thank you all for coming, etc, etc.
children are amazing. when i first met christina, i think i scared her witless. i mean she cried for days. maria told me not to take it personally. but i knew better. christina was going to be tough nut to crack. so it’s been going like this for about a year now, we’d see maria and john and the girls and right on cue, christina starts bawling. until recently, her father was putting something together, and i was helping him, and christina just stumbles out, stepping all over me, starts helping us too. next thing you know, she takes me by the hand, by the finger actually, and starts pulling me around. showing me off, like, “hey everybody, look at my clown!”
there’s something of her grandfather, john’s father, in her. this defiance. this stalwart determination to have things on her terms. that’s how i remember John’s father. God, he was a brick of a man. he was full of history and laughter. and he always took me seriously. when i met my then future wife, he took us out for breakfast to size her up. he told me not to play games with this one. obviously he approved. and he always had this godfather-esque air about him. So you can imagine the irony, and the absolute delight I feel, when John and Maria asked US to be Christina’s godparents. look at her. god, those eyes, aren’t they something? With 2 other girls, John’s already in trouble, but the eyes on this one. He’s going to need my help too. and we are completely willing, it would be our honor.
Maria, John, I cannot tell you what a privilege it truly is, to bring our families even closer like this, through the christening of your daughter and in the memory of your father. I still miss his laughter but i can almost hear it again, in Christina’s own.
Na mas zeesee!
Category Archives: internals
thoughts, musings, life, etc
what do you want to be when you grow up?
I asked the little one what she wanted to be when she grew up.
She thought about it. “I wanna be a princess and a fire engine”
“you must mean a fireman, err, a firefighter.”
she shakes her head, “no a fire engine.”
“with ladders and sirens and hoses?”
she nods her head, “yeah!”
my own hate
people get confused. they think that when i say, “my hatred is my own,” they think i hate myself, that i’m talking about self hatred. but you’re wrong, so very wrong. i hate you. truly i do, i hate you all.
and i’ve worked very hard to keep it safe. i’ll never let you see it. i’ll never let you own it. i will never give it to you. i will never give in, it is mine.
all this hate is mine.
the last time, rev.2
do you remember the last time?
this is the last time, don’t you remember?
what? no, not this time, but the time before.
will this be the last time you do this to me?
this is the last time you ask me that.
not since the last time have i felt this way
this is nothing like that. the last time was better.
bitter? did you say you were bitter last time?
that’s not what i said. this is exactly what i am talking about.
what are you talking about? what are you talking about?
this is not going to be like last time.
yeah, you better believe it won’t be.
oh come on. don’t be like that
does it matter? it doesn’t fucking matter.
yes it does. one last time. please.
do you even remember the last time?
no, of course not. not at all. it’s all a blur.
i can’t believe you. how could you say that?
i’ve heard this all before.
i hate you.
yeah, that wouldn’t be the first time either.
do you miss me baby?
i miss you kissing my shoulder. i miss the look on your face when you abandon yourself. i miss the feeling of being with you. being told where to touch. i miss figuring your body out. miss messing around with it. i miss your hand on my body. i miss your desire. miss the angles of our bodies trying to get it on together, trying to get off on one another. goddamn you for making me miss you this way.
s/he hungers for it
she hungers for it, for something to bounce back, for something to stick. so many things stuck inside her it’s hard to tell what he left behind and what he meant to give.
he hungers for it, for something to come back, for something to be found. so many things lost that it’s hard for him to tell what he had given her and what she stole.
they hunger for it, something to push back, for someone to shove. so many times they’ve touched each other but they’ve already gone numb. they’re already gone.
this madness
i want nothing of this madness. i am everything of this madness. this madness has become me. this madness will leave me. this madness is utterly complete. this madness is so undone.
there are very few good friends
after a while you accumulate all this armor, you defend yourself from all sides. you have wounds that have scarred up nice and thick, and your joints begin to creak. you forget how to laugh, how to forget yourself.
but then there are those few friends, the ones that knew you when you were whole. that you knew when they were still all in one piece. the ones that you fought the night with, the ones you drink away much of your liver with. the ones you shared women with, the ones who stole you from a woman or two much too soon.
they are the ones that remind you who you were and who you could be. they point out your stupidities and teach you again how to laugh at yourself without feeling timid. they come back with the comebacks that make you choke away the dust of the day. you say to him, “even at seventy, drunk on miami beach, we’ll be saying the same shit, i swear.”
night sick fear
when the night is at its most peaceful, i snap right up. i am sick with fear. my stomach churns, my bowels feel weak. i touch my child and the terror does not abate, it worsens. i reach even further, i touch my wife’s belly and still no comfort. my life is escaping me, i cannot hold it between my fingers, time pushes me around. it is so ruthless. so unforgiving.
haven’t you heard this all before?
there are times i literally shoot up and try to catch my breath. horrified i need to rip my heart out and hold it in my hands to slow it down. it beats too fast with fear, it is much too loud, it careens around in my ribs. all i wish for is a way to stop time, to stop this beating in my chest that leads me closer and closer to inevitable grief and madness.
i will outlive you all and i cannot bear it.
it is obvious
it is obvious that something has cracked open, my chest has been cleared of leaves and cobwebs, things long abandoned and dead. i can never hope to catch up to it, in many ways i think it is already gone, but i can only follow it’s trail, listen to the hushed distant whispers of its voice.
sometimes it’s a grizzled old man who has much too much fight left in him. sometimes it is a woman marked from head to toe with the words i’ve yet to say.
sometimes it is my dead father. sometimes it is the daughter i lost.
but i’ve been cracked open to listen, to write, to rub my eyes open with ashes. to openly mourn and grab hold of that, to no longer push down and stop feeling that. but to bring it to the surface, bring it to my calloused fingers, to smear it here, to let it live, for whatever it’s worth, for whatever it’s meant to do, for whatever it can be.