Flames.

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We all have angels.  They come in forms.  Beings, moments, things, persons.  Angels.

Today my angel was there when I awoke.  He sat there as I purged thought and consciousness.  He listened.  He handed me tissues.  He forced a hug.  He was there hours later as I purged material possessions.  He held bags open as I threw that which no longer held meaning.  He.  Was.  There.

As I sat there releasing moments of my life encapsulated in material objects he kept reminding me that I was beautiful.  It was impossible to hear.  I have been perseverating as of late on who I am.  I have no sense of the now.  I want the version of me back that was before him.  I keep digressing.


Fuck.


I want  to offer something good.  I wish I was deserving.  I can only add NorthFace to the fire and hope the flames burn him away. 



 

Regards

I have none.

Discarded like a stranger.
Disregarded as he fucked a friend.
Empathy has escaped and I can only scream at him in my dreams for not listening.  I had warned him in the moonlight by the river.  He never listens.  Listened. 
He heard only his own darkness and appeased it.
So I offer up a cup of truth.  He was not magnificent.  He was worse.  He was the embodiment of everything I never hoped he would be.
He was.  He no longer is.  To me.
He missed the window.  I had left it open for a bit.  A sanctuary if he had chosen to turn around.
He didn't.  He chased dangling carrots instead. 
Through my markings, I tried to reach.  But you can't save the heartless. So he is left disregarded.  Empty.
I'd like to hurt him as much in return but I just don't have it in me.  I am not who he is.
That is why.
That is this.
That is all.

Bricks

I live in a big house.  It’s not a mansion of sorts but for wee old me, it’s big enough.  3 stories of which are not used except a kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom.  I tell you this for a reason of which you’ll come to understand.  Read on.

Houses are symbolic of the self.  In the instance that you know me or actually read this rubbish that I write you’ve come to understand there are some pieces of the puzzle that haven’t exactly sorted themselves into the whole quite yet.  My house has been like this.  Rooms painted colors that I didn’t really vibe with, empty spaces and walls, things from my past that no longer suited who I’ve become etc. etc. – you get the gist.  A half ass ensembled structure housing me.  Get it yet?

This Fall I decided that it was proper time to work on the house.  On every level.  Existentially, physically, structurally….etc….etc…So, I embarked in a redecoration effort of the soul.  Material objects, as well as my conscious.  I enlisted the help of my BFF who has a flair for design and I enlisted the help of a therapist.  Two crucial elements in this process. 

I had come leaps bounds in a short amount of time – feeling as if I just might do this, and do this right.  Fix my house and all that lay within and then some.  I went sort of into a phase of riding on a euphoric high of rediscovery, hope, and excitement.  The world was my oyster.  I was changing the colors of my life.  I was getting there.  And…then…the fucking chair never came in.  This one chair that was supposed to complete the room.  The one chair that I needed to complete my ‘space’ – my now ‘being’, was lost in transit somewhere, lost in a state of coloring fabric and velvet undertones.  And then things came to a screeching halt.  The redesign faded quickly into a repetitive pattern of distain for existsence….

Stupid traffic jams of life. 

And then it hit me.  I had escaped all of the realistic undertones by riding on a high of things to come, not what was, so in essence, I was still…still.  My house wasn’t ready to be to finished because I was distracted from the real work.  Is this vibing?  My house wasn’t ready to be finished because I wasn’t even close to being a ¼ of the way there yet.  It wasn’t about the structure of walls; it was the structure of my humanity that was still in process.  Until that was done, the chair would never come.

I didn’t like this.  I rebelled like a motherfucker.  I did stupid things.  I am an impatient soul.  I can’t help it.  However, I then grew tired and stopped.  I got back to the foundational work.  The most important bit to build this ‘house’.  I slowly covered gaps with cement to make it stronger.  I allowed myself to be in it.  One step forward, 5 steps back. 10 steps forward, 3 steps back.  Life.

I got the call on Friday.  The chair has been shipped.  I think I’m ready for that room to be complete now.  There are 3 more rooms to go that are in process.  By the spring, I think it will be a beautiful place to be. 

Make sense?

Thanks for listening. 

Rock City and Me - Like Peas and Carrots Again...

Beck and I always talk about the effects of being 30,000 feet in the air.  It makes you think.  Maybe it’s the quiet, the vulnerability, the passing over the energy of new lands – whatever it is, I’m not sure but it makes my mind sort of melt and the desire to purge every thought appears.  

Today I escaped the office for a bit and walked around Detroit.  It was cold out but I felt sort of numb so I didn’t notice.  I had my headphones in, sunglasses on, sort of lost in thought and air and time roaming the streets wishing I had my camera to capture some of the beauty hidden within this dilapidated city.  

I had walked back there to see if I could catch a glimpse of some sunlight on my face, but he wasn’t around.  I walked slowly, which isn’t really like me.  I have ridiculously long legs.  I basically sprint everywhere.  But it was calming.  Just breathing.  Just being.  Getting lost in my head for a bit and imagining life being different.  It seemed fitting to peer through empty windows of empty buildings.  

Most people think you’re insane to walk around Detroit alone but it doesn’t scare me.  I have sort of fallen in love with the city over the past couple of years.  It reminds me of myself.  Something sort of broken down, that used to be beautiful and thriving - and that one day might be great again.  Maybe that sounds like some fluffy literary symbolism but it’s how I feel.  I find comfort in Detroit.  Or perhaps things that dwell within.  I find comfort in the hope of it all.  

I thought about my life.  The goodness of it.  The sadness of it.  The loathness of it over the past couple of years.  The hopefulness of it.  Maybe it’s my city of hope.  The place I need to go to in order to be reminded that anything can be rebuilt.

Last night a soul friend held my hand and said nice things.  I know he wants me to be o.k., to find my happiness.  I want that too.  I’m trying.  I just get lost sometimes and veer down the wrong path.  More so, I just get tired.  Fighting for yourself is exhausting – but what else can you do?  

Anyway, I digress….Detroit.  There is beauty and life within that city and for whatever reason it came into my life, I’m grateful.  There is an ellipsis there.  It’s not over.  There is just a pause of things to come.  Like this.  Like me……

Thanks for listening.  

Passing Ships

There are moments when you meet someone and your world sort of stops.  It’s like finding a long lost part of yourself and immediately you miss what never was.  Because it can’t be.  Because you’ve met them 16 years too late and there’s a ginormous piece of granite separating you.

Or something like that.

It’s difficult to rationalize soul connections.  Why do you meet?  What are they supposed to show you, teach you, give you?  And why, at times, does it seem so treacherous that the only way for someone to give you what you need is to ultimately give you nothing more than the mere knowledge that they exist?

The unscratchable itch that tests every boundary of resistance.  I have never done well with boundaries.  I cross them all of the time.  It’s a challenge of epic proportions.  

And maybe there is a moment when he let's you see him under a street light and for a second you can close your eyes and pretend that he will just exist there, in light, beside you.  And maybe in that moment you fall in love.  Maybe. 

There is gratitude in knowing one can feel.  Even if it’s wrong.  I miss what never was.  Greatly.