things, it is not surprising, have gone on. things are always going on, it seems, far too fast for me to hang on to them long enough to make anything stick. and i want to make them stick. i would love to linger. i'm always attempting to linger on things. on ideas and their people, on days and its blocks of time that never stands still long enough.
i have been going over bits of things that people have said, things that i've taken away from other people today, as i do everyday, and find that its not only things that go on and keep going on and words that disintegrate and keep disintegrating but its that it happens to me. or i happen to it. the constant movement, however slow and creeping or fast and flailing is something that i throw myself onto when i feel a certain numbness set in.
where is this coming from? where am i going?
i can only think of an answer to one thing at a time. j wrote in an email a few weeks back, "..i want you to really be alive again."
and possibly i've already addressed this when i should have but i revisit it now. as i revisit everything because i'm looking for something of a shape and a density and a color that either isn't really there or never really can be. i'm looking for possibility maybe. i'm looking for the something more that i tell myself exists because i've come too far, and with my neck too straight and my life so stern, not to have it be there.
i'm rambling. i know it. i'm rambling to avoid what really is the matter because what really is the matter maybe is worse than i had imagined.
or maybe its just one of those days where my voice is somehow locked away. my face caged behind an iron mask. my balled fist crushing what its supposed to be protecting. maybe.
so i thought today about printing a retraction to an earlier entry made about friends coming together. i think it was probably my third or fourth entry. i know it was called outburst. but then i thought about a few minutes more and decided that no retraction was in fact needed. outbursts happen and that's all. they usually are wrong, but they happen. sometimes they aren't proven wrong, although most times they are proven wrong simply by virtue of the intense level of feeling that ignites the outburst in the first place.
i suppose what i'm hedging around, what i seem to be fond of hedging around, is that thing. that couple (the gesture here points to no one in particular; the gesture here is meant to sweep across the coupled masses, the rolling, paired-off hordes).
its that couple thing that happens to people. t said once, "...it's because the world is designed for pairs.." or something to that effect. maybe she said built instead of designed or couples instead of pairs but that's beside the point and merely nit-pickley of me anyway. the point is that single left-handed tall people are at a disadvantage to longevity as it stands. its a long story about a short life, or a shortened life --to be more precise if i can let myself dare to be.. precise that is.
[break] i am happy for them. here is a spot of shine because on some enchanted evening it happened. and its always nice when things like that happen the way they happen. life is a mess and so is happiness. its beautiful. its gorgeous and i'm cheering in the stands i hope you know. [break]
and so, to get back to it: it is that i've found myself in a generously delicate problem. or i've found that i've created another problem for myself.
some truths to light the way:
there is no question that i am fickle.
there is no question that i fall far too easily for the things and the people that attract me initially to a person, a situation or a set of situations. but none of this matters.
there is no question or doubt that none of this matters or that i am rambling because i'm struggling with trying to say what other people don't, or what other people and i don't, or what other people and i don't want to hear.
there is no question.
i am in love with someone i cannot have. i am love with being in love with someone i cannot have or don't wish to have or don't wish to lose. therefore i transfer these affections onto other people who have only a fraction of what the 'original' person has. this is something i have come to terms with. i have said to myself, "enough. enough now" and i am content to be what i am. a wreck. a ghost. the ghost of a shipwreck. fine. that is something that i must take with me and something which, i have learned, does not (or must not) stop me from being attracted to looking for what originally attracted me to the one person. in other words i am looking for the pieces of the one person in other people whom i may be able to touch and speak to and reach and have as a real thing in my life. a real shelter. a real person. a real something.
so-- this quiet is contemplative quiet. this heaviness of heart is the heaviness of every loss and every departure and every separation. of every concave missing its convex piece. of every unfelt embrace and every unspoken affection. this silence is heavy for its size, dull for its interception of other stones that smile sharply to themselves, ready to pierce and point, ready to strike. this is the quiet that wraps around itself as it drops, as it sails, as it slips into another puddle by the road.
and so it is again-- "enough. enough now"
in the air: unravel::bjork
2:26 p.m. - 2003-11-17
Recent entries:
oday.html">the 3 month countdown begins - 05 May 2018
anothrburst.html">another burst - this used to be my playground
newlife.html">begin at the beginning. - 10 April 2008
moody.html">a blanket for a bad mood under the sun. - 25 March 2007
emilludwig.html">...kissing a fool... - 05 December 2006
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