Month: September 2017

Thoughts on a New Year’s Day

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I was wandering by and saw your door open.
You were crying.
You were laughing.
You were telling a story.
I stayed.
I stopped.
I listened.
And, in accordance with my nature,
I fell in love.
Just a little bit.
Just a spark.

This is what I feel about the people whose work I read regularly.
Maybe it’s wrong to fall in love with a person who is only this collection of thoughts and ideas.
Or maybe it’s the best way to fall in love
To love the mind and heart and dream
To know you would not love them less for meeting

Can’t let go, can’t hold on

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It’s all I can do to keep myself from hyperventilating.
From thinking
from losing it in front of other people
from this empty
from concerned friends
from this lump in my throat
from the need to be held
from an endless lack
from pointless drift
from a need I can’t fulfill
from an ache I can’t suppress

A dream on a Sunday Morn

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I dreamed that I was at a club as the sun was falling Sunday night. I was invited there by the owners. One of whom sat the door and another was behind the bar. There was a full kitchen serving small dishes and a upper floor where people could rest and sit and have food. It was a gay club and this is important. I’m sitting at the door talking to my friend and people are walking in, hesitant, young. Some afraid to step in, some afraid they will be turned away, rejected here as they are rejected elsewhere. Snubbed here as they are snubbed elsewhere. But my friend smiles and nods and they are welcomed in. The club night is called Church. In walks a big burly guy, not bad looking but rough. And he turns to my friend and says “it’s a bit blasphemous to have a club called Church on Sunday.” My friend just shrugs and waves him in. But I can’t let it go. I say “We call it church because this is the place we are loved and accepted. Here we aren’t judged for who we love. Here we aren’t told we are monsters or unworthy. Here we are free. THIS is our church where we are free to worship as we please with those that please us.” My friend looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. Because I don’t generally confront people about their bullshit. Then he turns to the guy and says, “Yeah, what he said.” After sitting the door for awhile we go in and we have fun and dance. We are not the stereotype. We are not good dancers, but we are happy, enthusiastic and free. A young gentleman whom I am acquainted with slips his hand across my shoulder, his hand resting on my chest. I place my hand on his and say, “Hello, my love.” I say it impishly, playfully. But he pulls his hand back like I burned him. I turn around to see his shocked expression and I can’t help but laugh. My friend gives me a look and we smile and laugh as the young man disappears, fleeing. Whether from our laughter or the shock, I don’t know. My friend has the DJ put on a record and tells the room with a shake of the head and a the back of the hand to his forehead that He’s sorry but he had to. Then the beat of Gloria Gaynor, I will survive comes up and we groan and laugh and people get up from their seats and dance like silly happy fools. And then I wake.

The mind thinks it knows better

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The full weight of ponder
A kiss turned to wonder

Hope turns to dreaming
Shake me awake
Dreams come to nothing

Or pull me forward
Hold in arms
I’ve forgotten
The heat
The feel of head on shoulder
Hearts beating faster

Hopes can’t be denied

A heart leads

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I have never been a man who could not follow his heart. When I was younger that meant looking for the cracks in the world. It meant exploiting my talents and the talents of others for fun and profit. When I met Morgan, that started to change. I began to mold myself into a man she would be proud of. When she was ripped from me, my heart led me into darkness. Into silence. Because in the hushed darkness it was easier to heal. And, while externally, I became more harsh, more abrasive, more cutting; internally I became introspective. As I poured over and over the events of that night searching for any way, any possibility that this was a dream, a nightmare. And despite myself, I healed. And I met a man who led my heart out of that darkness. Who showed me it was OK to love again. OK to still be alive. He eventually left but I was awake and could not close myself again.
So I followed my heart. Again and again each time I was hurt. Each time I learned what humanity was. In my long absence, I had grown cold and distant. Until a year ago, when I finally forgave myself for not saving her. I forgave myself. But I must acknowledge that I failed My Morgan. And I will never fail a love again, if I can help it. If I know what is happening.
And I opened myself up, and I, in my naivety perhaps, thought I had found. But no, again and again, my heart leads me to people who are hurt and I try to help them. Because that is who I am now. Not the only thing, but it is one of the pillars. But I pay a price each time. I can love and love forever. And each person I love leaves or will only give so much before they pull back to safety. And so I am stripped bare. Cast adrift, seeing the bright lights of the people I love, twinkling from the shoreline. While I drift at sea, forever unable, seemingly, to make landfall.

A response to an ill mannered jest

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If someone ever harmed the person I pledged myself to they would burn. I would tear down the world and reap a hurricane of death and pain. I would call armies and madmen to my banner. I would bath the world in blood until they were returned to me. No impedement, not even death would stop me. No creature, man, or god would dare stand against me. Everything I am or ever will be, I would sacrifice for their safety.

I would tear down reality. Nothing would bar my way. Not for long.

Slow motion fall

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There is a euphoria to posting something that is both personal and fundamentally true. It carries you for a time. Like walking after setting down a great weight you’ve been holding on to. And just like that, it wears off. Pretty soon, you feel like yourself again.

It may be this time of year. I just can’t seem to reach back beyond that night. I try to think of the night we met or any of the hundreds of other moments that we were happy in. But it all just morphs into me holding her. Waiting for the doctor to arrive. Her shallow breathing.

I feel empty. For the last few years I’ve been, at least, talking to someone romantically. That takes the edge off. Like there is hope. But this year, it’s all just ashes.

I find myself crying. And have for months now. I can’t seem to get out of this. Mostly, in the day, I’m OK. But night brings the silence and I can’t handle it.

New goal

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New goal: Stop falling deeply in love with people who can’t, won’t, or don’t want to be in a relationship with me.

Of course that does nothing for those I’m already in love with…

Three by three

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I’m struggling to find the way forward
Maybe finding myself in the same place
You look for and find but mainly
Nothing has changed
Just a bit older
A few thousand more words marking passage
A bit less happy
When you are defined by grief, letting that grief go is the hardest thing to do.
You find yourself untethered but without an anchor, what are you?
I know what I am. Perhaps that’s the worst thing. To know what you are and still see no path forward. Just stuck in this shallow waiting for a glimmer of some hope

Tenuous connection of music

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I see people in this order:
I see them as human first, as fragile, as fallible.
I see their eyes perceiving the world around them.
I see the way they move. How they hold themselves. Hiding away or in defiance of the world.
I see their words.
I see their heart.
I look for their truth and desires.
Then I see their physical form.

That’s the order I perceive in. My heart sees this and waits for my mind to catch up.