it is 42 degrees and my head is full of
Fairy tales, daydreams, and tranquilized soliloquies.
The last time I saw my mother she said,
"You look so sedated."
"But I feel better, so much better,"
Was my placid reply.
I am beginning to believe those words were just another lie.
Dead grass and concrete and it is 42 degrees.
The children are gone
Inside homes basking in the warm glow of television shows.
mc
It is 42 degrees and I am walking through a park, silent
The children are absent and
The swing sets do not move,
Just the sound of distant cars on black motorways
And a memory of you:
An old cardigan, tattered blue jeans and I was playfully chasing you on a chilly night in October
The way she touched me parted skies and
Made missing children cry.
Where have they gone?
And where are you, Vandalia?
She is miles away
Sorting knickknacks and colored fabrics.
I could fabricate a lie
Tell myself I am not alone
But it is 42 degrees and this park is empty and
The swing sets do not swing.
Dead grass and concrete
Under my aching feet
The bones do not fit and
My flesh is aging.
"Abandon the flames raging inside your head and embrace the love of Christ!"
Is what the man on the television shouted.
His suit was well pressed
And his Rolex glistened
Like the plastic and confessed.
My confessions are concepts
Tasteless confections lacking nutrients and significance.
Dead grass and concrete
And above my body
Clouds like castles tumble and collapse
Shift and slide like the chemicals inside.
Cold rooms, a shattered mirror and bottled medications await my arrival at my place of residence.
If I could cast a spell and
Sprout wings from this weathered spine
I would drift above the tree tops
Cradle broken angels and seal their crystal wounds with off-key lullabies,
But it is 42 degrees and my head is full of
Fairy tales, daydreams, and tranquilized soliloquies.
The last time I saw my mother she said,
"You look so sedated."
"But I feel better, so much better,"
Was my placid reply.
I am beginning to believe those words were just another lie.
Dead grass and concrete and it is 42 degrees.
The children are gone
Inside homes basking in the warm glow of television shows.
mc
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