when things fucked up

i woke at dawn, bolt upright in the clear consciousness of the idiocy of my predicament.

suppose all time was not the way it is with me. suppose it's mellifluous curves and parabolas, it's contractions and contortions, the love and hate were of different mathematics altogether. what if?

one truth comes to me strangely, out of the blue. for no reason i can think of, the thought comes to me that for the first time in my life, i am fucking sorry. and things are closing off.

everything he said is precise and to the point.

i found myself close to tears. but i couldn't cry and at such moments i felt fear edged with despair, and occasionally despair edged with fear.

i was scared shitless. it was a powerful thing happening, a sudden outcome of truth deeper than what i had known about myself -- i hurt him. it was painful, though in the scheme of things pain is a kind of strange word.

yet alone with my thoughts and growing unease, i found myself adrift on a broiling sea of guilt in a galeforce wind.

there are times love would seem to be the only word capable of describing the frightening physics of this momentum. there is desolation and then there is each other.

the only way to deal with the Hyenas of this world is not let them into your lives. blind yourself to their wares.

puke

sleep. the place where a deeper unease can penetrate through sick bone and aching muscle, an unease so fine and lightweight it can settle even on the atoms of oxygen in your lungs, coat them with dread silt, weigh them down, so you puff restlessly all night and whimper into the dawn.

when i'm drifting into sleep, sometimes i jolt half awake for a moment, and i realize i feel scared. then i think about the things enveloping my life. what's outside the mist? surely goodness and mercy shall follow me, i dunno, it seems such a tall order. so then, i think -- and i'm half-awake, mind you -- this too shall pass. it must. i will reenter the world: free at last to choose from all its parts. not just forced to choose only one of them.

forced to choose. hmmm.. near sleep the mind throws words around. compulsion. independence. all that shit.

on any given night i dream of horses, car accidents, mental asylums, endless train journeys, storms, boats.

then in the morning, i wake up, there is nothing but fear, oceans of it, no boat to be seen, and how long can i dog-paddle? the water is everywhere, every direction i look. a mean day, the gray water. nothing is not fear. the day takes place.

this is so unsettling. things. events. they just happen, you don't control them. it's away from the madness of daylight, in my dreams, i find the sadness that my days just can't connect with. out in the day, i can only survive.

i would vomit up my life if i could.

holden

sometimes, because of the logic of the poetry, the name of the game is hauntingly accurate. love. for instance, it was called that because if you were taken out and shown, you wouldn't know it was there. lots of people don't. it sounded obsure and exotic and i wanted to see it. i had never seen a big one and wanted to. i am young enough to be sharp as hell, for my regular doses of slammed doors, crabbily chainsmoking and the traditional family psychodramas. i am convinced that one day my heart is simply going to explode. i mean, go completely kablooey inside my chest. i don't even care. my lifestory: "the woman who desperately wanted to be hit by lightning".

until girl interrupted meets catcher in the rye.

talk about someone speaking to you from beyond. it just woke me up and never in my life have i lunged so instinctively for someone as though he was intrinsically a part of me -- like a leg or an arm i'd casually misplaced for twenty two years. he was left staring at my poor, battle-scarred soul, under the enigmatic smile. he tried to think of something, anything, he could do for me. he emptied the contents of his soul into mine. you could imagine his strength -- his soul -- was a white laser beam shooting from his heart into mine, like those light pulses in glass wires that can pump a million books to the moon in one second. this beam was cutting through my heart like a beam cutting through a sheet of steel. he could take or leave this strength that i so obviously lacked -- but he just wanted it to be there for me as a reserve.

he'd never given one nanosecond's worth of time to anyone -- all mine, just for me to hold on.

i could give my life to this man. no regrets.