try to convince me i haven’t sinned, that i am not wretched.
and he gambles, i start from the point of forgiveness, that forgiveness is possible. do you get what i’m saying? this is very different from where you start from.
and he’s right: here i am pondering what why i am so wrong, why i’ve done the things i’ve done and he turns it around:
why do i begin with what new thing can i do today that i will punish myself with tomorrow?

there is something to be said of beauty and grace. there is something to be said about despair and the night. there is something sexy about the way i put my hand on your neck. there is something sexy about the way you look over your shoulder at me. there is something to be said about how i feel inside you, there is something warm and welcoming and peaceful about the thrust, the trust, the need that i must be there. there is something to be said about all of it, about holding you and fucking you and wanting you and wanting to fuck you even more, slower, harder, sideways, from behind, on top, it doesn’t matter, as long as we’re fucking ourselves into something.

I am obsessed with wordlessness, the gesture, the sound, the image. I am obsessed with silencing myself, with erasure.
She dances before me, she never dances. She thinks herself too awkward, but there she is dancing. She crosses the room, suddenly, kneels down, kisses me. I ask her, why? Because I’ve been dancing without a partner but you’re here now. You’re here.
I am obsessed with recovery. Words have lead me into and out of trouble. Words have lead me here, with two children, a house bigger than what we need, and a wife from whom I have much more to learn from than I ever imagined.

People play at being scarred: they talk of betrayals and disappointments; wounds that are figments of the imagination at best; a lie believed, a trust broken; minor abandonments that have no consequence.
all my scars are literal: stab wounds and burns, cut fingers and a plunged indentation in the cheek, a forearm etched with an indecipherable i-ching.
I don’t need to talk, I can show.

again the discussion of drugs: this time i might be bipolar and when presented with the evidence, he draws back. perhaps you are just uni-polar.
how about the madness that’s about me? how about the madness i have seen? how about the suffering i have incurred and have put on those that love me? are you telling me all that isn’t enough to feel as i do, to be racked as i am?
there is progress to be made, but it will be made on my terms, as i am. there is nothing wrong with me, there are no wild pendulum swings. i am human, i am frail, but i carry within me a monster who is also my strength. i have a cold trigger, i can become detached at will. it is a survival mechanism.
let’s talk about that. let’s talk about what the fuck happened to me that i felt the need to survive.
hopped up on prozac or coke: it’s just another drug. i am full of addictions, but chemicals ain’t one of them.

and the year has come to an end. all this trial and tribulation, all this dis-ease, all this pain and madness, all this alienation and sorrow.
where does it comes from?
i weep thinking of you, your death, your life, the pain i’ve brought you, the harm you’ve inflicted on me, ‘you’ over and again, always different, this cavalcade of pointing, the infinite gesture, of reaching outside from within, of breaking the skin, breaking this veil, into some other place, where there is only you, only me, i and other, eternal, absolute and pure.

there are things you walk away from. a car accident, a pistol, drug use.
there are things you cut off. a tumor, an infected limb, a telephone line.
but there are things you cannot abandon. love, children, peace.

And of course, christmas morning, the boy stumbles about and the girl rips through the gifts starving and half mad.
What beauty they still possess. How they shine while I grow old and dull. My god, they are mine and they outshine everything I’ve ever done.

it can be difficult, you must, you must not turn away. you must turn to them, you must turn to the light.
you must learn, she says, to see how others see you. you must see the beauty others see in you.
and i try, i try, i spin and turn and fall and fail and scramble for purchase.
she holds me close. she holds me still. she holds me. she holds me.