i can imagine how someone reading through this site would imagine that there is nothing happy here, that there is no hope. but there is, there is. just because you write of broken things does not mean you are always broken, or that your life is.
i have a son on the way. i have a beautiful wife who loves me despite of my faults, and they are immense. i finally broke through to my future goddaughter. she went from crying at the sight of me to holding my finger and pulling me along. of course this will all change when i dunk her in september for her christening.
i’ve been given more responsibility at work and work has gotten even more busy than before. my daughter, completely on her own, hugs me and tells me she loves me. i think she actually misses me from time to time.
all in all, it’s a good life. not the life i dreamed for myself, not the entire life that i would want to be living instead. but as long as i can write about damage and pain and suffering, as long as i can engage with everything writing allowed to happen for me, then it’s enough. almost more than enough.
Category Archives: internals
thoughts, musings, life, etc
no names
they never have names. it’s always you, he, she and them. faceless and nameless, always shifting, dancing from one person to the next. as if they were all one and the same but far too many to hold still. as if it’s always been a panic of person and place, of desire and regret. as if you were the memory and they the life you had lived a long time ago.
yours and only
hey boy, he said, crouching down beside him, listen to me boy.
and the younger man couldn’t tell the difference between his lungs and his chest, his ribs and his skin, he felt his nails digging deep into his sides and he wanted to claw his skin off. what, he spat, what, fucking what?
boy, he leaned in closer to lock eyes, to grab the younger man’s attention, to have him focus. you listen to me, you feel it don’t you?
the younger man was rocking back and forth, biting his bottom lip.
but you going about it the wrong way, the man shook the younger man’s shoulder, you’re trying to get rid of it boy. he grinned, yellow tobacco stained teeth, grizzled chin, wisps of grey hair blown across his eyes.
the younger man clenched his teeth and finally broke the skin.
it’s the only thing that’s truly yours, he stood up and appraised him one more time before they would start again, it’s the only thing that remains.
he helped the younger man get back on his feet, shaky and sweat drenched. he looked off to the horizon, the sun was setting. now stop fuckin’ about boy. we got work to do.
me
you vile wretched piece of shit, you sad fucking stain of a human being, you gutless worm, you touch anything and it spoils and rots, you’re a fucking disease, you leave blisters on everything you love, you’re an infection on everything that’s decent and human, you’re a forgotten cum stain, you’re an abortion, a severed tendon, a split lip. that’s all you are, fucking damage, you fuck damage, and damage everything you fuck, you’re a fucking weapon, there is no kindness in you, there’s nothing fucking human about you, you mongrel, you cunt, you use people, you break them, you gut them out because you have no heart of your own, you fucking liar, you empty shell, you waste of fucking meat, you and your sad flabby skin, your pathetic little cock, you’re a vermin of a man, you’re just fucking vermin, fucking kill you, i should fucking end you, fucking put your head through a window and cut your fucking neck, put a fucking end to this shit
the trick
my boy, he said, gristle stuck between his two front teeth, my boy the trick is to believe the lie you are living.
i get that, i said, whittling away at a branch we had found. pieces split from the blade landed on the stream, floating downward. i’m not stupid you know. i’ve done this sort of thing before.
yes boy, he shook his head, tried with his tongue to get at the gristle. yes, you have but this is a different sort of thing. they’re all wise to our kind these days. you see the stupid ones get plastered all over the news. they even had a documentary once.
he finally fingered his tooth and inspected what had been caught there. it was a between infomercials, i dont think anyone noticed it.
he flicked it away, which isn’t the point. they know we’re out there and we have to be careful. he pointed a thick finger at me, you my boy, you just starting out.
he smiled, new territory for you.
pretend with me
i love being a father because i learn to be all the things he wasn’t. i learn how to control the rage within me as my child throws a tantrum and i want to do nothing but hold her in her place, to let her know that i am the rock upon which all her fears can break.
i love being a father because i exaggerate my face and make funny sounds and keep all the howling within me at bay. i can redirect the tension and the confusion of just being in the world into sharp focus: take her hands, teach her to dance, try to get this silly little clown to follow some sort of rhythm.
i love being a father because i get to make it up as i go along. i get to be someone other than myself. i learn to be something bigger and stronger and more beautiful than i could ever be. in my child’s eyes i get to be alive even when i am dead inside. i can pretend that i am not broken. we can pretend all the scars inside are healed.
from the surface
from the surface i need this, i need to trace the line of this fracture, follow it where it goes. does it lead to something solid, somewhere safe, a cave, a tree, a water fall, a cliff? i need to trace the line of this fracture with its jagged edges and angles, with abrupt, haltering steps and rapid shots. i need to to follow it to see if leads to something even stronger than myself and i’ve done much to myself, i’ve armored myself to the point of heartlessness. but what if it leads to something weaker, something broken beyond repair, something that will keep me from breathing, something that will beg to bring me into despair? some dark truth i can no longer deny, some revelation that i’ve always been lost, i’ve never ever begun to be whole.
this is the vile dance, the tripping over. this is the rush of gambling with your soul.
it’s a balance between
it’s a balance between momentum and pressure. steam rolling forward while keeping the center intact. if you look too closely at anything, inside, outside, your guts or the scenenary outside, focus on anywhere for too long, you’re lost, the momentum gets lost, the center flies apart.
you need to go fast enough to keep going but not too fast lest the centrifugal force breaks it apart.
and by keeping your eyes moving, roving, attentive, alert -but never closed- don’t you dare close your eyes- you just might be able to strike a balance, to find some middle ground that is safe.
but until then, it’s all bare knuckles and clenched teeth and utter complete madness.
nothing is beyond apparently
nothng is beyond reproach or suggestion, nothing is beyond repair apparently
we can fix this, we can fix everything, everything but the damaged bodies
it’s built upon. there is no way out, there is no end in sight, perpetual emotion machine
perpetual fault machine. precariously and vicariously, living another life through yourself
watching yourself living another you.
i’m sick, in robot mode, pure sinew and tendon
muscles beat, skin beat, head beat, heartbeat,
just a few hours more. maybe even the liquor, although of course
that would just be catastrophe (there’s nothing inherently wrong with the liquor
except for the fact that it literally speaks to me, it literally says, “aren’t i elegant?
am i not pretty?”)
and the little elf inside goes completely apeshit.
he cackles, “you’re the worm in the bottle goddammit.
you’re the goddamn worm.”
abandoning, abandon, abandoned
it’s like an echo of where you were
it comes so softly but you’ve been gone for such a long time
i no longer know the difference between the memory and the echo and the person
who should be there
an emptiness that yawns instead of you, that grows within me
instead of you, time that passes me by, instead of you
and you think you see me there, solid in stone in my anger and laughter
in my sorry state of worry and stress
a sham of what could’ve been but its the only thing you’re expecting of me
an echo in light of where i once was