It all circles back to her. No matter what I do, what I think of, where I go, it all leads back to her. Every decision I make factors her in. Every waking thought some days is either her or me trying very hard to not think of her. 

And somehow I’m the midst of this I keep pushing her farther away. I’m sure she’s just getting closer to him too. 

I can’t do this. It will not last, it will break me entirely. I’m starting to lose more of reality each day.

the storm

the storm does not know how to relent, it must push itself on no matter the forests or the cliff faces standing stark against it. they have stood for a million years and will not shudder for some small wind, some temporary rain throwing itself against them.

and yet the storm will not step from its path, will not be anything other than what it is, all it is. it will persist and it will not take down these cliffs or the forest or perhaps even a single tree, but it will do what it does despite the results, despite the consequences.

for the storm knows that the sea that feeds it will not stop either, that each grain of sand on that beach was once a mighty rock on some taller cliff face, and it wore them all to nothing. the storm knows what can be done and so it rolls in and on, over the beaches pours its blood out upon the vast forest. 

i will leave all of myself here across the lands and flood the plains, the rivers will drown in their own turmoil, i know no other way. the ground will shake, the air itself electric. you will know that i am a beast born of the sea, here to bleed myself dry, you will know me. you will know me.

Why Live?

Why live?

I’ve asked this of myself nearly every day of my life, at least for the last 20 years, and I’ve sometimes had answers. They were often mundane, occasionally grandiose, usually just an excuse that I knew was an excuse even as I told it to myself. I’ve got to finish that song I started. I’ve got a concert next week that’s going to be great. I’m going to see a friend out of town tomorrow. It’s my mom’s birthday next month. Whatever. Those reasons and all the others are fine reasons, and were never lies. They were always not the whole truth though, of course: just a placeholder excuse that could be easily pointed to when the real reason was deeper and amorphous. The only reason I’ve ever had to live was not for me or anything I enjoyed or any friend who needed me. The reason then is the same reason I still live now, but that One Reason doesn’t need to be written here, except to know there was and is still a reason.

The point of this is that for some short time I had found something else beyond this One Reason. Adjusting to it was slow and difficult for me and though I’d transitioned partly over to accepting this as another reason to live, it clouded my judgment and actions, apparently. To live for another person, to find some meaning for myself beyond myself, beyond my inconsequential hopes and dreams and hobbies, was an entirely foreign idea, and it was because of this that it was a struggle to accept and acknowledge fully. I’ve only fully realized this in the last few months, and that’s partly because of the sudden separation of that other person from my life.

I’ve always been difficult to deal with, I understood this and warned any and all who came close enough. “I enjoy you as a person and appreciate your connection with me and want it to remain, but please know that it may not be easy because of these things.” I thought I’d finally found someone who fully accepted and could deal with this from me not for just some short amount of days, weeks, or months, but for years and years. I honestly didn’t think it was ever possible. The fact that it didn’t last didn’t surprise me at all. I was regularly shocked to see that it still continued each week and month that it did, honestly. Some of these times I was less than agreeable to around, other times I was pleasant and kind and giving and downright hopeful. I hoped that the latter would make up for the sometimes long bouts of the former. It seemed to be a difficult give and take that somehow worked, and I was so grateful for it.

My gratitude however wasn’t seen. It wasn’t shown in the right ways, I guess. Nevertheless, what I showed was rarely acknowledged and even less so accepted as real; in fact, it was often looked at with suspicion. It was often rejected, and it was at best ignored. Maybe that sort of reaction was my own fault somehow. Who knows?

By this point, by choosing to live with someone somewhere else, by uprooting my life and everything I’d spent years cultivating with friends, with life as a whole, I gave away what was and went full in on this new life. I was confident in my decision. I was trying to still test the waters of it all, but was so certain that it was the right choice that I was comfortable and happy and did not question myself, not at all. This was my life, this was our life, going forward, forever. Forever. This was the start of it, but this was the basis of it that would always be: us, together, trying to find happiness and trying to keep one another pushing forward. We would stumble and falter and perhaps miss some parts of the life we each had before or could’ve had instead, but these would be but fleeting losses. We’d chose one another and that was all there was.

This was what she’d wanted for years. It took me a lot of time to get there, and I think that though it was good for her and for us together, to grow past that quick jump into untested waters, I likely pushed it too long and we lost some momentum in that time. If I could go back and do things differently, there’s a hundred moments and decisions I’d change.

But now, now that she had what she wanted and I wanted this and was happy to have it as well, she did not want it anymore. She was, I assume, afraid of the reality of it. Of the rote day-to-day of it, of the actuality of it. The difference between having a child and babysitting someone else’s for a day. The boring day and week struggle of being together was too much for her, seemingly from day one in our place together. I could almost feel her deflating then, but I wrote it off as just newness jitters, just adjustment period. I was sure of my decision, so I was looking through rose-tinted glasses, and this blinded me as to the reasons and faults of the change this caused in her. I did what I could but the weeks became months became a year and more and then it started to sink in how serious this all was.

And by then, she was lost to me. She’d drifted away on a wave of comforting distance that she’s so often turned to for years. Keep someone, something, anything, at a distance and you can control it and allow it to be separate from you when you need it to be. You can pour all your hope and dreams in and twist it into anything you want it to be. You can begin again and it’s as important or unimportant as you deem it to be that day of the week. I understand this fully, as it’s very similar in how I view my creative pursuits of writing or music: I can pour hours into some twisting music that is meticulously designed exactly as I choose, and yet the moment I step away from it, it’s out of my mind and yet still there waiting for me when I want. It’s a perfect thing that I can say means nothing (I’m not a real musician, it’s just a hobby!) or means everything (music is how express myself and it defines me as a person!) depending how I need to view it at that moment. She always did this with her addictions, and I knew that. But she seemed to have it under control. And I think she really did, until it became good to be a crutch for her, when she needed to escape from the difficult reality staring her in the face.

And so she asked herself, why live? Or at least, that’s how I imagine this. She wanted to go through that beginning again, that falling in love, that lusting for what could be without having to deal with the stark and often ugly reality of a day to day life with another person living towards the bottom of the food chain. Ignore that and live for what has been fun consistently for the last ten years: go online and meet someone new and flirt wildly knowing that the distance makes it exciting because you can say anything and it can’t really happen because the distance between is safe and keeps reality away. It’s all fantasy. It’s all another beginning, and the beginnings are surely fun, I can’t argue with that. That’s what she wanted to live for, it seems.

So I’m not left asking myself the same: why live? I still have that One Reason, and though it’s still valid, it feels empty and lonely. I can’t just throw a new topical excuse with it and make it feel acceptable or joyous as when I had another reason, when I had her, and a life with her, and a family with her, and a future with her, to look forward to. That was the reason I never expected to find, and I at times maybe avoided in my past, because I knew that if I were to gain it and lose it, it would break me. But I took it on because it felt safe, she felt safe, she felt like everything to me. She still does. But she left, and I lost it, and it broke me.

I don’t know the answer anymore: why live? Why? Do any of us know, really? I did, once. Not anymore.

It’s done.

She’s gone to her own devices, her own life.

She broke me harder than I ever imagined I could be, and I’m not sure how I’ll move past what we have when I still have nothing but love for her in me; in fact, here’s nothing left of me at this point, the love has eaten away at and replaced me with itself. It’s a curse, a cancer. 

I’ll be done soon, too. 

each a reaper

Last night I dreamt of a hawk trying to drive away buzzards from a carcass that was rightfully his. I only remember a few quick glimpses of this, but the huge buzzards, each a reaper, stayed and feasted upon the freshly killed flesh. 

It’s been in my head all day, these quickly moving images again and again repeated. I think the carcass was me.

bring them to me in floods

I dreamt of a simple moment, when a touch becomes a kiss, becomes a deep kiss, becomes lust, our bodies against a wall, our hands grasping for dear life. Isn’t that what life is, isn’t it just lust and love and whatever brings them to us? You bring them to me in floods, even when I sleep, and isn’t that all life is?  What more could I want than this, than you?

the beasts of the river

He stared into the rainfall on the river’s riled skin, this bottomless night interrupted by storm light; sun bright for a moment, an eternity. The air shakes first, then the earth, then his heart, each sound a tearing, a breeding violence. The entirety of earth in every direction, let it all be a storm like this, let it bring the rain down on her, on them all, let the surging storm face devour the sun and the moon and the stars and blind god from seeing his creation. His folly seethes beneath, the snakes dance upon the banks, they soon dine. The man watches the beasts of the river forming as if each particle fell in its own raindrop, it swims up and down as it grows, as it displaces the water higher and higher, the floodplain filling and spilling. 

We’re all hidden here, alone here, without her eyes upon us. We are all lost and abandoned and somehow the storm grows on this, the earth drowns; in this sorrow, in this storm, in this flood. 

the mountains of the wolves, pt. 1 

she comes to me in waves, sings to me of the pain. she walks the mountains of the wolves, they watch her from afar; the trail of light she weaves mirrors the tracks of the stars. from god comes the moon, from the moon the rain, the rain snakes rivers and i drink, i drown, i am the water and i am the mirrored stars dancing on waves. she is with me, she is in me, she is there and here and is all.

Killing Queens

I sit down after pouring some Maker’s and put on the new Lorn. I just bought it a few days ago and haven’t properly listened to it. It’s pretty dark and brooding, even for Lorn. But as I’m halfway through it and not getting into it quite as expected, I start the alternating slow and quick scrolling through the digital library to see if anything catches my eye.

There: The Life and Times appears in my browsing, and it hits me that yup, that’s it. But which album? No One Loves You Like I Do seems maybe a little too on the nose for tonight. I remember that there’s a new EP they put out a few months ago that was all cover songs, some of which I heard and wasn’t all bad but definitely not the right mood. So here I wonder what else they’re up to; well, it turns out they released a new album. Today. I’d not heard a thing about it.

It’s called simply The Life and Times. I thought at first it was called The Map To My Heart based on my hurried scan of the blog post here, along with the lovely cover art that helped implant that suggestion into my head. And though I’ve not finished listening to it as I type this, I’m not feeling it for the most part. Some good moments here though, I’ll give it that. Maybe it’ll grow on me. That first song, however, hit me right away, and deserves a paragraph all it’s own.

“Killing Queens” it’s named, and of course I assume it’s a bit of a call-back to their last album Lost Bees. But then the vocals come in, and I start noticing some lyrics…I’ll just quote them below.

if you run away from me i’ll love you from afar if you run away from me and now the only one i care about is you and now the only thing i drink about is you if you need to be alone i’ll be waiting if you need to be alone when you look up at the stars i’m shining down on you when you look up at the stars and now the only one i care about is you and now the only thing i drink about is you and now the only one i’d care enough to drink about is you if you take your life from me i’ll never let you go if you take your life from me when you look down from the stars take me with you when you look down from the stars and now the only one i care about is you and now the only thing i drink about is you and now the only one i’d care enough to drink about is you

So I’ve been doing plenty of wallowing, but this little slice of serendipity that fed so magically into my state of mind is out of the ordinary. The universe is obviously conspiring to tell me something. The universe doesn’t often conspire to tell you to be keep being sad and pathetic, I think. That’s not what I’ve seen much of in books and movies, quite the opposite. This last paragraph is of course typed with a wealth of sarcasm, just in case you can’t tell.

epilogue: I put on No One Loves You Like I Do afterwards anyway, because, well, fuck me.

Leave me to the wolves. Drown me in the rapids. Burn me alive, in these endless fields, under this boundless sky. I’ll never say no. I’ll never leave.

I’ll beg you for death, but a death by your hand. I’ve never wanted to be anywhere but there, my hands in your hands. Can’t you see? Can you hear me?

There is no romance, no hope in this. It’s defeat by which I breathe. I’ll never fight it off. I’ll never leave.