Take Another Look

{May 11, 2010}   fantasy

Date: Tue, 5 Apr 2005 07:02:46 -0400
Subject: fantasy
To: dabblearouse@gotmail.com

cold abrasive chills running down my back like the last vestige of
staring at the black window that shouldnt be in my back room
i dont know which architect put it there
didnt they know?


nobody was kind enough to tell them they
designed a window that doesnt look out at anything

im a window that doesnt look like anything
the cobweb the spider deserted
clovers tied and dried

like those ugly ass envelopes your ex girlfriend
spent all her hours making
just so they’d look so nice and good and normal
to hide the fact that it ain’t
to hide the futile contact that even you cannot explain- with all of your analysis and

i cant stand no more, humpty dumpty

all of the clouds i put for you guys to tamper with
it wasn’t appreciated
you ungrateful bird wing

so sick of everything making sorrow
so sick of everyone turning to numbness
to provide for them in times of crisis

apathy is your best friend
and i am just there to pay for your ticket to the white house
it’s still white, isn’t it?
i wouldn’t know anymore

time comes in short, short interludes between her wet face in the pillow

take a few grains from your stash, then
combine the numbness with the fantasy
what do you get for your trouble, applejuice?

my goodness, the reveries into
what wasn’t supposed to be, what
could have been

an abdomen turned
into a swerve that narrowly avoided the death penalty
once charged once fated once stated
the deal was not made

the plastic surgeon was disappointed
no work today
no turning people into other people

they liked to change the masks up
lift the cheeks, square the jaw
embellish the eyelids

how far can you change a face
what do you feel when you have to make a
beautiful person ugly for the sake of
witness protection

answer the damn question you sleeping curse
show a little respect!

you’d think that shelter would be enough but
hiding from our enemies is tricky business now

internet trails turn to coconut mango lotion commercials
the real thing is never exposed no matter the cost

keep my princess away

cant write fugues
cant write rap songs
all that i write




{February 25, 2010}   Bad Influences

Note to self: Wrote this around Parker, who tends to bring out my vindictive side. He snuffs every tiny feeling near him out as if he were a waiter going around taking out the candles by hand. If you go back several entries you will see his own writings. Old, personal rewrites that he read to me. Go. Read about the rat, the hayloft of maggots, or heaven coming apart. The writing reminds me of handwriting so tiny you can barely read it. Writing that has been etched so hard that the pencil has broken after every word. I wrote this story today in his presence. Though the entry with his images is a tedious read, maybe it gives you some perspective on who he is. To this day, I continue to think I am immune to evil inside other people. Why? Because I close my eyes and count to ten? No. Because I know how to let go of what I’m feeling, or what somebody incidentally made me feel… Sometimes I feel it’s all I know how to do, let go and hold on. I just hope I don’t do it at the wrong times. I don’t know what is worse. Holding on to the wrong person; or holding on at the wrong time. If I’m holding on to the wrong person, I’m letting go of everything else just to hold to them. Time plays a role in all no matter how we struggle. I held onto Parker once, and now he will never let go of me.  Does he wait for me to turn to him in a moment of weakness? Does he dream of me calling his name, asking him to rescue me? Does he dream of the touch of my skin? I know I will never forget how tenderly he touched me. Neither will I forget how much he contributed to the opera of ash. The music he said was dangerous to listen to because it filled the audience with anger that was directed at them, making them the victim. If so I succeeded. I made an audience feel what I felt. What it’s like to be a hostage to Parker’s fanaticism and Irwin’s schizophrenia.

Is it true? After I hang around somebody does more than skin, smell, disease, or words rub off? As if I am inbred to suction up whatever is inside somebody else so that it enters my world as an image seen through glass. With Parker, I feel the vindictiveness. I even start griping around him. I will complain for hours, asking him over and over, why did this person say this or do this? He churns me like a wheel, getting me riled into a senseless rage about small qualities that are so very human. When he is here he begins to drip with sweat. It has no smell, but it drips onto the carpet or bed. It is the only sign that he emotes.

Outside of family, he chooses almost no company. Does he think that I am supposed to only forgive what he deems worthy? He worships the fact that he is a mothers boy and seems to drain some satisfaction from it. But his mother is tortured by the fact that her favorite son has never left home. He has only tried to kill himself, and now they might be what keep him on this earth. I don’t have to tell you that you never know. Remorse goes afterward. Would it really change anything as close and far as the future if you felt it beforehand? He treats everything so seriously. I wish he could laugh, or get me to laugh. I know there are people that are difficult to make laugh. But Parker is the only one who bottles the joy up just like he bottles the anger up. And both dishes he serves cold. Only tenderness is something he can express. But what does tenderness mean when it comes from a man of restraints?

Was this written by me, or by the me that I was when Parker was around? Easy to exhume the responsibility, isn’t it. But I mean it. Influence is strong.

I am a sponge to my environment, the people in it, the sounds around me, the air I breathe. Children tend to make me feel light. My cat makes me feel relieved. A person is a bundle of things, like a never ending pawn shop that keeps getting new purchases and selling items out. Their exposure is the most valuable to me. Also the most deadly. But I call myself immune because I think I let go of everything. My pawn shop might only have one item in it at a time but it’s always open…

et cetera