It was merely a face
Pre-emptive ideals of lines with worth
It was merely a face
With bones askew
For yours, not mine
For you, not me
The most adored by blind eyes
Such epitome of youth
Could make one want things
Things of which one dares to chase
He whom, a siren, a prince
A god among men
Walking the depths of your eyes
Chasing attention through unyielding charm
Just one happenstance away
From a life ignored
Bathing in a future imagined
Groping at life’s fateful wires
Directing the chances for good.
It was merely a face
I forgot you a clear day’s walk
In turn, a notions slave
I forgot you your endorsed relations
And the death of our kinships veneer
As lorn beliefs ran adrift
For imagines virgin desert, sprang
Where squandered plains be sparse
And of immortal dreams wayside
For needeth nor want
Through the fathoms of time
Worth the canvas upon which, without
Not one would fall to pray
To prey against all cursed
Without which, would free
Desires captive ‘neath minds graves
Imagined alone for imagines sake
A people blank
Seduced to believe in more
Dream of your own
And to your owns benefit
It was merely a face
I avenge, in vain
To corrode all stained doubt
Withstand till just ill a feuds ruin
And posses that is my own
I hate, in vain
The way it falls against
What we agree to be
My eye dawns a slope to
An eternity of lies
Alone with my skin and bones
Worthless amounts of flesh adorn
Twisted and broken structures
My wasteland of unwanted limbs
Mangled by disease and decaying cartilage
Where hopes lay dormant
To die or to dream
It was merely a face
I crave more than many
Were it mine
Be it mine, I’d hide
I crave more than many
If it weren’t chemical’s troth
A brains rapeless plight
To control one’s last steal
Than to assail my own minds invasion
And purify what’s real
I hadn’t the strength to dam my minds deluge
And the whispers that taunt of breathless days
I hadn’t the power when visions taught of beauty
Nor muscles to tackle roads crowded with torture
I hadn’t, I’m sorry
I wished with all that I could
A steady existence
With some sense of love
If you’re reading this, I scorn thee.
With beautiful words of sparkling truth
Works from the deep
Stored from his hearts enemy
If you thought this was the time
The right place of mind
Then one would kiss
Kiss further beyond and to, the rewritten story
It was the kiss that bade me from feeling
Who in their right mind
Can look at the bigger picture
While such a hurtle bore it’s ugly face
Goodbye
I say
The happiest of the tears
Bitter sweet in taste
Of blank overwhelmed
A bullet I have dodged
I rolled your breath beneath my truths
Circling under the curves and folded regret
My superfluous longing for more
But less of who you were
I walk with awe and wonder
With open eyes and content minds
Until those I compare
Bring the race from the foreground to my feet
Had I wished for your countless suns
Then love could have brought me thus far
But I write with a tongue worth sliced
And heavy hearts I carry for all you
I defy your beauty within
Pacing to acquire your presence
Broken as you
But attached with an energy aspiring
Drawn close to the hurt within
Waiting your call
Defying the past everyone else sees
I defy your defiance
I could always carry the music
But once it stops
It leaves with your reality and mine
The dusting of thoughts
That can’t but bare me down
Last night he dreamt.
Beauty so empowered
On the face of his own
Grace fallen, as broken does
To shine among the depth.
Some to live for love
And some to dream it
Interpreting the screams
The screams we scream
The cry of alone
Relentless
Why forgave if release bares none
To dream of fear alone.
Last night he dreamt.
Lands whom children bare new life
Emerging fields, boundless to hope
Babes of desire
Dreaming our dreams
Nourishing feverish minds
Drawing ageless breath
Dampening the pressures outside.
But diseased corners of a mind
Shaded dark can’t let be
Niggling for space
Wrangling between dark pasts
Broadening crevices to tainted sick
Infecting a life once worth love
Waiting to be saved
To be saved.
Last night he dreamt.
I was saved
I saw the face
Bright lit beauty
White of a million celestial lights
Liked to fiery blossoms
Dotted to make a whole
To draw a smile
To glisten an eye.
I saw the darkness revere
Cower in huddled awe
Sink to a whispered nothing
Dissolve into the light
Once was pain, clouded, erased
Coveted only by shrieking howls
Their fear replacing mine.
Last night he dreamt.
Of a body filled
A heart boiled black
Had I returned?
With a blackness to pollute
Sickness pumped from vertebrate to navel
Surfing veins and swimming down bone
Black smog clogging the spirit
Darkening your colourless eyes.
It’s love that fuels her
Vulturous craving
Rapacious to the end
Suckling dripless hearts
Tongues scathing for distant tears
Lovelorn cries
Blood serves depth-like possession
The most profound despair.
Last night he dreamt.
Though bottomless you lay
So do demons scratch at prayers
Where sole darkness survives
There but, lies a child
Beneath rock and the rubble
Trapped below lowest low
Of your torment he hears
As why tears flood his ears
With a sadness he cries
Wales of strength and of power
Lighting his way in the depth
A lantern flickers its light
Emitting fulgurous sparks
Whipping the blackness a torn
A flash so miniscule to think
Had itself from innocence born
But like such ravenous a dream
Is the crusade he runs thin
Akin to searching for its partner
In which it may flicker in sync.
The unforgiving talons of the past
Suffocating ankles, drawing deeper.
Regret-filled darkness of swirling complexity
Breathing a fog-like embrace ‘round what’s left of your hope.
It’s got you now, they say
It has had you for years.
Its vine-like encircling arms
Entwining an unwindable knot.
Around your legs
Those legs you loath.
Smooth and brawn, a strong, slender landscape
From both a bold hill to curvaceous valley.
Its grip of almost sexual intention
A bondage hold enticing yet knowing.
It breathes out to switch, its grasp tightens
Breathing out then in as arms coil thighs.
Until you’re one with the lengths of tenuous yonder
Pastures of past. A singular form.
Swaying in depths of immemorial disaster.
Joined limb to limb, black pain is the mortar
That joins skin abreast to the silky black matter.
Like oil licks ‘gainst water, a part, yet not belonging
A mix it can’t handle yet to fight is absurd.
Its grip undeniable, their reasons unknown
Just pulling and pulling, its instincts betrothed.
To a notion of history, a whilom time it so loves
A monster of darkness, creeping below.
A thin lining of pleasure, a precious concoction
A precious intention.
The evil genius with a mind
The quondam mind of no longer.
Your arms outstretched with an impulse to match
Its opponent so equal, an opposite’s equivalent,
A balance unbalanced, pure inclinations doused simple.
Your lungs have forgotten their purpose
Now filled with black water.
You remember the days they were stretched with such vigour
A life in a bag so pink fresh and alive.
Under the surface where the pain resides
Is a fight yes indeed, a struggle to be free.
But it’s safe in the dark, the ice water feels warm
Like an old consort’s embrace with bad intentions for you.
A few metres up above the waters bright surface
Is where one must work and kick start the heart’s purpose.
Fill lungs with clean air, move joints to stay ‘float
Down here where you’re trapped is safe, here alone.
Alone with your thoughts swimming in water bestowed
They’ve got you anyway, they say, You’ve been here too long.
You’re a part of the scenery
You’ve created this world.
Once you’d have thought that your life-raft would come
All knowing and eager to pull you above.
Together and shining, your arm he would pull
Break you free from beneath, fight the demon’s acquiesce.
But you hang here suspended, your arms losing strength
Sinking deeper within, your eyes growing dim.
Forgotten down here, every soul so consumed
With their own, with their own, with their own destiny’s truth.
But who could blame them, I say, their lives have sailed through
There’s no way they’d see you, beneath their own views.
Their expectation of life and their goals for a lover
He’s not waiting down ‘ere with the drowned souls of the broken.
So follow your road, your utopian vision
I’ll make it one day,
With my last breath bound for heaven.
This beer knows more about me than you ever could.
To be lonely is to accept the truth of your apparitions. Needing the ability to view your surroundings and judge to be judged against the truth raining down against caged imagination. Some are doers, some are viewers. I can see every glance and hopeful inquisition you fake to achieve an outcome you can’t but believe in.
What does it take for someone to stomach feelings of adoration or care in one’s life or wellbeing? Does anyone really posses the energy to reach outside themselves and think in depth of another? To creep past the obvious superficial responses of society’s agreed expectations of what you’re supposed to do and say and say and do… I’m guilty as any other.
What does it take. To flip that switch.
Dependency. It compels a thirst to be what they need. To reach in abundance, has no correlation however to anyone ever grasping back. Surely there are some, of course, that speak an innocent truth at the first but nothing to come from it. For in digging deeper, the sobering fact dawns on a simple necessity of being drunk to interact…. to be intimate.
We will never find anything as fascinating as another personas psyche, so differently woven yet so vaguely similar in its projections. For my own, learning is paramount. Nothing is more important. Yet it’s all to no accord.
“It’s true I always wanted love to be. Filled with pain.” – Antony Hegarty.
The rocking incurs, bed sheets dripping, grasping passed numb toes to ground you closer to a reality you don’t wish to discern. The truth which you’re unable to trust is the thing you know to be most true, but fear to tread. Tearing at your hair, scratching at the crest of your skin helps momentarily, seeking an answer, rummaging through your mind to find a reason as to why, a cure for the disease. Coursing instantaneously from pain to sadness to anger to deafening numbness. Chills worth all but little a sacrifice, formerly baring a beating chest from once the agonist reigns. But, you’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.
The chance of survival is so minuscule. To appreciate every passing second, despite the past is a past to despite. With grounds to value life for residence. Simple existence. Is it ever enough? To flourish in itself is a battle against the odds. Yet other’s appreciation of your own crusade is what urges our own validation and for no one to acknowledge one’s subsistence, could you fade to nothing? It takes one to know one after all.
Ashamed. Natural inclinations fused with the dark past defying reverence. Influenced to fall privy to all such fallacies, fashioned to thwart all hope from your once callow, whispering mind. A life hostile to any sense of inspiring, steadfast amore
What then does it take to be chosen? Are you sitting upon society’s pedestal, flashing your correctly aligned and preapproved jaw line? Or does a spare cigarette blemish one’s invisibility methinks were none? Distant stares from the corner thinker rival only your own known qualities. But what characteristic attribute stains the young loins of a contestable suitor? Truth beyond truth beyond truth… surely this is enough. Enough for enough. Enough to be enough.
Can’t we just be enough?… To be enough.
“Once you’ve fallen from classical virtue. Won’t have a soul for to wake up and hold you.” – Rufus Wainwright.
Every aspect of your unforgiving world is a tool for distraction. Perfectly organised attire, the art of your food and the food of your art, drinking to saturation, music to deafen. An appetite to cram, to partition, to engross. Distraction from an image, the representation of your failures, neatly boxed into a grain-less reflection. Everything cornered to a moment, captured in a mirror…..
The first glimpse, created to remove you from the delusion of your fabricated world. Used to engulf willpower and draw you in further until every freckle and curve are examined in a way that furthermore triggers the mirage in your mind that swindles a picture of normality in carving your life story into the pool of tears on the floor. The reflected manifestation is your only true oracle. Every reason it failed, it ended, it died, you fell, he left, you couldn’t love, you scream, you panic, you’re alone, you hate, you’re in need, you ache, you breathe.
Somehow, at every beginning of each fabricated age you’ve merely created to ground one’s self from your own heightened aspirations, you manage to convince your head’s audience of how mystifyingly beautiful you are from core to core, strength to strength. How no seemingly priceless gem, rarer than rare could ever equate to the astounding and pure exquisiteness found in the deepest reaches of your soul no matter its dim potency or colourless appearance. It’s there in wait, for that connection fashioned to shed and drag from its sinking existence. You succeed however, to betray your own vision, painting your deceitful world in red fire to mask the lies you stack till the weight is subsequently dense enough to keep on keeping on. This bandaid, strong, heavy, reliant, cracks at the sheer presence of a reflective surface. Echoing the truth, pound by scar by abrasion by crooked and faulty but hidden replica until the blood runs freer than ever before. Till found speaking aloud to imagined deity, begging for definite resolution in eradicating the last few splinters of your allotted sanity. To end it all.
No amount of contortion, moulding or manoeuvring of molecules and skin cells changes the certainty in an image. No work, no starvation of mind or stomach amends the ever pressing reality beating against your reddened cheek. The truth that scratches at your temples, hoping for change beneath the soft exterior.
Seize anyone, anything, any offer of warmth and unity. Any source of fallacy that resembles a bond you may acquire for the end result is far more than you beyond doubt, really deserve. The one dreamt in years prior is so unthinkably distant that for them to distinguish any glow beneath your murky and deteriorating remains is a task not any could bare. They would see what everyone else does, deformity.
Reaching, forever reaching. All because the pieces don’t match between this jagged cage and once smooth complexion aching for the caress of a surgical knife. The top half, the bottom half. Two forms moulded into one, stuck with a glue that is evident from tip to toe. Smashing through the broken perception of one’s own self-evaluation isn’t just a task designed for thousands, but is crammed into the 4×4 space of your own tiny mind.
To be whole… is a search in vain and no amount of tears you shed would ever be enough to reward your penance.
It’s really quite liberating having your morals stripped from the core. Your basis of fundamental balance torn from their roots relinquishing you, momentarily poised in a limbo. Lost in the wilderness of your will, balancing on a knife’s point with the strength of an ox resting against your forehead…. It’s everything I preach from my pulpit, grasping at the shards of glass shattered from your forgotten psyche, swallowing the joy from inside the pain…. but of course if you choose not to follow, I’ll tolerate abandoning your teetering precipice and allow you to remain safe and cosy in your imaginary life raft of agreed symposium…. if only until our next meeting.
“Are you sure you can fly in this condition?”
“What condition is that? I’ve been in this condition my whole life,” Liir answered. “It’s the only condition I know. Bitter love, loneliness, contempt for corruption, blind hope. It’s where I live. A permanent state of bereavement. This is nothing new.” – Gregory Maguire.
There was a time I would have permitted moral incarceration affecting one’s own damaged acceptance of the darkened horizon, in accordance with my own. One erased anecdote after another leaving gaping holes jittered throughout the archive of my human relationships, the damage being destroyed character development on their behalf…. Obnoxious? Perhaps, but are you not one of the undesired? Or maybe, just maybe, you haven’t sprouted into bloom.
This, my friend, is no longer the case.
The years upon years of scrounging helplessly blind, scratching at the jagged lining of the shadowing walls, relentlessly pulling your weight up by the tips of your cracking fingernails has come to this; I will no longer stand by to witness an injustice alike, befall another. Guarding the entrances of the dangers we so desperately seek, is our post, one and all. My own I set loose upon myself is to cast you out when re-enacting my mistakes and failing to live up to my expectation for humanity.
I am not without error, that error being as a rule, tactfully produced to disrupt an outcome and cause a fence sitter to fall. Compassion has unquestionably died. Self assessment is sequentially unheard of. Thinking for a moment about somebody other than yourself is a puzzle of awe, trepidation and blanketed confusion.
My greatest fear, out of all loathsome terminations and probable recurring of past ailments, is that if I were to bleed, you would do nothing.
“You have blood on your hands, and I’m feeling faint.” – Rachael Yamagata.
I think we can easily rule out destiny, fate, karma and the like… But are we really in control of our lives, at the front helm of our makeship destination? Or are we just a product of consequence?
To me, life is fighting to catch your breath in the middle of the ocean. Just as you reach the surface down crashes another wave forcing you further from your goal of dry land. For most of us we have well and truly fallen off the side of our ships, with the exception of a couple life rafts that float by to bestow a moment of peace before the next onslaught of waves. We spend the majority of our time failing to clamber back on board as we witness every other soul cruise by in their luxury yachts.
I’m speaking of course, relatively and not in the sense of a third world country but in comparison to our own expectation in this… dare I say it, society.
Statistically speaking, in life, is it not impossible to receive negative experience after negative experience? Blow after blow, wave after wave without the release of a positive response, an opposite reaction to balance the apposing forces? Think of a game of chance like the lotto, or rolling a die or even triggering your music collection to play songs randomly. Would you not declare that it is impossible to have the winning lotto numbers be won from the same store, in the same town ten times in a row? Or that you constantly receive the number 1 every time you roll that die? Or that one single song out of thousands keeps being chosen and played over and over, in spite of the rest? It is this anomaly that enforces the law of randomness. If something is to be proven random, then we must accept that the same situation can occur over and over again, for that act in itself is outlandishly random.
So it seems, our lives, being a haphazard cause of events, can remain trapped beneath the suffocating water-filled relapses with us curled in darkness hoping that that day comes when ‘heads’ land face up. Various few say that through exertion we can each ‘control’ our lives and steer it in the direction of our purpose. However this seems, time and time again about finding that job, making those millions but never about real happiness. Notice I didn’t say true happiness, that concept we are indoctrinated into believing fallible, just like the idea of control. I’m talking about a real, realistic, plausible happiness.
At this point we would look back in our lives, to the past week, year or entire life to find those small glimmering exceptions of contentment. Where times weren’t so bad, to suck every ounce of stillness from those pearls of elation till we remember things aren’t so terrible…. right? Then, what if you reflect back and see nothing? We are the ones who look forward, eager for anything better than this fake existence we survive amongst. There was a time when I would gaze to the future and see nothing but black. Imagining myself at 20, 25, 30 and seeing absolute darkness. I’m glad those days are behind me, but in much the same way I’m as lost as ever.
The things that assist me now are the same that lended a hand as a kid. I close my eyes and fantasise the opposite. I manipulate my reality and pretend I have those things that bring real happiness. That people are different, that friends are genuinely friends, that He thinks of me with regret, that every person in the street I pass is a loving and dear person that if I fell, they would catch.
As Gandhi once said; ‘Be the change you wish to see in the world”.
I say; “Plug me in and let’s play pretend!”
With the magnitude of unused power stored in your psyche…. they say you can change.
I remember as a very young child sitting outside in the backyard gazing up into the sky watching the flickering effects the sun makes between the blue and my eyes. I remember searching through the endlessness and feeling the overwhelming sorrow that is loneliness. But somehow I had the innate ability to realise this shouldn’t be so… this isn’t ‘normal’. You grow, but it’s still there, swimming in your genes, a difference you can’t exploit because the seriousness of the situation won’t be addressed for only oddity will bleed through. Nonetheless you focus and from the pits of despair you can adapt the situation and try to turn all that is bad into good, for you can only really be yourself, can’t you… in a moment at least.
Alas, life continues and through the years it throws endless challenges your way, like a ghastly reality TV show with no prize at the end but simply a moment to not exist. The audience however gains some sense of voyeuristic pleasure until you realise in fact there is no audience. The stadium chairs roll away and you are left wondering what is the point of all these obstacles and mental barricades when in fact the only person in the crowd that matters is far away enjoying the benefits of their own game…. the game that doesn’t involve you.
Think of those 3 seconds when your past comes flying towards you and time stops as you realise everything you’ve been running from is in human form, standing a few feet away and you are given one of a few social choices to react. This is the point where you think you can choose your own adventure but in your dumbfounded stupor you simply stand and breathe in the calming moment. For you are everything you are and were, could and will be, all rolled up not in your perception of yourself, but theirs.
It was evident that after two years of hurting, writing, singing, talking, asking for advice, using in analogies and keeping in the back burner of every daily moment, pinnacle or otherwise…. something needed to be done… physically, ritualistically, with witnesses, minute takers, the whole deal. After the first, I threw his bracelet he gave me into the lake we would frequent as a pivotal moment to myself and the unlikelihood of the lake, that it’s over for good, in reality and my heart. The same henceforth, needed to be done again. I replaced the lake with a bar and the bracelet with my words. With a round of drinks and the friends most affected with the repercussions of my turmoil, I threw it all away. Not in the hopes that maybe this time I’ll win, but in the firm knowledge that I WILL!
The freedom this brings convoluted with the hindsight you’ve somehow achieved, has teared a hole in the fabric of the race and slipped you in directly at the finish line. No longer do you have to worry about the next stage of the grieving process or wonder why they’ve chosen to repeat themselves time and time again. It’s simply over and the only possible winner is really yourself for no one else, including he, is actually in the race.
This brings to mind, once the game is over, that life is yours to play out in the fashion you wish to conjure. The question bares to mind of what type of race you really should jump into next and with this new found knowledge you begin to see the hierarchy amongst racing tracks. Thus brings on the new battle. You have escaped the forest of thorns but now must make your way through the ocean of dead and soulless duplicates to find your higher ground. You don’t have to be a cultural analyst or critical theorist, but I do prefer if you have some concept of moralistic virtue before you lose all sense of intellectual facade gained from the curve of your ass.
“It’s got to happen, happen sometime.
Maybe this time…. I’ll win.”
Has it been enough time to write the screechings of yet another analytical self loathing dialogue since the last debacle that founded a new reign on what i thought was me?
Life didn’t always have such a stronghold against the throat of my affection.
There was a time when others held high the branch of appreciation for fat and loathsome ooze that once would trickle among unknowing fans.
There was a time before treachery would sneak and tap tap tap against my brain, willing me edge by edge towards a fumbling sense of chaos in tune.
Step out from the crushing thoughts your mother diluted in your morning OJ.
Reminisce the good and tear down bad.
Take from everything you did gain and from all you know and engrave it here
Fuck
To no avail I haven’t yet succumb to the realisation of how to authenticate such a response that could allure a sentiment of somewhat minute interest.
Do you think you can ascertain such arbitrary gander?
I don’t!
If I were to think like everybody else on the planet, maybe some consistency would prevail….
It feels like falling, through a rabbit hole or like your presence is slightly disjointed, like a movie reel skipping and the image jittering. Confusion sets in when your actions unbeknown to you are constantly affecting everyone around you in what they convey as drastic and terribly wrong. All retaliations thereafter are redundant due to disbelief that your silence is the cause of such grief… but then again it’s not the first time silence has put a stop to your life.
It feels like at any second Laurence Fishburne is going to dive out of a helicopter and give me an ultimatum between a blue and red bill. It is THAT disturbing to me, this place we’re supposed to call home. A home shouldn’t feel like this.
As depression sets in you can feel it surround and consume you like a big warm blanket ready to bring together every forgotten thought or dark nagging cloud once dispersed. This blanket however is so unbelievably ironic. As every bad thought enters in and scenarios, potential or reminisced all turns into the same pain and numbs you until you can’t feel it or anything else. They could all bring you back, sit you down and beat you blow after blow, but you’re in what feels like an apathetic, drunken stupor where nothing could possibly touch you anymore. It stops you from verbalising or creating any defence logically necessary, like your mind projects razors into the throat that forces your eyes to just observe the destruction falling around you.
“You may be acquainted with the night, but I have seen the darkness in the day.” – Amanda Palmer
There must come a point, statistically speaking, when someone out of the billions must break through the chaos and actually appreciate my deepened and emotional truth…
if they can get passed my stilted jawline that is.
So, 24 years old today, the big two four as the teens say. Today I officially become unattractive to all gay men alike…. but at least I get a free boost juice… right?
Now now, let’s not get over-dramatic, we all know life doesn’t end at 24. It’s over at 25!
So with this social theory in pace I have only one more year to fulfill all the things I have yet to experience. Mind you in my, some would say short life, I have experienced more than I would wish on anyone, not even all the-love-of-my-life-assholes-who-don’t-deserve-one-ounce-of-forgiveness. I’ve partaken in an abundance of torturous experiences including operations, near-death experiences, religious oppression, mind-fucks, sexual abrasions and enough heartache to soak the pages of every teen in this galaxy and the next… but there’s that one nagging land I’ve yet to discover. I’ve been given tastes, well, ‘a’ taste. Once. As fleeting as it was, it was a glimmer.
Every year I promise that it’s going to be the ‘happy year’ where regardless of outside stone-throwers I’ll manage to stand above the beaten and bruised, risen high amongst my accomplishments and face my new found reality that I am happy… or at least content. But happiness seems a dish best served microwaved. That’s right! It’s soggy and only seems to last a week at a time.
2009 was not my happy year but since I’ve been rooting for this magical year since my teens I wouldn’t be doing myself any poetic justice if I didn’t hold true for happy 2010. Although we have a couple months to go and hell, it’s spring! So may as well give one last urge of horoscope hopefulness and wish for the best!
In other fundamental anomalies I have recently changed my mobile phone number to escape the haunting grasp of the ex that just won’t die and leave me to wallow in my own misery. The obvious high points of this monumental occasion is that I yes, get to now choose whom in my contact list I WANT to have my new number and also a totally overlooked but in no way trivial occurrence….. The forever cancellation of my life in every myspace/facebook/deviantart/randominternetsiteinserthere aspect in the world from the “love of one’s life’. Yes, the love lost, the love that slipped through your fingers, the love you only began to glimpse, the love you spent 2 years getting over and scrambling over page over page of lyrics to create the songs for your new album. The one you knew you’d never ever ever ever ever ever ever never ever never never never ever hear from again butjustincaseheeverdoeshestillmighthaveyournumber…. and now he doesn’t.
With all the messed-up irony and kinky coincidences in the universe… I never saw this one coming… and wow, what an immense feeling of freedom!
So I’ve decided to start writing a blog to basically whine and gripe on about the world but possibly even promote any sparks of joy I find, all in the hopes that I might discover some people out there in internet land that may agree with me… or not…
…but i guess that’s hypocritical to the point of this first blog!
Today my bull-dyke roommate told me I wasn’t ‘gay enough’ after I mentioned I never ‘fit in’ in any kind of group or community regardless of sexuality, culture or belief system. She then went on to point out after I said I would use my points of indifference to my advantage that I need to camp it up, be more typical, try to blend in…. in an essence, BE the stereotype. Now anyone that knows me well would know that I prance around in makeup and sing show tunes with the best of them… but still, it’s not enough to be accepted in an already segregated society??? What?
So if you’re placed inside a box, and then the people inside that box still make you feel uncomfortable, we need to break out and do our own thing. Now to be true, I’ve been doing this for years and years without my even knowing. This is probably why I find it difficult to make good friends or fall into relationships as the colours I poses just don’t taste exceptionally well. It’s like my niche pallet is congregating on some far distant taste bud, on another tongue, in another mouth, in another galaxy! It seems plausible that this is why on every step of my musical and social journey everyone has always said NO. You CAN’T do this. You WON’T do that. But I’m here to tell you, if you don’t ‘fit in’ then grab your dissimilar flare and FREAKIN RUN WITH IT!
Uniqueness isn’t celebrated anymore, at least for now it remains unpopular. Queens and fairies are despised, even amongst a community already despised. Anything remotely emo is despised, even more so than phags I’ve discovered. Plus gender ambiguity is a huge ‘no no’ unless of course you’ve already shoved it to the masses and placed yourself up on a freak pedestal. However, this is what you must do!
If you are different, unique, weird, quirky, or not fully accepted even in an oppressed, niche and specific sub-culture of intolerance… Use it all do your advantage. Use it to get to that position in life, use it to make people stare at you on public transport and hold your head up high when you’re confronted by your so called community and told you’re ‘just not right’. For this is the flash that’s going to make you explode and shine, I’m sure of it! I’m going to use my flame to score that radio gig, to sell my albums regardless of whether they love or hate me. To find those few special friends who appreciate me regardless of my oddities and to find that one person to whom I stand out to, bright and brilliant, amongst the crowds of clones.
Was it hard again today?
When all you thought you’ve overcome
Turns and turns, and turns
Twists and panic burns
Running through your blood.
Last night
The room it too did turn
Tables, bodies and limbs
Your hands keeping me warm
Suffocating as it was
It breathed a life in me
From old to new
One spark to light the fuel.
And I think of the others
With false words and worlds of burden
With flickering tongues and cheap intrusion
And I saw it all, my own eyes obscured
Saved from their freedom
A tawdry stigma’s allure.
But it’s easy to say
At the end of the day
Before the fall into engulfing pray
That with all angst
You’ve felt so little
And it was hard again today.
Pain thick as a river deep
Light and dark between the door of our pasts
Colliding like misused parts
Parts of a whole which never pass
Pass from my hand to yours
From yours to something new
Don’t let the shining example of your dream
Move you to force what’s out of your control
Your taste in a heart
Seems long-winded and vast
Could you cope knowing in times
The precise moment in which I cry
Would you throw one thought in the barrel
Where my abased disgust lies in keep
I’m writing for the last time
I hope you all can hear.
I’m being hurt for the last time
This, I want to make clear.
Know what you want before you have it
Know who you are before you lead.
For every time you leave me standing
Is another question I’m forced to heed.
Stop changing, stop vacating, stop running away from me
Stop teasing, stop deceiving, stop putting my mind at ease.
Every time I finally find you, you tire and wither and heave
It’s the last time I’m ever going to let you
Take control of me.
I still remember the first time
You tightened the ropes and jeered.
I still can feel the first time
I gave in and released all fear.
I never know where you’re hiding
I never know when next you’ll appear.
Just trust and know I’m not standing
For anymore bullshit or fairytale veneer.
You are my past and you’re my future
You’re the craving at night and the feeling left after.
You’re the hole and the empty, the unknown and confused
You’re the question of meaning and the hatred of the used.
I’m beckoned to that one thing, I answer only to you
When you’re not there I don’t believe you, when you’re real you don’t hold true.
You’re a life that’s driven blind and the reason for wars
This is the last time I ever believe
I’ll learn something from before.
To find yourself alone in times
When warmth and chaos collide at night
Between the fight, as cold as ice
The demons cross
Below, beneath
Above, around, seething down
They wait to strike but never
Alone and cold, the ropes they shiver
Across bare skin in hazy weather
Renewed each day to find the same
The questions you can’t but hinder
Alone again, torn from within
Not knowing what rules to remember
To stay above the rising fire
It’s safe but old, this feeling forever
Nor high, nor low, just continuous never
You listen and fear but can’t disappear
It’s the cold that makes it better
You like it there, beneath the air
Just lying in Jealous December
Never a feeling so endearing
A mindless say in all portrayed.
Never a power so intrusive
A thoughtless drive to call your name.
Never a quiver of thunderous proportion
A stranger’s plea to please betray.
Never a vow to stay the season
A hopeless chance for which I pray.
Never a failure to feel afraid
A lifetime of joy in just one day.
Never a moment to live, love and fade
A small shining pardon from the world’s decay.
Never a question to not need answered
A safe disillusion to fall in grace.
Never a freedom to live life distracted
A connection so perfect to ever erase.
I look to you now, so enriched and alive
Two sets of hands, two sets of eyes.
I reach for you now, a longing to find
An equal to share with, an engagement of minds.
I feel for you now to crave and involve
This pounding sensation between kindred souls.
I ask for you now as lightning bolts spark
Will you be mine and resign a piece of your heart?
The nurses welcome as if you’re celebrities, crowding around, as if routine. Back off! I’m not going to faint again!
The body, now in a separate room, curtains drawn and windows blacked out, as if the light outside will deteriorate the corpse faster
… Anger.
From the corridor the room is black, secluded. I wonder if the nurses have a catchy phrase for such a room and its occupants, perhaps ‘Dark Room’, or ‘Hell’s Pass’. Everyone inside is wailing, murmuring uncontrollably as I stand in the corner, arms crossed, eyes dry
… Confused.
STOP TOUCHING THE BODY I feel like screaming, stomach clenching as It wobbles back and forth in all its white, open-mouthed, vacantness.
No, remember It as before, fuck, too late now you’ve seen It. Should It be touched? No, can’t. Now stuck in-between, don’t leave feelings unresolved, last chance… chance gone
… Regret.
Disperse from black room, searching for a mirror. Holy crap, I hope I look ok, I should have worn my other shoes, stop stop stop, why? Do I look sad enough? Quick, rub your eyes, make them red, am I weird? Sad time now… sad… sad!
Its nurse walks by, life continues. I begin to ask what’s happening, what are they doing in there, but decide against it, you’re meant to know.
‘Are you alright dear?’ ‘Yeah’ I lie.
Is now a good time to tell her I’ve lost her pen? Air needed… money?… Yes, and escape
…Shame.
‘2 Hours’ the parking meter beeps, stay, don’t run, be normal for once, you abandoned early last time. You should eat, no you should torture. Take me instead, or take me with.
Return to find police, Huh? Why are THEY here, go away! It only just fucking died, actually don’t leave, you’re cute.
‘No sorry, she’s gone, ok bye!’ Says a noisy nurse on the phone, oh wait, she’s not talking about this, duhh, world and you… doesn’t happen
… Selfish.
I wonder who will get what, oh oops, Pop’s not dead.
‘Hi’, I declare as more family walks in, observing me, legs close to chest, perched on brightly coloured, over-sized couch. Idiot! Too cheery, tone it down
… Stupid.
A smile evolves as a sick old lady struts by. Wow she’s skinny, skinner than me, old people are supposed to be fat!
‘I am coming Olga!’ says the noisy nurse. ‘So is Christmas! Cough cough splutter’ says Olga. Ha ha ha
…Jealous.
The many flowers remain on the window sill in all their irony. Should I remove them, oh wait, a new patient resides, I see you’ve taken Its spot, well, enjoy the flowers.
On the drive home a dying lorikeet found its way beneath my tires
… Release.
