the thing that permeates the most when spending time alone is this temporality of really deep moments, i’ve recognized. it’s almost like time goes by very quickly but yet you have these outlines of them that pull like an undercurrent, forcing you to wait for the next moment to happen. so it’s all you recognize as the days move on — how you felt/are feeling. time has its place but it’s just a place holder. it’s the top of the wave and all the things you think about when you’re alone are at the bottom. tugging and pulling you with and against. your fears and desires are with the moon. your days are with the shores. so there’s this contrast of you — a person who does and moves and walks and listens. but then there’s this other you who sinks into her thoughts and is quiet.
my dreams have been more consistent, lately. i’ve been wandering around a lot in huge spaces, seeking and curious. but i see now that everything i’ve had in the back of my mind is awake. pounding through the dark while i try to sleep. or fogging up my windows on the bus when i try to see. my breath warm and deep while listening to jazz. i’m always wandering around but unable to step outside of myself.
i’m busy, but not entirely distracted. so i have nothing else to really think about but my own thoughts.
and going two, three days without talking to anyone or saying anything has had an effect on me. i can’t tell if it’s good or bad at this point, but i’m aware.
sad, but aware.
The fortitude of my emotions strangles the process. How do I back down to then prevail?
The division between the internal and the external can be the line. Mining all my worry into dust. The sifting of sorrow — breaking thoughts, shaken clean.
So maybe that time is now, to belly-up the divide.
I’m holding the guilt of my mother — I can curve that into the light.
And the weight of my lover…I have to give up sight and find our freedom in trust.
I’m screaming out the silence of my feel — a multi-directional break. How it takes so much more to control.
So I gather myself at the window, perched high and at noon. The brightest star, traveling through. Blinding me still.
“Just take me with you,” I pray. Hoping to scare myself free.
So now, I document.
I believe I’m going to London to attend Goldsmiths University to study sonic arts. I say “I believe” because I have a few more hoops to jump through to make sure I’m able to go (financing/visa). But I’ve been accepted and will be there for a year. It’s a switch/a jump/the difference between light and dark/near and far/zero and one.
But I struggle with it. I struggle with it because it’s a risk. Which pushes me to go even more. And I’m not sure, but I might not be going alone, which would double the risk in so many directions. Either way, it’s a definitive mark, which makes me feel more and more that I have to go.
[you gave me / the rarest bleeding / a hearty bleed / to save me
but what if it’s not real / how do you know what you’re feeling / if you never knew real / if you were always pretending
now we’re here / a place that’s on high / the clouds here / are dark with your eyes
so what do you feel? / so how do you know what you’re feeling / if you never knew real / if you were always pretending
how do you do things? / how do you see dreams? / how do you do things? / how do you see dreams? / did you fool me? / did you fool me? / did you fool me? / did you fool me? / are you fooling yourself? / are you fooling yourself? / are you fooling? / are you fooling?]
i wrote this four years ago during a run of gut intuition, inviting hours of songs being built at hearty speeds — forthright, becoming, enveloped, giving. and it’s been a while since i’ve been there, but the resemblance of my thoughts then is uncanny to my thoughts today.
there is a trust we have within ourselves that cracks the door open to worlds we can only imagine. but our imaginations are the only entities that push us forward into today, so even though they’re indeterminate, they still shape our lives with remnants of our own desires.
but accepting the doubt is just as important as accepting the good. because more than anything, we completely accept ourselves.
this is the slowest car crash i’ve ever been a part of. just the worst emotions stretched out over the air, swallowing it all.
just trying to b[r]e[athe]
loss / the formidable space / reevaluating the stacks
that i’m just another fleeting moment, in line with the past.
pushing myself with the weight of tomorrow, blindly
reeling a cast.
just needing forever.
sometimes the love just floats me. enough. and at this moment, it’s all i have left. it’s still the only thing i look forward to. the only thing that wakes me up and aligns the forms.
i’ve never had a reason to push beyond. not even enough reason from just myself. i’ve never felt enough for just me.
but then i look into a world, hovering in blue, and i peer into forever. where i’m distraught with the fear of letting go. and i feel this delicate balance i’m walking right next to — afraid of my tumble, my steps, shivering — and i see a look so pure that this world becomes a single flake, floating down. the slightest tinge of its cold touches me. my skin, then bursts with its spark, flaming my existence into a wildfire, burning everything around me.
so then, i know.
that i have to become. more into myself than i’ve ever known.
forever searching for the sound of his laugh. the one from his gut that strangles my air. pushing me to the front. telling me to hear.
there’s a wall between the blame and me. i’ve isolated myself to the point that it’s all i can see. this concrete boundary. splitting the breathing. between me and heavy shoulders, beating. existing.
but you see,
because i hate myself for waiting this long. and i hate the idea of italian summers. locks without keys. a shuffling of what’s already been. reeking havoc on the status quo when that trick has already
people are so stupid. believing you.
how the fuck can you balance your happiness on something someone has already built? where do you get the gall to measure yourself with the people who haven’t guilted you into forced sex or stabbed so much fear and meth into the heart of a supposed love that ten years later they’re ashamed of being or even having a voice? the damnedest dreams fogging up their nights. no reason why. just sick of the air. they’re buying up all the proper house plants. searching their skin for flesh-eating pests. harboring a tragedy. for a time to come. a proper one. knife at the neck. a slight suggestion of where to go when no one is there. a falling chair with a tightened rope. no hope.
how dare you smile. into a glorious sea. how fucking inappropriate to allow yourself to be.
i can’t even imagine what she’s in for. more of your father, i’m guessing.
“you piece of shit.”
you’re a disease.
and i can’t get well.
i feel better
how the fuck can someone who has a track record of hitting women be engaged?
i’m wasting time.