this is what happens when I try to be angry with you

Dear Dionysus,

I don't feel like talking to you. You detract from my peace today.

I was floating on a cloud
& whispering italics
when I thought of you.

Did you know that doubt pulls at the threads of cumulonimbus thoughts?
You can see the contrails of Atlantis; they drift like seaweed.

I fear this letter drifts in the same way.

Shine on,



Silenus

Happy Holidays are almost over

I am glad for it, though somehow I always miss them as they pass.

The pressure to smile and be cheerful will dissipate with the christmas lights and sale signs.

I had a nice trip upstate. He chased my nightmares off again. They were particularly bad this weekend. Waking nightmares, you might say. It is irrelevant, though. Dreams are dreams. They pass. I am waiting for the tenuous tendrils that remain to drift away with the holiday blues.

There is a strange light on the horizon...so far away -
I can't help but look, though..

What is real?

Only we can say, I suppose. Our beliefs answer that question.

Later.

the eve of christmas eve

Well, Christmas has sped up as it always does. The holiday is nearly over, and as usual I feel like it has passed a little too quickly.

This is a hard time of year for me.

I miss my girls - a lot.

I've been doing my best to keep my spirits up this season, there have been a few challenges, but mostly I think I have managed it.

I'm afraid this won't be very poetic, but sometimes there isn't poetry to get the feelings across.

I'm going upstate for a few days, this is a much needed break from every day stuff.

It's really been a rough week or so, I'm ready for some down time.

I'm feeling the weight of the chill outside, and I wish that things didn't always come to a head during the holidays, but I suppose that is how it works. We all get stressed out and the little things somehow feel bigger than they really are.

We'll recover. It's what we do.

So ..cheers to you, my readers and friends... I hope the holiday is as kind to you as you deserve it to be. Enjoy..be responsible, and share your light.

talk to ya soon.

Emptying my head

It's hump day. I'm glad. This has been a hectic week so far.

So anyway....what's on my mind?

Eh. I find it frustrating the way that friends slip away. I know that I tend to be very sensitive, I can't help it. But when it feels like I've done something wrong - well, it's hard to cope with. Maybe I shouldn't say done something wrong... disagreements with mutual friends that feel like they affect a close friendship ..suck.

I may be among the minority in that I take these internet friendships seriously. I really do. Maybe because if it weren't for them, I don't know if I would be here today. There are some callous people out there, really. It hurts. I'm not just a name on a screen. I'm really a lot more than that, and when I am treated as such, it is frustrating.

I shut down last night.

I feel bad. He was trying to be a friend - he's good at that. But I can't even really explain why this hurts so much. It isn't hormones this time. There is a distinct coolness that I feel from someone who was once a very good friend (and no - this isn't someone who is not a good friend, it isn't one of those situations, feeling that distance with this person really sucks).

I am looking forward to seeing Imaginary Boy again. You know I blush and smile each time I see him again? I really do. I feel a little silly, but I can't help it.

Anyway...
the bitch of the moment is: I am tired of being dismissed.
the smile of the moment is: I don't know, I'll see if I can find one by the end of the day.

The view from the dimestore platter

Note:

The glass is foggy, yet you can still see the choreography of gooseneck gawkers eager to scrape the crumbs of our insanity from cheaply made dinnerware.

Do you remember the night you thanked me?

My tears betrayed me - again.



What we view as weakness are our shining moments.

You say:

I like your brand of crazy.

I say:

Your crazy never hides.

They say:

She is obsessive/He is narcissistic

We look through to the table; distorted and blended with frosted glass & six shades of outofourminds while they lick at salty-sweet morsels of our madness and mourn:

honesty is lost in such consumption

& despite the callous crunch of psychoses in fickle teeth some hearts will never be tamed.



-

questions questions questions

I sometimes wonder about things that I wish I wouldn't wonder about:

If not for the way life and love have shit on us, would we see each other differently? Would the frustration dissipate with inhibition? I don't like questions that exist without even the ability to be asked. I can imagine the conversations in my head; but to speak or even type these words directly feels too tenuous. It feels as if asking is an admission that would make him sway.

I am comfortable with the state of our friendship, it isn't that I'm not. I don't have any other friend who exists in quite the same way as he does. I am grateful for that; I am grateful to that. I know that if we lost touch (though, if I have my way it won't happen again) that somewhere down the road we would find each other and it would be as if no time had passed at all.

So it isn't that friendship isn't okay with me. It really is. I am terrified of anything else, and I think if it were an option that I wouldn't know what to do with it.

It is only that sometimes I would like to know -- if life and love had not taken such grand efforts to shit on us and ensure that our trust was flushed down the toilet of fate.... would we see each other differently? Would we settle into each other and find comfort in that? In some other plane, is that what is happening?

Do my imagined conversations take place somewhere else in reality and allow for a new option, a new path?

Anyway - sometimes there aren't answers. This frustrates me more than anything else. I want to dream my alternate reality.

I had a nightmare

....there was a serial rapist stalking me. My friends hired him to do work on our house, and they wouldn't believe me when I told them he was dangerous.

I won't discuss the dream further, that isn't the point of this anyway.

It is nice to wake up next to someone you are holding and tell them your dream in half sleep; and know when you fall asleep again the nightmare will be gone, and perhaps he helped to chase it away.

The day after thanksgiving

and I actually do feel thankful today. We had a nice dinner last night, lots of people around waxing philosophical and political, good drinks (I tried absinthe for the first time), and I managed (for once) not to over do it. I feel well today, though rather chilly.

Birchwood's mom loves the book. We had it printed and bound for her. It was a topic of discussion on and off last night; I am encouraged and want to do it for real now, and not just as a challenge. What I have right now isn't publishable - but there are a couple of stories in there, that if I expand on them - will be publishable. I want to be a published novelist. Is that too much to ask? I hope not.

My favorite phrase of the weekend.

"Let's hurry before the cats come back in."

Imaginary Boy is as wonderful as always. See you all in day or two. I hope you had a great holiday.

signing off now..

it is as finished as it can be for now

I won't make anymore changes to this wanna-be book.
I feel as if I have let the cat out of the bag. It makes me nervous. A friend of mine asked if I wrote and shared it with the purpose of seducing. I really didn't. I have also heard the word 'obsession' since I wrote this. I feel a little uncomfortable.

It is like that dream where you show up to work or school naked. I am naked and exposed, and I feel intimidated by it. I like it - I don't think the writing is terrible, but I just showed so much of myself. I wonder if I showed too much.

I am a little scared right now, actually.
I am sharing big parts of myself; I am more worried about reactions to my personal statements of self than I am of the unfinished quality of the writing itself (I did write it in 8 days after all, it can hardly be finished or polished). I want to hide.

I don't know where to hide.

:(

National Novel Writing Month

I have managed to write 50,000 words for National Novel Writing Month. I decided to do this two weeks into the project, and I finished in a little over a week. My wrists hurt. I am glad I'm nearly finished. I'll do some minor edits today, and bind it as a gift for a friend probably Wednesday night. It will be great to see it as a book.

I am mostly confident in my writing - it isn't perfect, and I wouldn't submit it as it is for publication, but there is a nice story in there.

I know I probably drove some people crazy because this is all I have been talking and thinking about, I apologize for being so single minded, but this was really an important task for me. I had to prove to myself that I could do it.

Thanks for your patience, and I won't mention it again unless it is mentioned to me.

Thanks for the support, too.

I hate to bore people with my obsessions, and I suppose I did a little. I'm feeling kind of discouraged by some of the nonreactions I got.

Is that self centered?

Maybe it is a little bit, but when my friends decide to do something like this, I am as excited as they are while they are doing it and especially when they complete it. I certainly wouldn't ignore them when they were excited. But eh. Such is life, no?

To all of my friends I really do thank you - this has been a learning experience for me.

for alex - though he probably doesn't really want this..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tgx81jIXh78

I wonder if you realize you have made me believe in music again. I am not ignorant to what that will mean to you. And I'm grateful to you for it. I will not backspace because whether or not you ever even let me know you read this (and I know you - you probably won't), it is so important that I have this gift.

I stopped believing in songs. I discarded lyrics - fancies that only ever get me hurt. I linked the above song, because I listened to it this morning and you were the person who came to mind while I listened. You are amongst my best friends.

I won't chase you off if I can prevent it. I will keep my imaginings imagined .. and appreciate all you do for me.

You are my favorite wall.

Anyway - thank you ..

gotta get over the fucking hump

I am actually a bit relieved that some don't keep up with this. I am freer to express what I need to.

Distraction from lack of human interaction ..
the theme of the day.

I'm really tired of being:
ignored
disregarded
cast off
blown off
dismissed

..... I have an ego, too.

It gets old, and I don't know how much longer I can really cope with it.
It's fine to care and give
but as a good friend has taught me
when you are the only one giving
it is time to say goodbye.

Guess I need to learn the language of goodbye.

ghost in the machine

I think it would be strange if at 50,
someone handed me
one of those picture frames
that records voices -
I find it disconcerting that I might
hear my voice some years ago
piping out of plastic technology -
a ghost in the machine of time.

forget it..

I am tired of forever chasing people down.
Gonna spend some time in my cave. My friends know how to contact me if they are interested in speaking to me.

....tired of chasing.

the sandman steals my tears at night

I wonder how many people are having orgasms right now..

Would knowing
make time race?

Would it stretch
the frozen pause
before that first kiss?

Or would the distraction
prove too much?

When did I stop believing in god?

He never answered my question.

"Which came first, the chicken or the egg?"

Feathery fingers spoke instead
of knowledge & the loss of virtue
'neath an ancient old tree
behind an abandoned apartment.

What does music sound like from inside the guitar?

The silent aftermath of lust
the way it steals your faith
& lingers long after goodbye

Cold sheets
and shoulders
Percussive -
& more burden
than comfort

Ignored prayers

&

The hushed congregation
of dust on the bureau
in the corner?

Do you sleep with the lights on?

Remnants of belief
settle at dusk –

& cool lips
whisper unprayers
to a god
that never existed.

-

the weight of responsibility

There are words I won't say to the likes of you; a foreigner; a digital entrant in this unofficial game.

reason #4: silence offers its own comfort

I want to remove his defenses one by one. I want him naked - vulnerable. I long to stroke the soft white underbelly of his ego.

reason #3 - drinking is very bad for me

There is static interference gathered at the corner of my eyes. Cotton balls spill out my ears, an overstuffed head underdone before the alarm clock ever went off. 4:30 AM comes very early the day after tying one on. The metronome ticks loudly – sound echoed without answers; bounces the walls fantastic.

Minus the excessive drinking and smoking, I would have slept easy and awoken even easier. No fear of headache could plague my being, no nausea to drip insecurity onto my toes.

Someone please remove the vice grip from 'round my head so that I can think without mental cramps wringing my mind – a dirty washcloth left untended until it has mildewed. The stench is horrible - like popcorn to a 6 stringed Dante.

monday monday

I figure I will start typing now and stop when I am not so annoyed at my own existence.

So, I'm good with offerings
not so good at anything else.
Expect nothing -- and that is exactly what I get. Often, really.
I suppose it is my own fault for not asking for more.
But who the fuck wants to ask? Right?

This is rubbish and it doesn't belong here, but this is the only safe place I have to post anything anymore. So ------- here it is.

It is Monday. I don't generally hate Mondays. They are the natural start of the week. It is Tuesday that depresses me. It sits in the middle and goes nowhere until finally Hump Day smiles it's grin at you and reminds you the week will end eventually.

Ok, so I don't normally hate Mondays. I hate this one. I should have stayed in bed.

Maybe I should have gone to the parade in NYC, found me a nice guido to fool around with until I got bored, stumbled drunk to Penn Station, and passed out depressed and embarassed in my bed tonight.

Maybe not.

At least it would be better than what I have to show for my day so far.

I'm not really bitchy. I'm just worn out. I am tired of trying.

lost in Central Park

Somewhere between the Delacorte Theater and Belvedere Castle it dawned on me;

I had vinewarped into a strange and different world. There were no people rushing to meet the next rush to meet the next wait, and the sound of motors and angry cab drivers honking rage at their colleagues was gone.

Beneath a bridge I fell in love:

an anonymous saxaphone player
stalked me with his maniloquent music.

I had stumbled over some invisible line between now and when; the clickclickclack of horse-driven carriages made me feel like Amy March traipsing through Europe in 1868; sipping the hands of dandies and sketching her home away from home.

The hookah smoking caterpillar slipped off between the trees on the Literary Walk; I heard his grumpy harumph - his New York 'fuck you' - while I daydreamed of Shakespeare plotting to steal my heart and poison it for the sake of art.

Lady Liberty accosted me; pointed her finger knowingly:

'You've given up hope.'

I plodded past her on pudding knees;
eager to discard cynicism
& find a new nightmare.

There was a narrow sidewalk. At six-foot intervals I watched as people sneezed their essence onto sketchpads. Each one ended up with the same 'anywhere but here' smile stamped onto their blank expressions, the artists' calling card, their claim to fame.

Snippets of radiochatter conversations bubbled through & tripped me back into reality. There were cell phones there and women who were worried about getting their chicken at the best price. There were men who asked for directions; a clear indication that they had fallen through the same rabbit hole as I had and were blundering their way back towards sunlight with out-of-character ego swallowing.

In the blink of an eye the world started again. I could taste the rind and smell the backwash of humanity as it sloughed its way into the bowels of New York City.