For ugly footwear friends.
For ugly footwear friends.
now that the dark places are gone
do we just
instantly become angels?
everything we know
is not so easily forgotten.
to pull the thorns from
inside your bony cage
The introduction of a thing
Everything must change.
Draw a thin line down skid row
Weave through asymmetrical gaits
Wildness gathered in packs
I am riding my bicycle
as fast as I can
Breathing in the rotten air
Whether it is meaningful or meaningless is impertinent. Meaning only shows itself in hindsight, when all has already gone its way. What you do in this moment, and the infinite fractions of time between this moment and the next moment are paramount. This piece of time can go unnoticed, or last for almost an eternity, depending on how you look at it.
I want to believe the thread of interconnectedness is real. I told a friend about it once — about the deep sadness the universe had shown me, along with the greatest joys and the transitional states in between. I told her we are holographic persons, a little bit shiny and metallic — refracted through and onto many surfaces — parts of us are here and some are there. And when we find love, some fragments begin to solidify — they find their cooperating pieces and weld together like skeletons in Watts. So at last, something feels solid and sure… but remember that this too, is temporary. To shatter, and recycle is not the last step in the journey. She looked away and told me, “Hey, that is beautiful. But I think you need some help.”
Well, I guess it’s back to work then. The words to describe what happened to me haven’t presented themselves until now. I always toyed with the fragments, little phrases that rose to the surface here and there. I wasn’t even sure what really happened, or how much of it was “real.”
Maybe it was you that brought this on. After all, I did meet you on his birthday. So I wonder if the dead have ever left the living, or if that transference of energy just continues moving on. I’ll see him again in the deep black sky, or a piece of you in another beautiful human or perhaps in the bark of a thick old tree.
When you feel strongly about doing a thing, you must do it. And then move on, without regret.
Sometimes they get you. You get swallowed alive and find yourself drowning in a bizarre monochromatic hurricane. You see, there is this wooden door in the back of your head — it keeps the fragile contents of your mind away from the chaos outside. But in this hurricane the door is shaking violently, the wind rushing by the splintery surface with the brutal nonsensical intent that only nature has. She will rip you apart for one reason only — because she can. When the latches finally blow, and the wood begins to creak and crack, all that wind and violence and chaos rushes in — your eyes get wide. “Ohhhhh, fuck.”
Again, whipped around like a rag doll. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I guess we’re totally screwed now. But the problem is this: it’s never done. You can hold a gun and contemplate the trigger, but that doesn’t solve anything.
“Get up. Try again.” —excerpt from 2012 journal.
In tears I am trying — with every fiber I am trying — just to hold it all together, to stuff the spilling organs back into my skin. Frankenstein has burst, and here we are in piles once more. You’ve lost, but that doesn’t mean they stop coming. Struggle to stand, that lightning’s charging up again. Fight them — one by one, like you have one life left in some sick video game.
I learned to stand still inside my buzzing energy. I had always been carried away by it, at dizzying speeds, from one end of the planet to the other. Each discontent a launch into some other hopeful beginning. Perhaps the injury was necessary in order to immobilize me. I gaped in complete fear of what was my own mind. I cried, I smoked endlessly. Every part of me was screaming, my skin now burning with electricity, emanating all this force that used to initiate flight. So where to, now? Unable to move, I was bombarded by all the electrons and protons, the uneasiness and despair, the scraps of joy and broken happiness.
Looking behind me, I saw a path of destruction. Shards of metal lie everywhere from the accident, ruined by gravel. Clothes stained from the blood of so much heartbreak. I notice something — an audible change. Silence — what is that? I taste it, and it is sweet. Like fresh fruit covered in rainwater. That night, I slept.
“Last night, I woke up from
a terrible, terrible dream —
where everything I knew
and loved was ripped away from me” —excerpt from 2012 journal.
I found myself constantly running – away from and towards one end of the spectrum to the other. After many passes of being snapped to the other side by a giant, rubber banded catapult, I had to stop. Stopping, though, was like being whipped from a speeding motorcycle. The impact nearly neck breaking – a moment of freedom before slamming into the hard, asphalt ground. Physical pain only momentary compared to learning to walk – one more time – but this time with pride in the way. First I had to see – and as I opened my swollen eyes I saw lightning flash in blue against the pink sky, and for the first time I was defenseless as I saw them coming. Each presented him or herself slowly, methodically. Without introduction, but with an aggression that shakes me even still.
Fighting demons while wounded is a difficult task. All your limbs are not at your disposal. Breathing is hard from your sloppy stance, and wide sweeping punches are a burden on your bruised and bleeding gut. I fought them all. First one at a time, then in multitudes, until I found her – deserted youth looking out at me with vengeance in her eyes. You abandoned me, she said. Reconciliation, the next step. To reconcile with an abandoned piece of you is awkward. I mean, it is the essence of who you are, arguing with who you’ve become, but somehow a compromise must be made. Core Processor, meet Altered Data. Now you are Frankenstein, parts of you stitched together until the seams heal into functional but noticeable scars. But some day down the road, balance will come.
I felt the infinite thread of connectedness that the plastic woman in Beverly Hills shares with a starving child in India. The swoop of a dipping swallow becomes the trail of a star’s last light. These are Jedi Mind Tricks. A budding leaf in it’s organic spiral — up and upwards into the same shared sky as the penthouse dwellers who scrape towards the edge of our vain and distinctly human constructs. This is the world as it is, whether you want it or you don’t. And at it’s core it is burning, grinding, melting mountains and generating — slowly churning until a crack in the surface causes an uncontrolled burst, an ooze, and finally a sizzle. And from that sizzle a star is dead, a new mountain is born, a tadpole wriggles from it’s egg, a man blinks and someone somewhere feels an invisible hand on her shoulder. Is it coincidence? Or is it magic?