i have to admit i deserve none of it.
Category Archives: internals
thoughts, musings, life, etc
the magic of christmas
the little one pulls the string of a santa that spits out, “remember the magic of christmas lies in your heart” and she does it again, echoing “lies in your heart.” i pass by the hallway mirror on my way out and brush past the christmas tree, she echoes, “lies in your heart.” i head out for a smoke and a car speeds down my block as the front door creaks behind me. one last time, she echoes, “the magic of christmas lies…” and in the charge of the night fog from my lips: winter is coming, cruel and fast and always over staying its welcome.
everything adds up
and i dreamt and dreamt and dreamt until i was so lost with waking up and looking at the time someone was saying “will you look at the time?” and i couldn’t put my finger on the voice whether it was a man or a woman’s instead i curled up even deeper into the silence and covered my ears they were wet because they were bleeding and the pillow was sticky but i couldn’t look at my hands i had to keep my eyes shut but there they were opening again and again and the time wouldn’t change and all i kept thinking was everything adds up to being left alone everything adds up to this everything adds up.
freeze out
if you freeze me out, i’m frozen. if you push me out, that’s means i’m out. i’ve never chased, only spoken. if you slap my hand away, i won’t try to touch you again. if you block me, i’ll walk away. i do not know how to beg, i’ve begged too far often and i was never heard. i can only remain here, staring at your back waiting for it to turn.
stray and gray
stray and gray hairs on the keyboard tell me i’m past the halfway mark.
in the middle of the early morning hours
in the middle of the early morning hours because i could not sleep i whispered to her, i think i would be better off far and away in the woods, far and away from anyone i ever knew.
antiparos
i can see through the gray of seagulls, the kelp and firmament, crash of the tide on rocks erupting along the shore. i dreamt of my hands cooled digging into hot sand. i saw crystal blue and sparkle throughout the horizon and nimble bodies much younger than mine lazy and about on stitched cotton, baked by the sun. the sounds of the city were part of some other foreign land, years ahead or behind me, it no longer mattered. i closed my eyes and finally slept it all away.
snowflake novel writing
i tell her of an article i read, about writing a novel. it’s a step by step guide that centers around the idea of a snowflake, starting from a simple shape and developing the corners exponentially until from a triangle you get the snowflake. and i explain to her that there’s so much prep work, it’s organic in of itself, but i wonder if i really do have it in me to do so, to commit to such a task. and she responds with an idea, i test her by pointing out it has to be in 15 words or less. but what she comes up with isn’t half bad. what a story, she says, about you and your mom, starting from her childhood, your father up to the point when he left you guys, then imagine the rest. and i had something like that years ago, a convoluted thing bereft with repetition and imagination but died soon after. it is appealing, although, where to begin? always the first question.
sometimes the wind
sometimes a cold gentle wind sounds just like the roar i was so long used to hearing.
this singularity
looking at the corpse, sieged by reefs and flowers, two placards set off to the side overwhelmed with photos of a life that has been reduced all down to this singularity: you can’t take it with you and you leave everyone behind.