Silly Lily

​She turns exhausted

Black streaks face me

I am struck by heavy

Fears. Unmade,  dizzy. 

She threatens words

But unchains me

Goodbye.  Goodnight.  

Love, pain, pity 

take her to bed.  

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Purple

Sadness is coloured purple. The purple is soft like velvet and silvery, and it hangs heavy there. I find it with my eyes, find there the weight of it, the feel of it, the way it breathes. I see it in his blue eyes, they stare, and I am there. Reflect me yet again, I am reborn in pain within those staring eyes. And I am gone when they close and look away, to stare, for he turns inward to his own mind and sees yet another version of me, the one which ticks mechanical, which speaks a color over my parts and makes and unmakes me. I am segregated within myself within his mind behind his eyes. I am apart, yet whole in outline, only in outline, and the rest of me pools into colored segments which only make sense to him.

I sense purple within my own mind’s eyes, when I close my eyes and think of him on the off chance. I see his purple shirt which he wore today, and I see the way all the times I have seen him before coalesce into the single being I imagine him to be. I see the way purple colours the scene, the whole scene, separate and apart a thing then coloured, separate and apart a thing we see. The purple rather is my mind’s interpretation of a sense which makes none, and is feather-light, and oft and almost imaginary.

He asks me questions and don’t ask me what was said, or what he asked, or my answer for I don’t remember. In fact I forgot even as he said it. I forgot before he said it. I forgot timeless ages ago. I never know, and when he asks and I answer I see I make no sense and neither does he, for we speak the same language but hear different meanings, and I am forever stuck in translation, in inability. He asks and I try, but my mind merely scatters in a million directions all desperate to run away, and when I latch on to something solid he bats it away, from me, and I am scattered once again.

It is like a cage, this room, but not for my body, or my sense of freedom, or my mind. It is like a cage for my fear. Let it run itself out inside here, let it exhaust itself chasing its own tail and howling at the moon; the invisible, elusive, ephemeral moon, lazy and unchanged, illusion, disillusion, personified. It is like a place for my fear to exist in the here-time, and I am lost within the storm of What-Is-But-Never-Manifests, until it fills this cage with it’s trembling carriage and oscillates wildly inside my mind. My mind separates, and I am purple, and I am the storm, and I am, I become them, the separate parts of me. And I am all I was, there, at that point I’m time. And he directs me, behind his eyes, directs and pigeon holes me, neat little boxes in which parts of me reach out between slammed lids. And I am purple no more, once again I am me and we are me and he and I am free. I breathe.

I feel the purple calm as we draw to a close, the purple dissipates into ether and then dream, the silence fills with reality, the space it once was fills with noise and emotions more real than the ones which are. And I fall back to myself, back to the one I want to be, a nice kind generous me, which offers comfort that I would have myself but is never for me. And then I leave and I am safe again.

This perspective

I stand alone.

Whitewash the world
reflects back a blank canvas,
And I paint the vibration
of my thoughts upon it.

My thoughts create
the people and the grass, 
the sky and the gravity, 
the hunger and the sadness,
the ultimate whine of emotion. 

My thoughts create my fears, 
intense and longing, 
wide-eyed and full, 
brilliant and decadent. 

My thoughts create
and I am unmade and lost in them
for they consume me, 
mountains pile on me stretching into infinity
for every want ever desired and not, 
every decision done and discarded, 
every possibility sits upon me, 
weightless until the weight of all of them crush me
slowly in the illusion of their reality. 

And I am unmade and become them,
so buried beneath myself created ideations
I am relegated to ideation itself, 
and my thoughts create more of me, 
all in aid of trying to find me.

And thus I am unmade. 

Light,  however,  glimmers periodically. 

The people I created with thought
walk and talk
with will of their own, 
as if their holographic construction
evolved into actual sentience, 
and I interact until I perceive them as the reality. 

And then I love and hate them, 
worry and coddle them, 
feel the persecution of them,
until I am buffed by their own thought forms
and I am further unmade.

Then light gleams, a single clear ray. 

I fall in love, 
and she is so bright
inside my closed eyes,

the lightness fills my soul
and it shines out my chest, 
between my breasts, 
and I am momentarily whole. 
For a moment I am
unburdened
by the infinite mountain
of thought debris. 

And I shine, 
and I glow, 
and I absolutely expand
into a feeling of airiness. 
I feel as if I were light and air.  For a moment.

For a moment. 

She is there, 
just not here, 
here she is dense,  a creation,
and one that hurts even as it
brightens me,  inspires me.
She looks like a creation of this world, 
and I see her with open eyes
And thorny flaws
and skin so precious a color I want to weep at the sight of it
for it is so precious to me. 

I enjoy her smile, 
bask in the light it throws, 
and I revel in each and every
gentle gesture she makes
towards me. 

And I am undone.  I unravel, 
I literally unwind all the ropes of
pain and anguish
each infinite whim and thought
conjured to bind me, 
and it feels like falling, 
but I am mere whittled away, 
for a moment at a time,
into what I was, 
until my creation overpowered me.

And that is how you see heaven I think, 
see past the illusion,
see beyond your own minds expression, 
and glimpse the other side. 
Glimpse the next realm, 
another reality,  the other world. 
The other’s world. 

I felt God when I I looked upon her, 
eyes wide open and tightly shut,  and. . . 

. . .   And I think for a moment she saw me,
from her own world,
from beneath her own infinite mountain, 
from her own living grave,  I think she saw me. 

And I was with her in some timeless place for a time.
Until we let the thought forms
back in and they distracted us
into separation. 

The world is whitewashed
beneath the paint and
peeling paper and
splattered beginnings,
heeded endings. 
The world is empty
and I mask the emptiness
with imagination painted like
so much acrylic scree
stuck to the thing. 

And the people are just people, 
extensions of me only
as they are mine mind
come to life. 

Until I saw one and chose to see, 
loved one and chose to disclose.
Until I opened my eyes to
the illusion of the mountain, 
so infinite
and heavy
and imaginary.

In Control

I cannot be with anyone.

Inside I feel such pain. I don’t know why nor where it comes from, but it manifests in this strange urge to eschew company. I haven’t spent much time around anyone in months. The days stretch long and open, I wake when I wish, sleep when its needed, eat for pleasure not routine. My life revolves around three solid things, my healing, distractions, and love.

This love is novel. I remain unfamiliar with this type of love.  It is unique in that it is singular to me.  I am the only recipient.  I am the only source.  I am in control of its generation.  I bask in the flow.  And this is my joy and regret.

I feel joy I have learned this,  it is almost a new skill.  It is almost a new dawn in my life. But I also miss being loved by another.  I miss it.

This missing drives me to peruse online profiles but this habit has become a source of pain for me.  I peruse and it gets stronger and stronger in my chest,  a feeling of unease so great it feels like a stone covers my heart center…

And I am alone again.

I close the application  and I am able to breathe through the pain.  I have learned not to fight it.  Pain exists. And it has just as much a right to exist as anything.  It even has a purpose.  But it doesn’t feel nice to cry and not know why. To poke around inside my head, berate my psyche, interrogate the evasive me,  this is futile for I feel I have gotten somewhere …

… and I turn around the next day to discover I have only gone in circles.  I am enough for myself and that is it.  I only have myself and that is it.

And I am both content and ill content with that.

I would love to have dates,  so I say this.  Then it becomes untrue. This wretched thing come up,  overcomes me it,  and I find I am fighting fear more frightening that any first date.  Why.  Why can I not move on and get on with it.  It feels like my life is on hold waiting for itself to begin.  It feels like love,  the concept of it sung in song and tale,  seeps away into the cracks between memories.

Soon it will be gone I think.  Loving her was so distinct but now it fades.  And I am left alone.

I am reminded of last loves.  The strong ones,  the ones worth the bitter ends they became.

She remains a hollow in my memory,  a holy thing,  a fragile love. And so much anger builds behind it,  for I am forced to think of the good times with the bad.  After all she did not treat me with courtesy.  I didn’t know it then but I know it now.  I treat myself now as she should have done and wish I had known better.  If I had known how to treat myself then she would have known how to treat me.

And the anger fades.  I take responsibility back and it fades and I am grateful for the lesson learned.  And I miss her a bit more with the knowledge.

I cannot be with anyone yet,  because the pain is still too great even now.  She does hold that place,  it’s been a year.  But I cannot let go so another could claim it.  I cannot let go.  I am afraid to let go.  I fear unlearning the love I hold now.  I fear unloving myself when I lose the love of her.  I fear being alone with a lonely me instead of one eschewing company.  It is almost better to pine than it is to be loved.

Here I at least have control of my heart.

 

 

Dear X,

So randomly I found myself downloading Twitter of all things. I suppose I just felt the need to get back in touch with the world. I’ve sorta eschewed social media for the last six months. It’s better this way I figure, these people aren’t my real friends. Real friends call and visit and care and stuff. Why should I post shit for them to see when they are just … Fake. Facebook is not a place for real friends I’ve found. Once they get you friended they fade into this background wall of plural-ness. I’m reminded of the worms Urusla turned the merpeople into. Plus my ex is on Facebook and she … Is a source of great thrill and anxiety for me. Whatever I digress.

Um, I found myself on Twitter and in the course of setting it up I synced my contacts.

Yours was the only one which I might have been interested in, I hesitated knowing I wouldn’t be serious in anything like a permanent follow. Damn. The idea of a request for that was so daunting I couldn’t even think about it. And last minute I was drawn to click the little picture. The one of your car.

Which I was suprised to see was the only thing I could see. Damn. You’d blocked me. And on a site I never even used. That’s commitment. I hate to see my old facebook then. You know the one I never use which you never unfriended me on, not for years after that whole debacle.

 

I stared at your car, beloved old thing. And felt my heart crack and bleed for the first time in ages. I didn’t realize it had been hardened like stone until that moment. Now I felt something strong there for the first time. Pain. Like betrayal and surprise and that moist feeling in your throat before you cry.

Damn.

I don’t think I’I’ve felt that hurt in a while. All that time, I knew you never blocked me once. I sorta built up in my head this paragon of kindness, who didn’t deserve what I put him through. Who suffered it with unwavering aplomb and elegant demeanour. Smh.

I tried to put myself down again, like usual, automatically imagining the event from your point of view, which really made me color myself horribly, like a grotesque version of me as both villian and resident crazy, … but this time I stopped. I realize I’ve changed a lot since then. I might still feel shame for my actions, but I can’t feel guilt anymore. In fact the more I write the more it fades. I rationalize now in kind with new beliefs. We both did agree to bring out in each other what happened. And me, I was more broken than I ever knew. But it wasn’t wrong. It was … Perhaps the darkest time in my life. The darkest I’ve ever sunk to. Perhaps what they mean when they say ‘Dark Night of the Soul’.

I worry if it gets worse than that.

However even my newfound peace and forgiveness does recognize a pattern. My closest relationships end inevitably with someone blocking me, and usually me them. Oh the wonders of social media.

I used to write you and apologize. Wallow in my guilt and wail it all out upon the ears I remember being so … Willing. What you gave me, can never be replaced. Regardless of anything you or I ever did, you gave me acceptance, for the first time. You gave me support. And there was, I don’t know if you remember, but I felt for the first time, some admiration come my way. Way back before things went sour I mean. If it weren’t for you I would have never survived my relationships after. Maybe even my life after.

Thank you so much for that.

And I realize now something else. Those other relationships, all of them, even with my family … They all gave me something. Even my ex who hurt me worst of all, loved me best. I was thinking of her today, missing her as a person. And then laughing at myself for forgetting how horribly she treated me. And still having to force myself to recall each and every moment of ill treatment to keep the picture of her balanced, to keep myself from swinging into a pining mood.

I realize now it doesn’t matter how she treated me. The memories of love linger more strongly. And of you, even stronger than my own actions, the first spark of pure unadultered friendship. My family, my mother, might hurt more to think on and delve into but I’m sure there is a lot she gave I don’t want to acknowledge right now out of anger. And that is okay too.

In fact. Let me offer something back to you, X. Let me help you as you once did me.

I accept you don’t want to hear from me. And that is perfectly okay.