Thursday, March 24th

The day reality collapsed for me.

He said that almost every one that he wrote

he wrote for/about me.

• Jul 29, 2006

another season

I found her dying in the snow, her last words reflecting hurt I could never say. In the moonlight I remember when the angel call my name. The killers were coming I knew there was a chance to die again. Like the season raped and bleeding, in time we'll see each other again. She said I don't want this to end, not like this, not with out a kiss, not with out a song from out of the gray. Only in a dream will the sun kill the moon, only through faith will tender love be consume. Another season I found her crying in the rain, if you love say love, but never forget your pain.

End of Days

5 weeks in a box. in a cast. no in a box. 3 weeks in a cast. a month sick with a week's reprise. nothing done. forward movement escapes me. I watch myself function through a mirror. I watch myself reflected. I see my smile; I'm smart enough to play off my reactions, smart enough to give just enough to each person to keep them from thinking I've lost it. I haven't lost it. I never had it. Every moment in life is just a motion that I could have chosen to make differently. Each a section of a play I could have written to change, but still written. NO5THING IS REAL.

nothing is real. A wandering man is never truly happy. I could stop here, or there, or here, or here, or there, or now, or then, or soon, or never, or never, or never, I could start here, or there, or here, or now, or never. or ever. It makes no difference. Each is a still-walk through a motion that I watch through a reflected shield of glass. I stumble and try to live so that no one will bother me. So that no one will bother me. So that no one will bother me. I'm a juggler, I juggle so that no one will bother me. Integrity means nothing. Love means nothing. Hurt is real and so is escape. I avoid hope and live for small moments of pleasure. I am less than the animal. I am already dead.

Things I will do soon. Find a job, so that no one bothers me. Escape or Continue this relationship, depending on how much hurt/bothersome action is involved. Continue or Discontinue another relationship, depending on how much bothersome action is involved. Finish school very late, minimal action. I may get caught up again in it, to the point where I forget about the motions..those are the best times b/c I can act without knowing I'm acting.

I don't want to die. There is nothing to live for except the next scene, because I'm here and there isn't anything else to do.

Cue Action.

Update?

Nothing nothingnothingnothing. Having a broken ankle is not so fun. School is driving me insane..I'm not going and I may fail this stupid programming class...my teacher won't write me back. Scott defriended me on facebook and kicked Shaina out of class like an ass. He chose his side.

Nothingnothing nothingnothing nothing.

I owe the fucking UNO 847 dollars for dropping classes. That means as soon as this cast is off I'm working my ass off.

Fun fun nothingnothingnothing. I'm in love with Ivana. What else is new right.

Black Velvet

is about Elvis.

It's also taken over my thoughts. I didn't need this new rollercoaster, but here it is, at the most inopportune time of my life.

Shit.

Theron,

I left for houma and
I wanted to drive off the road
I thought to write
"Bury me with him" in blood on your floor
Abby licking my wrist wounds.

There is no one who will ever be as important to me as you were.
You were my everything.

The Rush

            The Rush

                                                                                   By Jennifer Tem

There were only two hours between our births. Our mothers were born a month apart. Both of our fathers had died in the war and both of us were the first child born. Both of us were females with a rare birth disorder that left us struggling in the ICU in the first hours of our lives.  We both had names that started with K and ended with IE. How much more of this can I tell before you start to writhe with disbelief? Perhaps I could have gone on for another few sentences, about our matching birthmarks and yellow-gray eyes. But eventually I’m sure you’d call bullshit. And you would be right.

Maddy and I were not born two hours apart. Our mothers were not born a month apart and although both our fathers were dead, Maddy’s was dead from an overdose and mine was just dead to me.  I grew up in the lower Bronx and Maddy grew up in Ohio. It wasn’t until a dim night as an undergraduate that I met her in a dark bar in New Orleans. Somehow the same country loneliness ran through us both, regardless of our different upbringings. Both of us wanted a father we didn’t have, and looked for him in every man. Both of us hated ourselves and the world and only were happy when spinning into a downward spiral, and we weren’t even happy then. Not truly. It’s what brought us together. We needed the company of another failure.

The first time we made love was in a rainstorm in Peru. No, it wasn’t. This isn’t a romance tale. The only time we fucked was a night when both of us were drunk, and I was crying. Maddy was high on coke and so was I but at some point my drunkenness outweighed everything.  I took her home where I lived with my sister and her husband and she held my hand while I cried over the shit pile that was my life.  She left me after a time and came back with bourbon and we took shots and kissed. Her fingers seemed to know exactly where to touch me. I remembered at that moment what a friend had told me about making love to another woman was like making love to yourself. But it wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t love. It was loneliness amplified by the knowledge that we were already two very fucked people. 

We woke up next to each other with the smelliest breath and hangovers from hell. I had to leave; I left her there on my bed like that and called a friend of mine and we had sex, normal sex that you have between a man and a woman. I tried to not think about her but my mind kept wandering back to her lips and her fingers and our deep friendship. When I returned Maddy had left a poem on my pillow from Pablo Neruda.  I held it and thought about her and wondered why everything that happened seemed so far beyond my control.  Later that night she was at the bar. I was already drunk and she was already high. We came together like continents crashing in rushed time.

“You left me”

“I’m sorry..”

“What are you scared of? Don’t we deserve some happiness?”

“Maddy...”

I looked into her eyes and saw everything I was afraid of becoming and at the same time already was. She ran her hands through my hair and I reached up and kissed her deeply, forgetting all my preconceived notions and faults. She could be my PERSON. I WISH I could tell you this story, but I was a coward and I left her at the bar. I didn’t go back the next day, or the next, or the next after that.

Maddy disappeared from my life.  I don’t know what happened to her. Later on I did some traveling,  had my heart broken a few times and  looked for love still. Then I thought about Maddy and how I had left a girl cool enough to leave me Neruda poetry on my pillowcase; a girl who understood me.  I wish I still had that poem but nothing is sacred enough for me not to destroy. There is no happy ending…I’m alone now only without Maddy. Wherever she is, I hope her hell is more forgiving.