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What is it? How is it?
The strata underfoot are comfortingly solid, endlessly deep and opaque; artifacts entombed, heaped over, and forgotten. I crane upward at transparent formlessness.
I am. I live, love, learn, make. Is it enough?
posted on Monday, September 19, 2016
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When I think of her, I wait for that feeling from the first time -- that bitter sadness rising in my throat. It doesn't come. The closest thing is the jealousy of knowing that sooner or later her passions will be directed at another. And the confusion at how she romanticized our breakup more openly than any aspect of our relationship, her magnum opus laid out in public to receive the trite sympathies of outsiders. Sure, I have my own appetite for the maudlin, but there are limits.
And my need to flirt, entice and fuck. Is it just an elaboration of my need to know that I can displace her from my mind? Does that matter? She's left her mark and all I can do is paint it over. That's what she wanted, after all.
Clouds like thin, bumpy stucco this morning, scraped across the flat blue winter sky.
posted on Saturday, December 11, 2010
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The sensation of snowflakes alighting on my eyelashes almost makes the cold weather worthwhile.
Batter lapping into the flour-dusted pan. Acrid cinnamon and perfume of cloves, and nutmeg and allspice somewhere in between. The oven warms the kitchen as I wait for the gluten knitting into strands and clots, the caramelizing pumpkin, the swelling gas bubbles stretching the toroid along its axis. The premature crust bursts slowly, striae becoming tears and splits. The sharp, direct odors of the batter blend into a continuous spectrum of promises. Knife comes out clean.
And now, much later, I'm making a late-night snack -- grilled cheese on pumpernickel. So many reminders of her.
posted on Saturday, December 04, 2010
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Clouds in dark lumpy strands, silhouetted against a sky whose paleness had nearly yielded to gray twilight. The moon a sharp crescent above, as it had been last weekend, when she and I parted ways after eking out every fragment of warmth and truth that the long night had to offer.
Me, on my mattress, on the fragments of the last occupant's desk, on the gorgeous floorboards of this high-ceilinged room, which I am not yet doing justice -- all half-unpacked boxes, no furnishings. It all mirrors the unfamiliar emotional landscape. I don't feel lost, but I'm a long way from understanding where I am.
posted on Friday, September 10, 2010
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We sealed our love in a coffin, and buried it alive under shovelfuls of remorse, anger, despair, and numb shock. Now its dying screams are fading as grass sprouts above.
Morbid, yes, but I have to describe that feeling, the sick horror of capricious destruction and willful waste -- arson, or the euthanization of a struggling patient, or toddlers knocking over each other's sand castles. A million shared moments are the grains that we pack together, defying mortal fragility, before we crumble them, scattering them to lodge in the crevices of memory, to be found weeks and years later, or to be encased in blank cysts.
posted on Thursday, August 12, 2010
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Years ago, I made a compromise with myself. Even though my Christian friends weren't able to meaningfully defend their beliefs, I could still talk to them, be friends with them, and generally treat them like intelligent, reasonable people. This experience has shaken that compromise. I'll obviously be avoiding close friendships with attractive single Christian women, but beyond that, I have a newfound bitterness toward Christians and superstitious people in general. The bitterness isn't entirely irrational, but it's not entirely pragmatic either -- there are still Christians whose friendship I value, and they aren't responsible for her decisions, even if they share the thought patterns that informed those decisions.
I can't help but wonder what role the methylphenidate had in bringing her doubts to the forefront. It all came to a head just days after she started taking that stuff. Who knows; it doesn't change anything, I guess.
Weekends are the worst. I have way too much time to ruminate on this shit.
posted on Saturday, August 07, 2010
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Putting one foot in front of the other and trusting that I'm getting closer.
posted on Wednesday, August 04, 2010
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Fuck everything. I don't even know how to begin to heal.
posted on Tuesday, August 03, 2010
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