and then i almost got hit by a train

if you go at the right pace-length, you can run down the railroad tracks skipping every other rail, hopping from one to the other really quick. it helps to look down so you don't trip or miss a step. i went running down some abandoned tracks on the outskirts today.
and then on the side was a big forbidding bit of grass and bush looking scarce with their non-existent winter foliage. i deviated, and ran through it, my destination the bridge on the other side. two steps in and my angle was bleeding and my shirt was stuck. i whipped around to untangle myself and poked my finger on a huge thorn, which were everywhere. it bled, a lot, huge red drops running down my hand and dropping onto the trees and dirt. just one little prick on my finger and suddenly there is blood everywhere and i feel as though i've been seriously wounded.
when i got home and washed my hands off, there was hardly a mark. how odd.

mix tape

i'm breathing a bit easier recently.
i broke things, shattered fragile pieces, wreaked havoc on a clean room. the best part is, i did it on purpose. i meant it. i methodically caused this destruction. effortlessly, even. lines have already been scored, and the white covering in the room is just old dust, asking to be blown away. a few swift movements and i smile in response to the sound of shattering.
when i say i smile, i mean my mouth moves in that direction. but there's nothing on the inside. could rip me open and find nothing there. you're too late. i've looted it myself already.

when i say let's keep in touch,
i really mean i wish that you'd grow up

yesterday

i lost my prism.
you'll know when i find it again.
tell then, i'll stay away.

it was an accident

who the hell gave you the right to any part of me? under what pretense did you gain the ability to do this to me, to reduce me to a person who is reduced at the end of the day to a pacing, frantic, shaking being who can't sit still and can't move if she tried.

you're pronouncing his name using the wrong kitchen word

he gets angry so i don't have to. notes are dark and low, indulging in something painful and unspeakable. the scales and chords are pervasive into the soul, speaking to the tragic hero in me. bits transition smoothly into melodic and major runs and whole pieces at times, but the dissonance discord disparate motif of his work is never betrayed. and through a few nocturnes or a rare piano sonata (i like the one in C minor) the bad feelings in me are addressed and slowly massaged out. the knot in my chest softens and the lines in my forehead smooth and i take a deep breath and release it, taking strength not in my anger but my ability to feel.

this is the last time, i swear it

i thought i needed you.




no more lies. i did need you.
(although conceding to need is such a weakness that i damn the part of myself that gave in.)
and now i hate you because something stupid i saw in you made me weak,
gave me the right, i thought, to lean.

but the dry reeds broke and i stumbled, confused and ashamed and hurt


thankfully i found my balance.
no more leaning.

kryptonite

i like stars. they remind me of myself, ever since childhood when the sight of them didn't remind me how small i was but how big things can be. stars are their own strength. they burn and burn and burn in a bright and everlasting self sufficient flame--nothing is too dark, too big, too frightening. they take care of themselves, destined to live and feed off their own energy and their own fire. they do not burn for others but for their own independent purpose, but have the power to light entire solar systems or be seen 427 light years away.
but even stars burn out. it's a general wearing-down process as the star loses some critical battle or it's a major cosmic disaster that the star can't withstand that throws everything off-kilter and it changes its very composition, often ceasing to exist as we know it. and what happens then? as a cold and lifeless rock does it fall out of existence, merely drifting around the cosmos it once ruled? is there a way, do you think, for them to re-start again?
i hate i have to bother to ask this question. but, into the universe, does failure have an antidote?

let it shine

my little flashlight bounces along. bounce. bounce. bounce.

i've been holding onto it for a very long time indeed now. there's a thumbprint on it where my fingers have to grip it, so i'm used to the groove. sometimes i play tricks with it and throw it in the air and catch it again. wheehwwheeehhwwhheee bounce bounce.

i walk along, but sometimes i like to run. bouncebouncebouncebouncebounce.

i'm not sure what's around me, because the light isn't big enough. it's just a dot really. but sometimes i like to shine it out to see if anything will illuminate. bouuuuuuuu....

and i think i've forgotten where i'm going, except something always tells me to keep going forward so i right the little beam and continue onward. bounce. bounce. bounce.

the batteries are wearing out, so sometimes the bouncing is interrupted by spurts and sputterings. bounce. bouscchhh---nce. bounce. b-----

i whistle loudly to pretend i'm not afraid, but i clutch the little light tightly to my heart and walk a little faster as if maybe i can get there before it's gone. bboouunncceebboouunncceebboouunnccee.

but oops.

the sputtering got worse and it turned off for good. bounce. boun-- b--

imagine that. my eyes adjusted.

bhalo na

distance, literal thousands of miles of space between us, makes things clearer. for what seems like years and at times only days, i've been restructuring and rehashing the part of the universe that seems out of line with my personal view of it. the ins and outs of the whole world swam around my head and i could only see one thing at a time. but sitting under a mosquito net just about as far away as i could possibly be, my world was laid out like big puzzle pieces in front of me. i moved a few things around and could see the whole picture at the same time and fit it all together, and then i put it in my pocket safe and went about my life. i felt stronger. bigger. better. i wasn't afraid anymore, wasn't insecure or confused or hurt. it all fit together and it was compact enough to deal with at once. but a short bus ride later into the city and the noises began again. and all of a sudden i lost track of that feeling and everything started spinning again. i think it might be slower now, or smaller, but i can't put it in my bag anymore. i'm tired already.

slamaly kum

the city is alive from first light. prayers are said, directed from the loudspeakers all around, and the day begins. honking, shouting, the noise of cars and rickshaws rattling through the streets. people prattle and bargain loudly and quickly, their voices constantly raised above each other. the motor vehicles cannot go a few meters down the road without applying the abrasive horn. in attempts at hospitality or flirtation the people you pass in buildings and on the street must constantly talk at you all the time. it's impossible to sit and work in peace for a few minutes without interruptions of people talking to you and around you and about you. the student meeting place is always abuzz with conversation and gossip. it is noise noise noise from morning til night.
it's as if everyone wants to be announced. a desperate and childish plea to be noticed: 'hello! hello! i'm here!'
in the densely packed city, where if the crowds don't get too close to you the heat will, where streets are cluttered with transport, where too many poor men are competing for menial rickshaw customers, where houses are dirty and packed with people, where loudspeakers call attention to the most holy of personal experiences...we have lost the ability to be private.
we have forgotten how to sit alone with ourselves for an hour or two, how to take the time to be at peace with ourselves, why to keep our voices low and our words few. this is the real tragedy of poverty. when there is nothing to return home to, all of our business must be conducted loudly and in public. because solitary brings awareness of self. we can learn much about ourselves from our absences and our silences. but with no place to be alone to find our essence, we must make sure to overcompensate out loud. otherwise we might disappear.

the bombs bursting in air

i've never been one for patriotism.
maybe it's the age i grew up in, or the mindset i've always had, but it just doesn't suit. i look back to the times of the revolutionary and civil wars, people fighting for ideals and mindsets and ways of life that were inextricably connected to a country. i see world war two and people fighting for the lives of the captive and against fascism of a country threatening to take over the world. and there were people who were patriotic then...but it doesn't really seem useful anymore. what prevents me from feeling as much for peru or the loire valley or dhaka as i do for new york city or utah or the rocky mountains?
there are admirable and equally deplorable things about my country, just as much as any other. of course i appreciate democracy and the extent that it's practiced. i enjoy having good services and the opportunity to move freely about. i'm grateful for the precedent that a written constitution set for the world. and of course i'm glad to be a part of a country that works as well as mine does. but there are problems (that i don't choose to get into right now), just like anywhere. and my country is not the shining beacon of light and truth to countries throughout the world. people are happy everywhere. some places, a greater percentage of people are happy than we can boast at home. and i'm blessed for the things i have and grateful that i was born where i was.
i've just never been able to muster up very much enthusiasm for patriotism.

dissolve magically absurdly they'll end leave dissipate coldly and strangely return

i've been taken advantage of my whole life
because i work too hard
and do to much
and don't ask enough for it in return.

love is watching someone die

the colors are vivid, but no one else can tell.

i snap the photo with a slow smile while relishing in my secret:
the image, the moment, the picture is recorded twice, but the color is only in my head. black and white ends up on the printed picture, the finished product, the image i want the world to see, but i keep all the colors in the file in my memory.
they are mine
mine
MINE.
the closer they are to my heart, the brighter they are.
i don't like sharing.


but mostly i'm afraid of diluting them, the more i share them out. it's too important to take that chance.


i don't know what i would do if those bright hues were lost for good

first watch

i saw a sunset today. through the slats of wooden blinds next to the corner cupboard, between the silhouettes of the other buildings in the parking lot and the mountains in the distance. i wished i had a better view and my nice film camera. the colors were wild: smoky reds and bright oranges and dry yellows. they didn't blend together like normal sunsets. the clouds in the sky divided the colors into little stripes and swirls in the triangle that i could see. against the brown of the mountains in my view, and contrasted with the colorless settings of the sun that usually take place, the scene was breathtaking. the heavens illuminated in a quick and bright burst of stain. it transported me to a brighter place, somewhere more alive, more magical. i was electrified. i wanted to run out into the street in bare feet and shout nonsense to the birds. all the colors in the room were suddenly as dull as dirt, and i looked back out my window to the radiance of the end of a day.
impatient summons called me from my reverie, and by the time i could take another break from my work the color had gone, leaving only shadows. and when i finally got to leave, the sky was black, and i drove home in the dark.

wines by the glass

i am in love

and it is the greatest thing
even when it hurts. even when my heart is threatened to beat itself out for being in love.
because when you're in love, your heart beats in a different way. it's stronger, louder, more obvious. it takes up space in parts of your body that it has no business inhabiting: heads, hands, legs, lips...and it quiets down when it gets an answer. but when the receiving end is silent, the heart cannot help but yell louder, screaming for attention. but that need pushes the boundaries into something darker and more hurtful.
lust. i try not to, for i have something far stronger and better than that. the instant gratification i seek from a passionate and desiring touch pales in comparison to see someone's soul. quick and cheap cannot rival even the most futile or unfulfilled adorations. and true and unadulterated and unconditional love stands above all that.
lust and easy passion are a mere shadow of the real thing. they lull one into a false sense of attachment, a traitorous feeling of happiness as evanescent and fuzzy as figures dancing on the wall of the cave.
at times, your body is alone for a burst of time, but with love your soul has companionship eternally. the whole of love is beautiful and useful and wholesome. a stint of color in an otherwise dark world. love lifts, enriches, strengthens, and protects. the purest feeling of all is just to know what it feels like to love. it is a juxtaposition of a calming sense of peace, and ecstatically pure joy and excitement. it feeds the soul. you can drink it in and eat it up like a starving man at the end of a long, long fast. love warms from the inside, stimulates the senses from inward out to the tips of the fingers and ends of the toes and everywhere in between
unlike lust
loving is a giving and renewing resource. it is something that can be offered without any thought of return and not lose its strength. this i know. i've felt the bitter sadness that can come with unrequited love. i've experienced what it is to be powered every day by love for someone, but to be sure that your feelings aren't returned. it's ridiculously painful at times. but those times are powered by lust. by a feeling of selfish desire, of physical yearning. pure love doesn't take anything from you. lust does, and leaves behind only pitted emptiness in your stomach.
even when being in love causes the pain, you're still better for loving than to never have experienced it at all.
i believe in love.

down on the knees of my heart

"organized uncertainty, not chaos" says the talented marimba player simon boyar in reference to life

merely existing can be maddeningly crazy. the world rushes by and around and over and under us, and all we can do is just hold onto ourselves and try not to get swept away. caught up in so many tasks and to-do lists, it seems as though the clock cannot hold enough time in its mechanical pieces to functionally get through them all. and if we were able to schedule everything into our over-booked day planners, there are always plans that fall through and unexpected incidents that change our lives in the blink of an eye. often we have all these grand ideas and hopeful aspirations, and live our lives around them. we look to the future with a single mindset, with an unchangeable desire cemented in our crystal ball. but.
de repente, todo es diferente, y no hay nada hacer
it's always frightening, to find oneself in the middle of an open desert with nothing familiar in reaching distance. the wind picks up and the sand blows around as a dust storm chaos in all its glory.
and it seems so unfair. it's hurtful. it's confusing and chaotic and completely unnecessary. it wasn't time for him to die. we were supposed to be together. i thought that this was where i was meant to be. this isn't what should be happening.
but it is.
so we must learn to look at the mess-ups and the deviances and the tragedies as something grand and meaningful. to take their purposes or even their randomness and make something out of it. somewhere in the universe there is an order to things. there is a plan of attack that the cosmos are just waiting to put into play. and we rarely see it, except for in hindsight. (and at that point, the only thing to do is learn from it for next time, but that never helps in the moments of our suffering.)
so we take the trial and use it in the moment. we become tortured artists, tragically productive in our pain.

this is the first day of my life

i rose this morning to new snow and a strange quiet. the high bedroom window had been open all night and my blanket had fallen off and i awoke, cold and alone. my ears rang with the silence.
there is a specific quiet that accompanies new snow. it's a muffling of distracting noise, a deadening of invasive traffic, a dampening of worldly ambiance. scarcely an inch of the stuff calms the chaos of living. in the sequestered mountains, it's always easy to hear yourself think, but the snow adds another level of solitude. it insulates the world, capturing the din and tucking it away in its cold crevices. i like it when i take my dog out and he barks and barks, but the noises don't carry across the large expanse. sound waves are simply...absent.
maybe that is why, before i even opened my eyes, i could tell that somehow, the world was different. my head had an unfamiliar emptiness in it. after days and days of waking up from the same nightmare to the same dread, after fighting every hour to keep at bay the loneliness and the worry and the fear and the insecurity confusion apprehension weight sadness--today i felt only the striking sense of quiet. i had slept all the way through the night. my mind was clear. yes i was cold, but it was a clarifying type of chill. yes i was alone, but i was not lonely. it's different. you choose to be alone.
snow in may! these weather patterns were not predicted, but when you live in a place that doesn't exist, the universe don't have to follow any special order. i myself was surprised to wake up to the silence. i just didn't think it possible at this time of year, after everything that happened, for the cold and the silence to come. the snow infiltrated my mind to freeze up and kill off all the excess. nature, even in its backwards state, knew how to fix everything.
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH
it whispered, and left me to myself