c. May 2005
Late nights turn into early mornings, and sometimes I lay there and toss and turn. Sometimes I just sit and stare, wondering why I can't cry and wishing I could, like that day I drove in the rain, the window down, cold and tired, the salt of my tears mixing with the rain running down my face. There are things I want to say but no words to say them with, but I need to try, need to do something to shake this feeling I have grown to love. I think back to parties, rooms full of people, yet I was there only to see her. And when she left, I left and drove for hours, not in any direction, just driving and letting the white lines blur, trying to find meaning in the darkness and the silence, a reason for these emotions finally coming out after two years of suppression. Driving on those dimly lit back roads with nothing but the trees and the asphalt and the sky and myself, wishing so badly that she was in the seat next to me, because I know her presence would make everything all right. I asked her today if she was busy, weeks of fear and paranoia and apprehension released with one unsure sentence, and she said she was as she walked away blushing, leaving me to wonder what would happen next. Only weeks away from summer, and then another year, and then I will never see her again, and goddamnit all, time just moves so fast, running ahead to take her away from me, and then what will I do? God, please, I know I don't deserve anything, but please help me. The ache is so great and I just want to get rid of it. I tell myself I don't care and build up complex logic barriers to block out all feeling, only to have them broken by her laugh or a passing glance at her face that manifests into a sharp burst of pain that leaves my heart bleeding out into the emptiness between us in a desperate attempt to relieve this hurt by reaching out to her and failing miserably because now that the wall is broken I can only focus on my longing and nothing else. All logic has left and been replaced by all the love I have for her, which is all the love I have, so I am left numb and apathetic about everything except her, and if she knew that she would push me away just like before, and so she can't know, but how am I supposed to reach out if she can't know, and now she has to know and I've succeeded only in undoing that at which I worked so hard to repair. And yet my love is as strong as ever and that has to mean something. And I have let my guard down and now I know that she is what I need, but she doesn't need me, she doesn't even see me for what I am now, and if she could, would it even matter, or would she continue to deny me her thoughts and her hopes and her fears and to reject all that I really have to offer her - a love that is not even my own.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Mixtapes made and never given
Unable to read your kind words because I know they're true
And that makes it difficult to hate you the way I want to
I never wanted to be here
5.09.2012
2.26.2012
#14
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
My faith was a very well-defined thing, very dogmatic. I based my entire life and my outlook on it. It gave me a purpose. So when it was truly shaken for the first time, it was pretty traumatizing. Once part of it stopped making sense, the entire thing started to fall apart. The thing with Tara was hard because up until that point, God had always been there for me. I felt comfort when I prayed, and even if things didn't instantly change, I always felt better believing in and talking to God. Something would always happen. So after two months of crying out to God every day, begging him to at least give me a sign that he was there or to give me some sort of hope that things would get better, I found myself doubting his existence. My faith had always been a very personal, emotional thing. I could argue intellectually for it, but my belief in God had always been founded in emotion rather than fact. If somebody did make an argument against God that I found myself unable to totally refute, it still wouldn't shake my faith because my faith wasn't based on an intellectual understanding of God - it was based on how I felt about him and the relationship I believed I had with him. So when I found it difficult to emotionally invest in God, everything else started to fall apart. Once the emotional base was gone, I started to doubt the rational reasons I had for my faith. I started reading books on theology and talking to my youth pastors, even joined a Bible study in an attempt to understand God and have him make sense in my head, hoping that maybe if I could believe in God intellectually, somehow the emotional part would come back. Weirdly enough, the more I read and talked and thought about it, the less I believed. The Bible study in particular was detrimental to my faith. It was led by a guy who was finishing a degree at Bethel and wanted to plant churches (and, oddly, happened to play guitar in this Christian rap-rock band I was into a few years prior), so dude knew his shit. And when I would ask about stuff that bothered me in the text (we were reading through Luke), his answers either didn't make sense, seemed contradictory, or made God seem like kind of a shitty dude. Eventually the study broke up, and while I continued to go to church most weeks and tried to pray with some regularity, it just didn't feel the same. Not only was the emotional part no longer present, but the intellectual part was starting to rapidly crumble. I started thinking about changing to another religion, and looked into Buddhism for a while. There were things I definitely identified with - lots of the zen stuff, and the ideas about life being about finding the balance between two extremes - but the spiritual aspects fell short. Shortly after that, I considered atheism/agnosticism and decided to listen to God is not Great by Christopher Hitchens at work one day. That book would end up being the thing that finally shattered what little scraps of faith I still had. The way Hitchens systematically went through and undermined most of the historical and intellectual aspects of any sort of faith in the supernatural blew my brain wide open and forced me to change my mind about my reasons for believing in God. So with the emotional part already gone and then the intellectual part defeated, I found myself completely unable to believe in God - which fucking hurt. I was depressed about it for a while. But eventually I learned to rely on myself, to be okay with life being totally meaningless. And there's actually a sense of comfort and freedom that come with that, sometimes. Sometimes it sucks, but sometimes it's good, too. There are definitely times I still want to believe in God, and there were a couple periods where I even tried giving God another chance (usually when I'd been listening to a lot of mewithoutYou). I don't know if my desire to believe in God ever fully goes away or not. I think about faith and religion a lot, at the very least; maybe even on a daily basis. But the intellectual block in my head keeps me from ever fully committing. I can't force myself into faith just because I want to believe, just like I can't force myself to believe in anything else I don't think is real. There's also stuff in the Bible that makes me not want to believe in God even if he is real - shit against women and gay people are two big ones, as well as a lot of the hyperviolence and overreacting that goes on in the Old Testament. It also seems that Calvinism is probably true, and I don't buy that at all. I don't know how I'm free if everything is preordained - but then I also have trouble believing that God doesn't know what is going to happen at every second throughout history, so I don't know. I find some of the paradoxes wonderful and beautiful, but I can't wrap my head around that one. There's stuff about the sins of the father being passed on for generations, which I also think is total bullshit. And while I could just take the parts I like and leave the rest, that feels wrong, probably because my faith was so well-defined earlier in my life. It feels like I'm cheating somehow. My attitude is pretty all-or-nothing when it comes to God. That's also the reason I have trouble believing in something amorphous and ill-defined. If there aren't rules to follow, I don't see the point, I guess, other than comfort... and it's difficult for me to believe that I was created by something that has no expectations of me. I'll admit that there are selfish reasons for it, too. I think if I start believing again, I'll probably have to stop taking drugs and swearing and a whole host of other things. I'll have to start going to church regularly, and if I don't tithe I'll feel guilty for it. And yet... I don't know, if I was truly able to believe again, giving up all that shit would probably be worth it. So yeah, I don't know. That's a pretty good summation of my faith and my feelings about God, I guess.
It was the emotional that kept me believing and it is the rational that keeps me from believing.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Basement-dwelling
On a shitty day
At the end of a strange weekend
In the middle of... what?
Nothingness
Peppered with meaningless events
Points of something surrounded by void
The ones with you burn brighter
But sometimes they sting my eyes
Though usually (unfortunately) not enough to make me cry
I like to think I'm at my best when I don't feel
But that's only because numbness is better
Than acknowledging the constant emptiness in my chest
I wish I knew how to make it go away
Until then, I'll fill it with another drink
Another drug
Another night spent with you
(Though never in the way I want)
Every measure simultaneously filling and deepening the abscess
Some days I can't wait until it takes me over
My faith was a very well-defined thing, very dogmatic. I based my entire life and my outlook on it. It gave me a purpose. So when it was truly shaken for the first time, it was pretty traumatizing. Once part of it stopped making sense, the entire thing started to fall apart. The thing with Tara was hard because up until that point, God had always been there for me. I felt comfort when I prayed, and even if things didn't instantly change, I always felt better believing in and talking to God. Something would always happen. So after two months of crying out to God every day, begging him to at least give me a sign that he was there or to give me some sort of hope that things would get better, I found myself doubting his existence. My faith had always been a very personal, emotional thing. I could argue intellectually for it, but my belief in God had always been founded in emotion rather than fact. If somebody did make an argument against God that I found myself unable to totally refute, it still wouldn't shake my faith because my faith wasn't based on an intellectual understanding of God - it was based on how I felt about him and the relationship I believed I had with him. So when I found it difficult to emotionally invest in God, everything else started to fall apart. Once the emotional base was gone, I started to doubt the rational reasons I had for my faith. I started reading books on theology and talking to my youth pastors, even joined a Bible study in an attempt to understand God and have him make sense in my head, hoping that maybe if I could believe in God intellectually, somehow the emotional part would come back. Weirdly enough, the more I read and talked and thought about it, the less I believed. The Bible study in particular was detrimental to my faith. It was led by a guy who was finishing a degree at Bethel and wanted to plant churches (and, oddly, happened to play guitar in this Christian rap-rock band I was into a few years prior), so dude knew his shit. And when I would ask about stuff that bothered me in the text (we were reading through Luke), his answers either didn't make sense, seemed contradictory, or made God seem like kind of a shitty dude. Eventually the study broke up, and while I continued to go to church most weeks and tried to pray with some regularity, it just didn't feel the same. Not only was the emotional part no longer present, but the intellectual part was starting to rapidly crumble. I started thinking about changing to another religion, and looked into Buddhism for a while. There were things I definitely identified with - lots of the zen stuff, and the ideas about life being about finding the balance between two extremes - but the spiritual aspects fell short. Shortly after that, I considered atheism/agnosticism and decided to listen to God is not Great by Christopher Hitchens at work one day. That book would end up being the thing that finally shattered what little scraps of faith I still had. The way Hitchens systematically went through and undermined most of the historical and intellectual aspects of any sort of faith in the supernatural blew my brain wide open and forced me to change my mind about my reasons for believing in God. So with the emotional part already gone and then the intellectual part defeated, I found myself completely unable to believe in God - which fucking hurt. I was depressed about it for a while. But eventually I learned to rely on myself, to be okay with life being totally meaningless. And there's actually a sense of comfort and freedom that come with that, sometimes. Sometimes it sucks, but sometimes it's good, too. There are definitely times I still want to believe in God, and there were a couple periods where I even tried giving God another chance (usually when I'd been listening to a lot of mewithoutYou). I don't know if my desire to believe in God ever fully goes away or not. I think about faith and religion a lot, at the very least; maybe even on a daily basis. But the intellectual block in my head keeps me from ever fully committing. I can't force myself into faith just because I want to believe, just like I can't force myself to believe in anything else I don't think is real. There's also stuff in the Bible that makes me not want to believe in God even if he is real - shit against women and gay people are two big ones, as well as a lot of the hyperviolence and overreacting that goes on in the Old Testament. It also seems that Calvinism is probably true, and I don't buy that at all. I don't know how I'm free if everything is preordained - but then I also have trouble believing that God doesn't know what is going to happen at every second throughout history, so I don't know. I find some of the paradoxes wonderful and beautiful, but I can't wrap my head around that one. There's stuff about the sins of the father being passed on for generations, which I also think is total bullshit. And while I could just take the parts I like and leave the rest, that feels wrong, probably because my faith was so well-defined earlier in my life. It feels like I'm cheating somehow. My attitude is pretty all-or-nothing when it comes to God. That's also the reason I have trouble believing in something amorphous and ill-defined. If there aren't rules to follow, I don't see the point, I guess, other than comfort... and it's difficult for me to believe that I was created by something that has no expectations of me. I'll admit that there are selfish reasons for it, too. I think if I start believing again, I'll probably have to stop taking drugs and swearing and a whole host of other things. I'll have to start going to church regularly, and if I don't tithe I'll feel guilty for it. And yet... I don't know, if I was truly able to believe again, giving up all that shit would probably be worth it. So yeah, I don't know. That's a pretty good summation of my faith and my feelings about God, I guess.
It was the emotional that kept me believing and it is the rational that keeps me from believing.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Basement-dwelling
On a shitty day
At the end of a strange weekend
In the middle of... what?
Nothingness
Peppered with meaningless events
Points of something surrounded by void
The ones with you burn brighter
But sometimes they sting my eyes
Though usually (unfortunately) not enough to make me cry
I like to think I'm at my best when I don't feel
But that's only because numbness is better
Than acknowledging the constant emptiness in my chest
I wish I knew how to make it go away
Until then, I'll fill it with another drink
Another drug
Another night spent with you
(Though never in the way I want)
Every measure simultaneously filling and deepening the abscess
Some days I can't wait until it takes me over
2.19.2012
#13
Monday, January 23, 2012
A series of text documents written over the course of about an hour while under the influence of alcohol, LSA, and marijuana.
justafriend.txt
I've never seen you as 'just a friend'.
Staring at that sentence,
I don't know if it's true
Or if I want it to be true
You take that last bit any way you like.
Slipping over myself,
Trying to type you a love letter I know will never work
Empty stomach
Full head
Typewriter mistakes
But not that one
Haha
Things I won't remember,
even upon re-reading this
inflections i never meant
and ones i meant all the while
trying to hide themselves behind bullshit prose
the way you do
you motherfucker
I never meant that
And I hope i never do
Everything is intentional
Except the mistakes my fingers make
The forgotten mistakes my fingers make
The ones you barely remember now
Tasting lamb on an empty stomach full of vomit
That doesn't mean anything
Now or ever
Now or never
Lysergic
Takes longer to hit
Much longer
Much, much longer
This will all make sense
No.
Sleep?
-------
drugs.txt
I swear on my life I've been high this whole time
Taking drugs and never knowing
Leaving behind sheets of nothing
Scraps of thought in a digital wasteland
So cliche on purpose
I wish
-------
hip.txt
I don't know what separates thought from thought
Christ, I'm so hip
Punch myself in the dick just for thinking that
Much less writing it
And saving it to my hard drive forever
Along with this pseudo-self-deprecating bullshit
Fuck, I really am the worst
Typing this bullshit prose for no reason
Making sure it's perfectly spaced
Paragraphed
Uncomfortably written
Just like the asshole I want to be
Especially by writing this
-------
as.txt
Pure thought
I think I really am tripping
Fucking took long enough
-------
stoppedthere.txt
I think I'm tripping
Purest form of thought?
I guess
Whatever
I tried
But my guts hurt so bad now
Nothing's worth it
Nothing
-------
funny.txt
I have to poop so bad
It really is all just shit
Haha
I wish this was funny
-------
mom.txt
still trying to write
you motherfucker
none of this is interesting
your brain
your bullshit attempts at writing
it all springs out of control
your thoughts
everything
fuckfuckfuickucigujajjasjajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajjajaajjsjddddddddddddd'
aasfas
FFFFFFFUCK
fuck.
this always makes sense at the time
it's not art and you know it
even as you try
you won't remember this
and it's definitely for the best
alone forever
even with your cats
let's see if work happens
sorry mom
-------
asddddd.txt
so cold
so very, very cold
moreso than outside
i hate my room
-------
why.txt
drinking yourself into oblivion
once again
you stupid fuck
drugs don't work
you're high as shit right now
and drugs don't work
they don't numb the pain you stupid fuck you stupid fuck you stupid fuck
why are you in so much pain?
why are you in so much pain?
why?
why why why?
-------
idiot.txt
still flashing back to shit that happened before
so unoriginal
you fucking wallflower
you idiot
-------
addict.txt
there is never a reason good enough for your drug use
nor a reason pure enough
that's it
fucking knock it off
...or realize it and use that knowledge
you fucking addict
-------
hey guy.txt
you don't have to be a cock about sobriety, you know
-------
writing.txt
getting some good writing done
aren't you?
you faggot
-------
drugs2.txt
drugs are supposed to be fun, right?
psychedelics, even?
maybe i'm not high for the right reasons
but i don't even know if that matters anymore
maybe drugs won't save us
-------
guy.txt
i was already thinking about somehow compiling a book of your poetry to give to you on valentine's day. i know it's probably sad that i was thinking of that before i even knew how you felt about me (especially given the circumstances now), but what other guy would have done that for yoU?
A series of text documents written over the course of about an hour while under the influence of alcohol, LSA, and marijuana.
justafriend.txt
I've never seen you as 'just a friend'.
Staring at that sentence,
I don't know if it's true
Or if I want it to be true
You take that last bit any way you like.
Slipping over myself,
Trying to type you a love letter I know will never work
Empty stomach
Full head
Typewriter mistakes
But not that one
Haha
Things I won't remember,
even upon re-reading this
inflections i never meant
and ones i meant all the while
trying to hide themselves behind bullshit prose
the way you do
you motherfucker
I never meant that
And I hope i never do
Everything is intentional
Except the mistakes my fingers make
The forgotten mistakes my fingers make
The ones you barely remember now
Tasting lamb on an empty stomach full of vomit
That doesn't mean anything
Now or ever
Now or never
Lysergic
Takes longer to hit
Much longer
Much, much longer
This will all make sense
No.
Sleep?
-------
drugs.txt
I swear on my life I've been high this whole time
Taking drugs and never knowing
Leaving behind sheets of nothing
Scraps of thought in a digital wasteland
So cliche on purpose
I wish
-------
hip.txt
I don't know what separates thought from thought
Christ, I'm so hip
Punch myself in the dick just for thinking that
Much less writing it
And saving it to my hard drive forever
Along with this pseudo-self-deprecating bullshit
Fuck, I really am the worst
Typing this bullshit prose for no reason
Making sure it's perfectly spaced
Paragraphed
Uncomfortably written
Just like the asshole I want to be
Especially by writing this
-------
as.txt
Pure thought
I think I really am tripping
Fucking took long enough
-------
stoppedthere.txt
I think I'm tripping
Purest form of thought?
I guess
Whatever
I tried
But my guts hurt so bad now
Nothing's worth it
Nothing
-------
funny.txt
I have to poop so bad
It really is all just shit
Haha
I wish this was funny
-------
mom.txt
still trying to write
you motherfucker
none of this is interesting
your brain
your bullshit attempts at writing
it all springs out of control
your thoughts
everything
fuckfuckfuickucigujajjasjajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajajjajaajjsjddddddddddddd'
aasfas
FFFFFFFUCK
fuck.
this always makes sense at the time
it's not art and you know it
even as you try
you won't remember this
and it's definitely for the best
alone forever
even with your cats
let's see if work happens
sorry mom
-------
asddddd.txt
so cold
so very, very cold
moreso than outside
i hate my room
-------
why.txt
drinking yourself into oblivion
once again
you stupid fuck
drugs don't work
you're high as shit right now
and drugs don't work
they don't numb the pain you stupid fuck you stupid fuck you stupid fuck
why are you in so much pain?
why are you in so much pain?
why?
why why why?
-------
idiot.txt
still flashing back to shit that happened before
so unoriginal
you fucking wallflower
you idiot
-------
addict.txt
there is never a reason good enough for your drug use
nor a reason pure enough
that's it
fucking knock it off
...or realize it and use that knowledge
you fucking addict
-------
hey guy.txt
you don't have to be a cock about sobriety, you know
-------
writing.txt
getting some good writing done
aren't you?
you faggot
-------
drugs2.txt
drugs are supposed to be fun, right?
psychedelics, even?
maybe i'm not high for the right reasons
but i don't even know if that matters anymore
maybe drugs won't save us
-------
guy.txt
i was already thinking about somehow compiling a book of your poetry to give to you on valentine's day. i know it's probably sad that i was thinking of that before i even knew how you felt about me (especially given the circumstances now), but what other guy would have done that for yoU?
2.16.2012
#12
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Half-remembered conversations (confessions)
Obscured by smoke and liquid toxins
Conveniently and tragically holding on to the parts that give me hope
Twisting your words to fit what I want
(both good and bad)
And to put the blame on you
I'd like to set fire to my memories
Forget it ever happened
Because as much as I needed it to happen at the time
It's all I've been able to think about since
And that never ends well
Half-remembered conversations (confessions)
Obscured by smoke and liquid toxins
Conveniently and tragically holding on to the parts that give me hope
Twisting your words to fit what I want
(both good and bad)
And to put the blame on you
I'd like to set fire to my memories
Forget it ever happened
Because as much as I needed it to happen at the time
It's all I've been able to think about since
And that never ends well
11.10.2011
#11
c. February 2009
Shaking with suppressed sobs, I can't cry here. I'll save it for the car where I can let everything out amidst a background of sound and lyrics about how she loves a stone, how she could whisper the wrong name and I wouldn't care (nor would my ears), how my stomach's always been a liar but I'll believe its lies again, how I don't mind her under my skin, how I just want something I can never have, how I want to sleep like a dog at her feet even though I know it won't work out in the long run, how this whole thing is probably a selfish infatuation anyway. I can't stop thinking about that night, the way she tasted like clove cigarettes and peppermint schnapps as she softly bit my lower lip, how warm she felt pressed up against me, how time seemed to stop with my eyes closed, how nervous I was when she was walking over, and how that completely evaporated the instant her mouth met mine - but oh, how this intellect burns, how these memories sting, how bitter they've become despite their initial sweetness. I want so badly for this to be untrue, but I fear that time meant nothing to her... yet even if it is true, I would gladly lie to myself if it ever happened again, tell myself she was finding something there as well, even if the events afterward went the same way. But then it would just hurt her again, and I don't know if I'd be able to put that aside. I would want to and not want to at the same time. I am so selfish. It kills me to know she could relate to the same songs I'm relating to...
...except it wouldn't be about me.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
You burn like a shot of Everclear
Until the intoxication sets in
And then I only want more and more
Until I'm laying in a broken heap on the floor
Wondering why I ever loved you in the first place
...but still begging you to lay next to me
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Art has become recontextualization.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Like a sombrero to the unconscious eye
Shaking with suppressed sobs, I can't cry here. I'll save it for the car where I can let everything out amidst a background of sound and lyrics about how she loves a stone, how she could whisper the wrong name and I wouldn't care (nor would my ears), how my stomach's always been a liar but I'll believe its lies again, how I don't mind her under my skin, how I just want something I can never have, how I want to sleep like a dog at her feet even though I know it won't work out in the long run, how this whole thing is probably a selfish infatuation anyway. I can't stop thinking about that night, the way she tasted like clove cigarettes and peppermint schnapps as she softly bit my lower lip, how warm she felt pressed up against me, how time seemed to stop with my eyes closed, how nervous I was when she was walking over, and how that completely evaporated the instant her mouth met mine - but oh, how this intellect burns, how these memories sting, how bitter they've become despite their initial sweetness. I want so badly for this to be untrue, but I fear that time meant nothing to her... yet even if it is true, I would gladly lie to myself if it ever happened again, tell myself she was finding something there as well, even if the events afterward went the same way. But then it would just hurt her again, and I don't know if I'd be able to put that aside. I would want to and not want to at the same time. I am so selfish. It kills me to know she could relate to the same songs I'm relating to...
...except it wouldn't be about me.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
You burn like a shot of Everclear
Until the intoxication sets in
And then I only want more and more
Until I'm laying in a broken heap on the floor
Wondering why I ever loved you in the first place
...but still begging you to lay next to me
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Art has become recontextualization.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Like a sombrero to the unconscious eye
9.01.2011
#10
Found this on my computer tonight. It was written in late August of 2007 over the course of three days. Looking back, it makes me cringe to remember who I wrote all of this about. Any text in red was stolen verbatim from another source.
(on the cover of the notebook I wrote all of this in)
is this ego play?
and am i writing this
for an audience?
(the rest is from inside the notebook)
two autumns
and i have not
changed enough
-†-
I hate this
This depression I feel
Over something like this
I am so selfish I make myself sick
And yet I still can’t shake this desire to see them
Fall apart
And to be there to pick up the pieces
To hold her in my arms
And tell her everything will be okay
Because I love her
But if I love her, and care about him as well, how can I also want them to fall apart and suffer? How can I desire something that will cause them pain, no matter how much happiness I get out of it? Even if she is eventually happier because of it, how could I live with the depression it would throw him into? Am I really so selfish as to be okay with putting him in my place so that I might be in his, no matter how temporary it may (will!) be? And what of those we spend time with? Could I live/love with the strain it would put on them? So I feel as though I must suffer through this for the good of those close to me. Yet, how long can I deal with being lonely around those I care for most before I implode as though I am made of glass? How long must each kiss of theirs’ that I witness cut into my heartstrings before they are completely severed? How long can I feel sick to my stomach, like I have swallowed a handful of needles and broken glass, without the ability to vomit everything back out, all this blackness and despair and selfishness? How many more sleepless nights and crushing dreams must I endure before I am able to peacefully sleep?
“All this wishing I was dead is getting old!” I have yelled a thousand times, but no one seems to hear, so I am left wondering how long I will feel this depression, how long I will be stuck inside this screaming bullshit festival, how long I must look at her and know I cannot even hold her hand or kiss her cheek because of the terrible ramifications of my actions – and yet part of me (the selfish, reptilian part of me) is not concerned with the consequences, and I want so badly to give into that part just a little (and have already done so to some extent – O, what a terrible thing!) to see how she would respond, and G-d how I hate myself for all of this, for my selfishness and my hero complex and the way I feel how everything must have a meaning and how I try to make logical decisions about emotional issues, how I rationalize the irrational, how I use my mind to figure out the workings of my heart – what (un)blessed backwardness! – O, G-d, make me afraid of what I’ve become! I hope this will go away tomorrow, but from previous experience, I think this problem’s gonna last more than a weekend – and how I wish I could use my own words to describe how I feel, but I can’t think of right words to say to explain to someone (who?) all of this, so I must rely on the words of others in order to try and make sense of all this and to get my words out on paper in the hope that they will no longer be inside me but rather on these pages, forever trapped in this book so that they no longer bother me.
Sometimes I want to sleep forever.
-†-
I ask God for a sign
Even as I focus my gaze
On her
As she breaks my heart once again
I can’t help but think
That I live for this pain
And I wonder –
How much can I take
Before I stop breathing?
-†-
I know the road to everything
I know it goes right off a cliff
Nothing is forever
(and I at once take hope and fear in that)
-†-
I can be lonely if she’s happy after all
But how can I
When every time I see her in my mind
Her lips are touching his
And I feel as if those lips were ever to touch mine
I would find a poison
That not even she knows is there
Because it would only affect me
For she is my weakness
And O, how weak I am
-†-
I think about this altogether too often
Yet every passing thought
Seems to take me farther (further?) from an answer
-†-
Maybe she is more observant than I give her credit for, and the only reason she has responded to my attraction (if she has responded at all – unlikely!) is that she no longer feels any for him, and I am merely the blunt instrument she will use to sabotage their relationship, leaving me bruised and covered in blood in the process.
Or maybe that is wishful thinking.
-†-
I awoke this morning
And as I rubbed the last vestiges
Of sleep from my eyes
I realized what I had thought was sleep
Was merely a continued thought about her
-†-
God damns the ones who damn their brothers
-†-
And I continue to think myself in circles on this, never moving forward, dwelling on – obsessing over – things that have happened and will never happen, and I just wish I could get over her, could be okay with a simple friendship and nothing more, but this always fucking happens, and I could use a metaphor, but I just can’t get beyond this shit, and I would say that I could use someone to talk to, but I have people, have talked to those people, and it helps and yet it doesn’t, and even still most of my conversations with men seem to revolve around music.
-†-
(on the cover of the notebook I wrote all of this in)
is this ego play?
and am i writing this
for an audience?
(the rest is from inside the notebook)
two autumns
and i have not
changed enough
-†-
I hate this
This depression I feel
Over something like this
I am so selfish I make myself sick
And yet I still can’t shake this desire to see them
Fall apart
And to be there to pick up the pieces
To hold her in my arms
And tell her everything will be okay
Because I love her
But if I love her, and care about him as well, how can I also want them to fall apart and suffer? How can I desire something that will cause them pain, no matter how much happiness I get out of it? Even if she is eventually happier because of it, how could I live with the depression it would throw him into? Am I really so selfish as to be okay with putting him in my place so that I might be in his, no matter how temporary it may (will!) be? And what of those we spend time with? Could I live/love with the strain it would put on them? So I feel as though I must suffer through this for the good of those close to me. Yet, how long can I deal with being lonely around those I care for most before I implode as though I am made of glass? How long must each kiss of theirs’ that I witness cut into my heartstrings before they are completely severed? How long can I feel sick to my stomach, like I have swallowed a handful of needles and broken glass, without the ability to vomit everything back out, all this blackness and despair and selfishness? How many more sleepless nights and crushing dreams must I endure before I am able to peacefully sleep?
“All this wishing I was dead is getting old!” I have yelled a thousand times, but no one seems to hear, so I am left wondering how long I will feel this depression, how long I will be stuck inside this screaming bullshit festival, how long I must look at her and know I cannot even hold her hand or kiss her cheek because of the terrible ramifications of my actions – and yet part of me (the selfish, reptilian part of me) is not concerned with the consequences, and I want so badly to give into that part just a little (and have already done so to some extent – O, what a terrible thing!) to see how she would respond, and G-d how I hate myself for all of this, for my selfishness and my hero complex and the way I feel how everything must have a meaning and how I try to make logical decisions about emotional issues, how I rationalize the irrational, how I use my mind to figure out the workings of my heart – what (un)blessed backwardness! – O, G-d, make me afraid of what I’ve become! I hope this will go away tomorrow, but from previous experience, I think this problem’s gonna last more than a weekend – and how I wish I could use my own words to describe how I feel, but I can’t think of right words to say to explain to someone (who?) all of this, so I must rely on the words of others in order to try and make sense of all this and to get my words out on paper in the hope that they will no longer be inside me but rather on these pages, forever trapped in this book so that they no longer bother me.
Sometimes I want to sleep forever.
-†-
I ask God for a sign
Even as I focus my gaze
On her
As she breaks my heart once again
I can’t help but think
That I live for this pain
And I wonder –
How much can I take
Before I stop breathing?
-†-
I know the road to everything
I know it goes right off a cliff
Nothing is forever
(and I at once take hope and fear in that)
-†-
I can be lonely if she’s happy after all
But how can I
When every time I see her in my mind
Her lips are touching his
And I feel as if those lips were ever to touch mine
I would find a poison
That not even she knows is there
Because it would only affect me
For she is my weakness
And O, how weak I am
-†-
I think about this altogether too often
Yet every passing thought
Seems to take me farther (further?) from an answer
-†-
Maybe she is more observant than I give her credit for, and the only reason she has responded to my attraction (if she has responded at all – unlikely!) is that she no longer feels any for him, and I am merely the blunt instrument she will use to sabotage their relationship, leaving me bruised and covered in blood in the process.
Or maybe that is wishful thinking.
-†-
I awoke this morning
And as I rubbed the last vestiges
Of sleep from my eyes
I realized what I had thought was sleep
Was merely a continued thought about her
-†-
God damns the ones who damn their brothers
-†-
And I continue to think myself in circles on this, never moving forward, dwelling on – obsessing over – things that have happened and will never happen, and I just wish I could get over her, could be okay with a simple friendship and nothing more, but this always fucking happens, and I could use a metaphor, but I just can’t get beyond this shit, and I would say that I could use someone to talk to, but I have people, have talked to those people, and it helps and yet it doesn’t, and even still most of my conversations with men seem to revolve around music.
-†-
3.30.2011
#9
Thursday, March 31, 2011
My dad is there for me now more than when I was growing up.
My generation had no revolution.
My dad was jealous of the people I saw as father figures.
My dad is there for me now more than when I was growing up.
My generation had no revolution.
My dad was jealous of the people I saw as father figures.
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