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| Friday, October 21, 2005 |
| candleburn. |
i'm just going to do some free flow typing now...not in the mood to detail and describe all the complications that seem to have followed me in the past few weeks. they've just reached an unmanageable amount inside my subconscious that has left me so weak. imagine if a romantic premise was even involved but it's not. here's a warning, this entry might not make sense.
you know that feeling when you don't know what you're supposed to do in light of different things you hear? it just leaves you immobile and terrified, unable to make a decision that will make you move forward or backward. so what do you do? well, i'm just staying still. not moving. an effort to remain transient and drifting wherever the tide takes me. trusting not the malicious words of others. trusting not the impaired judgment of affected parties. heard the words - hi darling! and i miss you! from kind-hearted souls. friends who practically dropped their drunken states to exchange some heartfelt advice and lending their ears to sobs without need for rationale. have you ever heard a candle burn?
the last time i had a cigarette outside in my garden, i found myself staring into the eyes of one of my greatest fears. literally. it was a huge frog sitting at the edge of the grass. ready to pounce on me. i was frozen in a state of panic. but he didn't move. he wasn't asleep either. when i moved in one direction, his eyes would do the same. so i lay still and ignored him. then he was gone. i was even more afraid that he would come back, even closer than before so i killed my stick and ran upstairs. could be a metaphor for what i should do. should i run after staying still? if i look away will it come back unexpectedly? talk about shocking me, forcing me even to realize something. anything.
i've heard too many stories and opinions that have threatened my ignorant bliss. i've failed to hear the words i'd much rather hear. but i love. unconditional. a bruise does not abate loyalty. comfort is a parallel universe reserved for a few. those you consider friends. it's the sense of self where you can safely say you are being who you are. psychotic or otherwise. and they don't judge or criticize you for it. they just love you and miss you when you're gone. i am an insane 40-year old woman inside due to my early lack of reservation. my gut feel is not really a gift but the first-hand knowledge garnered from experience. so it would be easy for me to see intentions. but not that i know what to do in response. that changes with time. i give gratitude and appreciation to messages and conversations yesterday evening - uncomplicated yet sincere. no thinking or discernment necessary.
blahblahblah. what to do. what to do. spent the whole day in bed yesterday. much to the alarm of decade long friends who have seen me through several downward spirals. as opposed to those who've only seen me through one. for some reason, it provides a difference in perspective. but i had nothing to do. or nothing i wanted to do. that's why i stayed in bed for as long as possible. it wasn't sad. comfy actually. with all my pillows and books for company. besides, someday i might not have time to do this anymore.
I read, and re-read The Fuck Up. It's just one of those books, like A Complete Lowlife, that makes you think - gad! this guy has one fucked up life. thank God it's not mine. and laugh at the poignancy.
While waiting for the subway, i scrutinized Helmsley's tragedy; unintentionally I had reduced Angela's guilt. She was brought up to see love as a weakness, whereas all Helmsley's books and needs had revealed love to him as a strength. Perhaps Helmsley's view was nobler, but in the end her vantage certainly proved more endurable.
Alcohol corrodes one's dexterity and sense of proportion, but it also heightens one's emotions. Smelling that fart, I thought of Helmsley in love. Had i spent my whole life confusing love with a series of erections? Love to Helmsley must have been an utter necessity, whereas for me it was always a luxurious distraction. I wished that i had the need to lust after some goiter-necked, tooth-decayed, leg-blistered old bag. If i could love like that then i would be a pyramid of emotions. and Arc de Triomphe of affection.
but today i woke up with a bounce. scurrying to have lunch with a group of my buds, make airline reservations and schedule an appointment with the hairstylist. i'm now going to the mall to scour the shoe shelves and bookshelves. i can't write the murakami review. i'll just get a new book. i didn't submit my art work today for the contest. didn't get to finish it on time. projects and people have faded into oblivion. but i can breathe. and move. without. and so i do. extricate. liberate. release.
Candleburn by Dishwalla |
posted by maldita @ 12:50 AM
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