My father made his annual drunk call last night whilst I was driving to the city.
The other night, a deer made it's way onto highway 280 around midnight. I saw him about two feet from my car through the fog as I sped at 70 miles per hour.
Anxiety dreams had me kissing or falling for an ex-classmate I was never that attracted to. Which induces stress?
And all along I had Dylan over my ears; ole Bob singing his wail.
26 May 2010
21 May 2010
movies and hymns
im around and i miss you and will fill your tank with gas and buy you things.- Cory
retracing your body retraces memories maybe traumas reenact muscle spasms worsen in age a reaction to being unfeeling a large percentage of my life you called it suppression oh my God I dreamt about you last night you're always affecting me in my dreams as if you don't do that enough in my waking hours my mom and I were traveling on an open road with myself at age 9 and myself at age 5 who didn't know she was repeatedly molested and we were lead into this indoor road system like a flea market and we created edible statues and watched films swimming in the deepest recesses of my cerebrum and I miraculously found every single material object I have lost including the ring that I lost in the Pacific Ocean age 7 when Mom told me not to wear it to jump in the water but I believe and I guess already I believed at age 7 that my material possessions know its master and are magnetic to my body and geographic location so says the nice camera that is now lost to auto thieves but a woman owning a tent decided that we were stealing her paper so you showed up and we raced around the block with my age 9 self to prove that we live the fullest in our bodies you fell in a deep affection with my age 9 self so I took the lead and left you in the dust when you ran up to me breathing deeply we were in love with our selves and with each other in the purest way and we felt our bodies from our hair follicles to our sinuses and inspired I told you
I am the Westand you said
I am the Midwestand we stood there smiling and smiling and summer came and we stood together like statues
When I woke up, ice rolled off my back to the towel beside my bed, and the ache of feeling caused me to tremble like our little bonsai trees. Your dream self afflicted my real self. I sat up, and said aloud, "But truly I am the East Orient and you are the ice deserts of Siberia."
Blustery
Today I woke up with more paranoia than I had ever imagined.
Every morning has been anxiety.
Every night, I spend hours staring at my own brain.
When I sleep, it is restless, and my body is thrashed from my own fitful tossing.
I'm fearing some imminent blackness.
Two days ago, I felt the complete distinction between lightness - and the moment it turned to darkness.
I think the more busy I am, the more distant I become from others, the less reassured I am. I'm dominated by my uncertainty and doubt. I have mistaken busyness for connection.
I am afraid. I'm afraid of environment and every single person that I can think of destroying me with their hate. I'm afraid of my circumstances collapsing on my head. I am afraid of myself, and my self hurt.
I'm entering this darkness with more tools to deal with it than ever before. This makes me believe that I will survive it, and do this strongly. I am glad for this. I am going to be magnificent. This is no longer false hope.
Every morning has been anxiety.
Every night, I spend hours staring at my own brain.
When I sleep, it is restless, and my body is thrashed from my own fitful tossing.
I'm fearing some imminent blackness.
Two days ago, I felt the complete distinction between lightness - and the moment it turned to darkness.
I think the more busy I am, the more distant I become from others, the less reassured I am. I'm dominated by my uncertainty and doubt. I have mistaken busyness for connection.
I am afraid. I'm afraid of environment and every single person that I can think of destroying me with their hate. I'm afraid of my circumstances collapsing on my head. I am afraid of myself, and my self hurt.
I'm entering this darkness with more tools to deal with it than ever before. This makes me believe that I will survive it, and do this strongly. I am glad for this. I am going to be magnificent. This is no longer false hope.
17 May 2010
Oh, Boy
I feel it coming on.
The hot flashes.
The prickling of the skin.
The way he laughs at me.
How I constantly look at him.
It's inevitable.
I have a crush on another gay man.
The hot flashes.
The prickling of the skin.
The way he laughs at me.
How I constantly look at him.
It's inevitable.
I have a crush on another gay man.
11 May 2010
Engaged
It's taken me three days and several hours at the office this afternoon to write this.
This morning, as I left downtown Burlingame, I wrote to a lover, "God loves me!" How often I truly believe this, I'm not sure. Somewhere, it feels like if I really believe God a) exists, b) loves me, that I'd always be loved, that I'd be capable to love and be loved.
Sappy, right?
But it's not always love that I struggle with - it's trust. Three days ago, a friend looked at me squarely in the face, and asked if I trust him to always speak truth to me. I was expressing my ongoing relationship with guilt, and the guilt of burdening others with my emotions. He asked if I would trust him enough to allow him to tell me when and if I was burdening him.
I've thought about this. Deeply.
I can't trust everyone to carry my emotions, and I certainly can't trust everyone to tell me to stop when they can't take me anymore. However, there is no room anymore in me to withhold. I've come to a juncture of enormous revelations - one being that I need to express fully, and all of myself, my entire range of experience - and I need others, in any way or connection, to fulfill that. Furthermore, I cannot and will not connect without laying myself bare to be open, and completely vulnerable to the connection and the people I care for and love.
It was in that instance, that I felt my friend's comfort and his availability. I felt it last night, walking stiffly downtown in the rain, when I felt my vulnerability penetrated by someone that I grew attached to, opened to, and the hurt was immense. It was also in that instance, that I could feel inside me the maturity of my friend's growth and journey to acceptance of his very own feeling - something that I'm still struggling to attain. As I write this, my heart swells with pride and much love for this friend, and although my fear of attachment prevents me from telling him directly, I hope he feels this, feels my happiness for him, and a hope for myself, seeing what he has been working on. My steps to overcome fear has been minuscule, but seeing his climb to openness, even in the act of being open to my sadness on a day that he woke up in darkness, has gripped me strongly these last couple of days.
A fond remembrance.
This morning, as I left downtown Burlingame, I wrote to a lover, "God loves me!" How often I truly believe this, I'm not sure. Somewhere, it feels like if I really believe God a) exists, b) loves me, that I'd always be loved, that I'd be capable to love and be loved.
Sappy, right?
But it's not always love that I struggle with - it's trust. Three days ago, a friend looked at me squarely in the face, and asked if I trust him to always speak truth to me. I was expressing my ongoing relationship with guilt, and the guilt of burdening others with my emotions. He asked if I would trust him enough to allow him to tell me when and if I was burdening him.
I've thought about this. Deeply.
I can't trust everyone to carry my emotions, and I certainly can't trust everyone to tell me to stop when they can't take me anymore. However, there is no room anymore in me to withhold. I've come to a juncture of enormous revelations - one being that I need to express fully, and all of myself, my entire range of experience - and I need others, in any way or connection, to fulfill that. Furthermore, I cannot and will not connect without laying myself bare to be open, and completely vulnerable to the connection and the people I care for and love.
It was in that instance, that I felt my friend's comfort and his availability. I felt it last night, walking stiffly downtown in the rain, when I felt my vulnerability penetrated by someone that I grew attached to, opened to, and the hurt was immense. It was also in that instance, that I could feel inside me the maturity of my friend's growth and journey to acceptance of his very own feeling - something that I'm still struggling to attain. As I write this, my heart swells with pride and much love for this friend, and although my fear of attachment prevents me from telling him directly, I hope he feels this, feels my happiness for him, and a hope for myself, seeing what he has been working on. My steps to overcome fear has been minuscule, but seeing his climb to openness, even in the act of being open to my sadness on a day that he woke up in darkness, has gripped me strongly these last couple of days.
A fond remembrance.
07 May 2010
Fifth of May
I had on my flowing red skirt, and my hair was tied to the side, like in the eighties, but not quite. My feet were pinched; I wasn't sure if I chose the lesser of two evils by choosing flats over heels. But I felt confident: just free to feel and beautiful enough to not care, and noticing others notice me. I saw myself on a road of possibilities, and the availability for change released me into a high simply described as euphoria.
We had gotten to the Elbo Room close to 11 when the show was suppose to have kicked up. "We" were David and Jennifer, and me - all of us on a "date." I was under the assumption that we were just hanging out and spending time together, enjoy the Mission and Cinco de Mayo, R&R in the middle of the week. Over dinner, David flirted with me shamelessly, and I could feel the fear emanating from Jennifer. "I'm not here to steal your boyfriend!," I wanted to shout over our table. But I did what I do best: remain aloof. David was on crutches from playing ultimate Frisbee. I had heard the story several times - how he leaped to reach the disc in the air and landed solidly on his ankle; after retelling the story again to our painfully shy and apologetic, but amiable server, I suggested that he invented another story, preferably one involving a baby carriage in the street, and an out of control 18-wheel truck. They pretended amusement. On the club's floor, he sat while Jennifer and I tried to dance. At first, we suffered through a band who didn't understand what natural beats were; no real live music at all. I tried to make the best of it, by dancing as ridiculously as I felt the music reminded me of: the "Robot," over the top swing moves, accelerated salsa. I felt better when I made the couple laugh; I wanted them to enjoy themselves, despite the circumstances - and my presence.
Then the main act came on, and everything was instantly magic. I let the slow bluesy, but clearly canción de Cumbia wash over me, and all I felt was la musíca in my body. During the second number, un hombre was weaving through the floor, and for an instant his eyes flickered to mine as he brushed past me. A moment later, he had grabbed a hold of my hands, and we started dancing, like REALLY dancing. He lead me into spins, grabs, moments with our shoulders and smiles, mimicry with our hips and feet. He was a real dancer, and he lead me to play. I became sensitive to his ever movement, his leading, direction, I fell into his body, and he had me do whatever he wanted me to do. I closed my eyes and felt only the music, and when I opened them, he was right there, right with me. The song ended, and we grinned at each other, and said, "thank you." During that next song, David had gotten me a drink; I gulped it down without tasting. I felt thrilled, completely enthralled that a stranger and I dared to tango, and it was the most in-the-body experience that I've had without any forced context, nothing sexual or romantic, it was brief, light, and a moment in time that I swooned with no weight in my soul. I was thankful, immensely glowing with happiness, and glad that the dancer in the night had come and left, so that the experience could be defined as a simple space of lightness in being.
Unfortunately, that didn't last long. He came back the very next song, and meek in the face, lead me out to dance again. This time was the same as the first, and it was a real Cumbia song, and I was just happy to reach this elevated feeling with him again. At the end of the song, he asked if I came often then proceeded to ask for my number, which I unthinkingly gave. David, by then had been prodding me to go home, and I obliged. It was after the stranger had disappeared from my mind that I realized my date(s) had been solemn and distant. In my ecstasy, I had alienated them, but I wasn't one for any attachments except to my feeling of lightness during that time of night. And I floated home.
We had gotten to the Elbo Room close to 11 when the show was suppose to have kicked up. "We" were David and Jennifer, and me - all of us on a "date." I was under the assumption that we were just hanging out and spending time together, enjoy the Mission and Cinco de Mayo, R&R in the middle of the week. Over dinner, David flirted with me shamelessly, and I could feel the fear emanating from Jennifer. "I'm not here to steal your boyfriend!," I wanted to shout over our table. But I did what I do best: remain aloof. David was on crutches from playing ultimate Frisbee. I had heard the story several times - how he leaped to reach the disc in the air and landed solidly on his ankle; after retelling the story again to our painfully shy and apologetic, but amiable server, I suggested that he invented another story, preferably one involving a baby carriage in the street, and an out of control 18-wheel truck. They pretended amusement. On the club's floor, he sat while Jennifer and I tried to dance. At first, we suffered through a band who didn't understand what natural beats were; no real live music at all. I tried to make the best of it, by dancing as ridiculously as I felt the music reminded me of: the "Robot," over the top swing moves, accelerated salsa. I felt better when I made the couple laugh; I wanted them to enjoy themselves, despite the circumstances - and my presence.
Then the main act came on, and everything was instantly magic. I let the slow bluesy, but clearly canción de Cumbia wash over me, and all I felt was la musíca in my body. During the second number, un hombre was weaving through the floor, and for an instant his eyes flickered to mine as he brushed past me. A moment later, he had grabbed a hold of my hands, and we started dancing, like REALLY dancing. He lead me into spins, grabs, moments with our shoulders and smiles, mimicry with our hips and feet. He was a real dancer, and he lead me to play. I became sensitive to his ever movement, his leading, direction, I fell into his body, and he had me do whatever he wanted me to do. I closed my eyes and felt only the music, and when I opened them, he was right there, right with me. The song ended, and we grinned at each other, and said, "thank you." During that next song, David had gotten me a drink; I gulped it down without tasting. I felt thrilled, completely enthralled that a stranger and I dared to tango, and it was the most in-the-body experience that I've had without any forced context, nothing sexual or romantic, it was brief, light, and a moment in time that I swooned with no weight in my soul. I was thankful, immensely glowing with happiness, and glad that the dancer in the night had come and left, so that the experience could be defined as a simple space of lightness in being.
Unfortunately, that didn't last long. He came back the very next song, and meek in the face, lead me out to dance again. This time was the same as the first, and it was a real Cumbia song, and I was just happy to reach this elevated feeling with him again. At the end of the song, he asked if I came often then proceeded to ask for my number, which I unthinkingly gave. David, by then had been prodding me to go home, and I obliged. It was after the stranger had disappeared from my mind that I realized my date(s) had been solemn and distant. In my ecstasy, I had alienated them, but I wasn't one for any attachments except to my feeling of lightness during that time of night. And I floated home.
06 May 2010
Stripes, Floral, Abstract
Consistent journeying and migration leads me to beds that are foreign and familiar at the same time.
05 May 2010
04 May 2010
92 degree cool
You're afraid
I'm not a psychiatrist or a therapist
but you're afraid of your Dream
Dream? Happiness?
Is there really fear in these words?
The fear of failing or falling short of what they possibly mean to me?
Thank you for the fishing line - I'm serious!
Throw that ice cold water to my face.
I can no longer hold back from my own paranoia.
Living for myself - purely for myself -
Is there ever such a thing?
Am I using my family
financial matters
my depression itself
as an excuse?
Am I ready to leave and to live my life?
I've worked with enough people
I've seen this fear
That day when you sabotaged your Dream,
I felt real empathy for you
lykke
- - - his thoughts
- - - the warmth
- - -our feet splaying
- - -over soft greens
- - I called for - dance dance dance
- - he complied - sing sing sing
- -little did I know that beauty
- -in those days would fuel the tender
- chasms of myself that I try so hard
- to protect to make disappear masquerade loss
-and avoid these jarring dreams that quake at my core
-I shame from the intricacy of my feeling
When I see your celebration - the kind that I dreamt - there would be so much pain I'd have to smile through. Unions won't measure up if one of the legs couldn't stand for my table. What a deceit to stand in for her.
- - - the warmth
- - -our feet splaying
- - -over soft greens
- - I called for - dance dance dance
- - he complied - sing sing sing
- -little did I know that beauty
- -in those days would fuel the tender
- chasms of myself that I try so hard
- to protect to make disappear masquerade loss
-and avoid these jarring dreams that quake at my core
-I shame from the intricacy of my feeling
When I see your celebration - the kind that I dreamt - there would be so much pain I'd have to smile through. Unions won't measure up if one of the legs couldn't stand for my table. What a deceit to stand in for her.
03 May 2010
April Showers Bring May Dreaming
I had a dream
that I was living
without suffocation
everything was set in threes
music was playing
I was loved, truly
but when I woke up
the weight of this world
squeezed the breath right out of me.
that I was living
without suffocation
everything was set in threes
music was playing
I was loved, truly
but when I woke up
the weight of this world
squeezed the breath right out of me.
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