"i thought it was nearly impossible to have a heart broken through friendship".

this wound cuts deeper than the heart, and the resounding ache weaves itself imperceptibly through your days, acknowledged only in the silent tears of empty nights. my blankets will all tell, of the way i've mourned for you. ask the solemn walls of my basement, to describe my grief; its continual and all consuming.
what is life, but reckoning?

my days are woven together by the crisp pages of books i've never gotten around to, and alex's familiar presence. i love watching a genuine smile curl up around his eyes when i bother him early mornings in bed, giggling in all manner of femininity and bothering him as if an obnoxious childhood friend "what are you doing what are you doinggg pay attention to me pay attention to mee" and burying my nose into his neck.

sometimes, he catches my far off gaze, resting his hand on my cheek, "hey, pretty girl. just. stop thinking for a bit, ok?" and i smile, laugh, take another sip of my coffee.

billys got a surprise send off waiting for me in state college, and i'm anxiously anticipating my departure. 8 days. there's no place i'm more true than away, alone.

"i reminded myself of the line in the diamond sutra that says "practice charity without holding in mind any conceptions of charity, for charity after all is just a word." i was very devout in those days, and was practicing my buddhist devotions almost to perfection. since then i've become a little hypocritical about my lip service and a little tired and cynical. because now i am grown so old and neutral... but then i really believed in the reality of charity and kindness and humility and zeal and neutral tranquility and wisdom and ecstasy, and i believed that i was an oldtime bhikku in modern clothes wandering the world (usually the immense triangular arc of new york to mexico city to san fransisco) in order to turn the wheel of true meaning, or dharma.."

so whats that saying again, they're only words and words can't kill me.

last night saw me stoned, chasing cynthia around my garage, while alex faded in and out of consciousness on the sofa. he was silly and genuine, as i related my tale of cynthia's drama "all of that just happened? right now?! oh my goodness i'm so sorry. are you ok? is she ok? you must have been so worried.."

lets talk about spaceships or anything except you and me ok

and i laughed in the kitchen with my sister and her friends and smoked bowls and cigarettes on the porch and let myself get carried away by a brand new episode of locked up abroad, set in nepal, yet another country on my list of places to visit, experience, delighted in alex's short sighted cynical laugh, "i have no desire to visit anywhere outside of here," he drawls, and i know he means it, and i no longer judge him for it, but instead allow myself to love him for what he is, a small town suburban boy who dreams only of a simple life in the town in which he grew up, with a girl to love and keep him company and an endless stream of music for inspiration.

burning out my center til there's nothing but dust.

really, i just feel like my brain has become fried in my spiritual pursuit and all i have the energy for is to surround myself with my roots, back building among those who have known me since the beginning. since my infancy. my ascent into consciousness. there'll be plenty of time for that in the coming weeks, but for now its an extended nap among my compatriots in the home sphere. no one asks for anything here but physical comfort and an ear for their dreams.

snap.

"i stayed in business for over fifty years.  its not what i would have imagined for myself.  and yet.  the truth is i came to like it.  i helped in those who were locked out, others i helped keep out what couldn't be let in, so that they could sleep without nightmares.

then one day i was looking out the window.  maybe i was contemplating the sky.  put even a fool in front of a window and you'll get a spinoza.  the afternoon passed, darkness sifted down.  i reached for the chain on the bulb and suddenly it was as if an elephant had stepped on my heart.  i fell to my knees.  i thought; i didnt live forever.  a minute passed.  another minute.  another.  i clawed at the floor, pulling myself along toward the phone.

twenty-five percent of my heart muscle died.  it took time to recover, and i never went back to work."

things i haven't written about, and moments that pursue me.

garrett, sitting on the edge of my bed, its pitch black and i'm inlaid with a glimmering, lonely, terrified sadness, a miniature clear midnight sky and i'm letting him talk out his fears, his fright tumbling out of his mouth and disappearing into the spaces between the dimming sparkles within my eyes, whats important here is that, this moment between us two is pure, garrett and i at a very real level, he takes me to the route of my problems with ease and i let him feel, experience, emote his own.

how armani, drunk off tequila,  stumbles in, bringing in that aspect i now recognize as immaturity, assuming there's something romantic, sexual, going on, in her jealousy trying to include herself in this genuine reality by assuming such a role, curling herself around garretts back and sliding one perfectly bejeweled hand along my chest..

i freeze.

i will not be drawn into a dance of jealousy, will not allow my own, genuine intentions and undimmed love for the two of them, yes, the two of them for my love for one person is never affected by love for another, and thats what so many people don't understand, i won't let this boundless love be distorted in explanation, catching garretts eye over her shoulder he rolls his eyes at me and we understand.  the meaning of this glance, however, reaches us all, and, ashamed, armani flees from the room in tears.

it has never been spoken of, but what i hold in my mind, of that evening before the world collapsed, is the beauty of our three silhouettes, alone, in the dark.

i went to the registrars office this morning, during my usual coffee run, to finally, after all this time, be reinstated. as i left, receipt in hand, i was confused by the lack of overabundant joy that had been present the last time this reinstatement had been attempted, feeling, instead, a sinking hollowness within my chest. as i drove away, i resisted the urge to crumple such a validating papers within my hands, letting it fly away on the cool morning breeze of mountain maytime. 

at least i know i'll never sleep at night, i'll always lie awake until the morning light.. 

yesterday was such a fun day i've grown to love transition days, really, at least, state college transition days, the deconstruction of an old life and the settling into the in between, the traveling state. i LOVE these times in my life, the times when my life is in my car, i'm homeless at the moment, and it feels, so. comfortable. the most essential components of my life are stowed away within my jetta, piled in the corner of michelle's new summer sublet. my furniture looks safe, at home, here. while i'm free as a gypsy, in motion in motion in motion. ani difranco was my farewell song for 719, as i pulled out of its driveway for the last time, chelsea holding wayne in her arms and waving from the back porch.. for the first time, in over a year, i feel like myself, again.

(insert, two days ago

i'm standing in my kitchen, listening to reckoning, and feeling as if i'm standing here, for the first time. this is the place i've spent the past year in, and it still feels foreign. these counters, those doors, have i lived here? and if it wasn't i, who was this girl, in my place? this girl for whom these walls reeked of home? they never reeked of home, at least i'll admit that, but still, this foreignness is almost eerie. 

my eyes are trained on a copper penny, face up, on the floor. 

i'm thinking of all this time i spent here, how broken, miserable, i was, here. obsessively cleaning each and every counter top, every dish, as if this one, last attempt would wipe away the grime, filth and guilt of my past; 

reaching out to each roommate, in the hopes of developing a spark of a relationship that might ease the healing of the scars of ages past. 

who was that girl, who leaped over the railing of the porch barefoot, breaking down in hysterical sobs in the side lawn? that was the last time, i can remember showing emotion, in this house; until saturday, when chelsea approached me, sitting, a stranger to myself in a foreign home, sobbing to such an extent, that even formulating it in words wouldnt be able to remove the depth of such a sadness.  

nothing was ever true, here.  

i'm standing here, in a pair of pumps i took from my mom ( win or lose, just that you choose this little war is what kills you, and either or its that this war is maybe also what thrills you.) realizing, that i'm losing everything i've ever known. this is act three, and as I stand here, alone in this darkened kitchen with only the hum of my ever present music to keep me company, its all, finally, truly, falling away.

and whats most startling, is that i let it.)  

alone, in my car, windows down, music playing, my favorite teal coat draped over my shoulders, even homeless, i felt a homecoming settling itself within my being. I FEEL LIKE MYSELF AGAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN GOD KNOWS HOW LONG AND ITS THE MOST INCREDIBLY UPLIFTING, INCANDESCENT FEELING I'VE EVER EXPERIENCED. this is better than falling in love, i say that with complete and utter honesty. "what is beautiful about man is that he is an overcoming and a going under," or so nietzsche says, albeit more fluently.  

love is all over the place, there's nothing wrong, with your face.  

i ran up to michelles house, bags in tow, beaming. she was sitting on the porch with a friend of hers, pat, and her new neighbor, a small elf like ceramics major named sam, and even in my exhausted, tired state, the two of us ended up huddled on her back porch, "its always so refreshing, in this town, to meet good, real people," he drawls, taking a drag of his cigarettte. i'm still amazed, the way its always recognized, instantly, the real, the unreal.  

he speaks of his frat, "i'm not really active anymore,"  

pat, michelle's friend has joined us on the porch, "its a hell of a good time, though. the most fun you'll ever have, i daresay." "but you could never handle it again," pat adds. 

we all laugh "sounds exactly like what i just went through.."  

is this a right of passage, for people like us? this terrible barrage of absurdity, of an accidental absorption of other peoples values, necessitated to engineer the strength to live the way we do, no rules, no limits, transcending duality. 

this morning, i wake up on my lounge in michelle's apartment. she's just gotten back from her physical, is getting ready to go running, and i'm still wrapped up in a generous aura of comfort, of safety. our afternoon consists of target and walmart adventures, and then an evening spent drinking wine, making cookies, and potting plants; yes, the boys too. 

"god we're gonna have to drink beer and watch football or something," pat laughs, but you can tell the way he's secretly reveling in the indulgence of his feminine side. thats the difference, you see. between girlishness, and femininity. i'm thinking of the waitress who served us at the ale house, and how beautifully feminine her body was, and how, for the first time, thats the ideal that i'm aspiring to. beauty, not perfection.  

alright alright, enough of this. its a beautiful day. time to shower and take to the porch, book in hand. this is the first day, of the rest of your life.

"all my life i have loved travelling at night, with companions, each of us discussing and sharing the known and familiar behavior of the other.  its like a villanelle, this inclination of going back to events in our past, the way the villanelle's form refuses to move forward in linear development, circling instead at those familiar moments of emotion.  only the rereading counts, nabokov said.  so the strange form of that belfry, turning onto itself again and again, felt familiar to me.  for we live with those retrievals from childhood that coalesce and echo throughout our lives, the way shattered pieces of glass in a kaleidoscope reappear in new forms and are songlike in their refrains and rhymes, making up a single monologue. we live permanently in the recurrence of our own stories, whatever story we tell.

there was now not a single lit streetlamp in the villages we passed, just our headlights veering and sweeping along the two-lane roads.  we were alone in the world, in nameless and unseen country.  i love such journeying at night.  you have most of your life strapped to your back.  music on the radio comes faint and intermittent.  you are wordless at last.  your friends hand on your knee to make sure you are not drifting away.  the black hedges coax you on"

-divisadero

(a longer version, as per the request of my beauties.)

remember who you are.
(i know you're surrounded by people who have nothing, who have nothing to give.)
that feeling of loneliness, that isolation, had become too much to bear. i was trying to remain humble, by not placing myself above my friends, but i couldn't shake that feeling, i didn't trust any of their opinions more than my own, not one; and faced with a situation where i desperately needed an outsiders point of view, i was left with no choice other than to close my eyes and brace myself.
and i faltered.

after he left, i was empty and hollow, lost and overwhelmed to a point i had forgotten existed, i needed someone, anyone, and as i stood there in my barren family room.. i couldn't stay, he had found me here. he had found me here. 
i called my mom in tears
one by one my room became dismantled. every last piece. all my relics. crying. i had built this for him and now he'd found me, here. 
"can you imagine the crisis of faith" i whisper to julia and amy, as the wind picks up outside "that was my one big moment, my casting off the chains of dependancy and setting off into the unknown and i've worked so hard this past year, following my own advice and convincing myself that i was growing, that i was changing, that i was on some sort of path. and then. to wake up one morning and realize, you're right back in the same old hell." i shudder, choking feelings closing in around me. the same, old hell. "what can that even mean," i'm shaking "did i do something wrong? did i miss a step? was my huge, life affirming action completely and horrible misguided?" my voice trails off, my eyes, lost in the distance.

i'm going home. i had no idea, if this was right, i had no idea, if anything was right, at this point, but i began to take comfort in the sight of my pile of boxes and suitcases accumulating up in the hall, tucking each piece of myself within whatever bags, boxes, i can discover.
you question the choice you've made
see the gray in your hair, angel. your beauty can't be covered by insecurities. i hope the same truth would still hold true for me. because i've drowned in mine.

"we know whats going to happen," julia smiles, all limbs lounged in my porch chair "its going to be destructive, and its going to be bad. this is so heavy. i'm so sorry. i wish, i wish i could just lock your beautiful little self away somewhere until this passes..."
i sigh, "i know. in a month, though, i'm driving across the country. maybe its better, if i go with nothing."

dear life,
i know sometimes you and i get into little tiffs and i curse your name and doubt in everything that you've ever shown me. sometimes i forget that there exists, within your illimitable beauty, moments which are so open ended, where even the choices themselves aren't clearly defined and that in these moments, clarity, too can be found. 
picture, a plane, taking off. or something more beautiful than a plane, because i can't stand them, really, planes, screw metaphors lets picture a person, wrapped in the glistening flow of existence and the build up the build up the build up picking up speed picking up speed "its all in motion now" i hush to chelsea on the last day, its all in motion now and then that, moment, right at lift off.
HOW DO I STEER THIS FUCKING THING AND GODDAMNIT WHERES THE GROUND WHERES THE GROUND WHERES THE GROUND i'm so disoriented, theres no path, here, where the fuck am i going where the fuck am i 
i go through all this, before you wake up, so i can feel happier to be safe again with you

the curtain rises, act three. a portal, into a month in the middle of nowhere. a place where we're all mutants. all eviscerated, wounded, forced to live with these wicked scars, these absurdities. as the three of us wrap ourselves in warm, may evening harmony, its as if that scar comes to the surface, i can feel it, aching and raw, a scarlet letter if you will, glowing over my heart, my left shoulder. i feel safe, here, letting it show.

"she has all these personalities in her that clash," julia says, speaking of her mom "she's glamorous and flashy and then at the same time she's this warm, eccentric earth mother and then at the same time she's perched upright in her office thats so put together and beautiful you just want to sit in there and take everything in..."
something sparks in my brain "she keeps them all separate. thats how she keeps them from clashing." i'm grinning "i'm going to have to try that.. part of my problem comes in when i try to assimilate and all my selves get territorial and fight and clash they just all run together and i can't make heads or tails of it. i just need to keep them all separate..."
a place where everyone is as giving, as caring, as nuanced and receptive as i am, julia is pulling a huge bag of weed from her bag "please please smoke as much as you want" and thats the kicker, you can tell she means it, charity to me is nothing when its bequeathed with hesitance, a restriction, but shes beaming and handing everything over "i just, when i get high i love to share it with everyone, i want everyone to get high.."

a place where, once again, to reveal your inner glow is commonplace. where it feels like they're a part of it, and being a part of it, they can help you to isolate your hangups, your deceptions, your truths. where your little sister curls up on your lap, ("god i'm so jealous i wish i had a relationship like that.. theres two of them.. these two little perfect creatures."), and you can lean your tired head on her shoulder, inhaling deeply from your bong and watching the smoke trail off, into the night air. 
a place where your room smells like incense and you fall asleep with ease.

there on the street, are so many possibilities to not be alone.
home.

summertime.. and the livin's easy

everything is right, again. fucking portals, man, they always disorient me.
this could be called invisible.. cause there isn't something for us to hold...

call it women's intuition, but i think i'm onto something here.