Sunday, April 21, 2013

Trainspotting. Dreams! On the lamb... Feng shui?

I've always dreamed vigorously. Here's to savoring my minds inexhaustible avenues. Here's to having as much energy as my imagination. So I'll smoke and let my fingers do the talking.

I watched Trainspotting with Kevin last night (or technically the night before since we are currently 3.5 hours into Sunday, I'll clarify by telling you that this dream happened Saturday morning to be exact). I had a dream that I was on the run, for some reason, I had done something reprehensible and the entire world was on the lookout for me like they were for the scummy fucks that bombed Boston (may we take them out ever so slowly now that we have found them). Anyways, the world wanted to get their grubby paws on me and were searching confidently, zeroing in. Somehow I found myself in a thick woods, of tree's that swallowed the sky and shot so high above you that you couldn't fathom that they ended at all. The sky was a far cry from the limit. As I said, I was on the run,  like a wild animal somewhere in the middle off NOWHERE I found a house. I made my way inside and came across two blonde toddlers, girls with ringlets. They were beautiful, and so very small that they couldn't much talk. This was a good thing in my dream I remember, because I could tell them not to tell anyone they'd seen me, or tell anything at all. I tried coaxing this fact to them with a hand upon one of the girls heads. As I am trying to convince them of silence, the grandmother comes about the house,  and I dash into a back room to hide, but she see's me. She is weary of my presence but tries to   keep her calm and as she makes her way to another part of the house I know intuitively that she is alerting the authorities and calling me in. For some reason I am in my little sister Leahs room I realize, and there is my dresser from my current room in front of me, and  its filled with my sisters clothes. In one drawer I know somehow that there is a clean pair of black jeans and a black top, so I change my clothes in an effort to switch up my appearance and better disguise my identity. I make a mad dash from the house, out a back door and careen crazily through this forest. I remember being terrified at the realization that I was going to get lost because I had absolutely no idea where I was, and no way of knowing where I was going, or how to "get away". The authorities were close, and I broke crazily through the heavy woods, I ripped through tangled low-hanging vines that weighted higher tree branches, I weaved through tree trunks, and remember falling into a swamp like body of water. A giant catfish gulped me up, so I stood up,  and undressed myself from its mouth like I was pulling a tight dress down to my feet. I make it to civilization, a city or town somewhere that resembles the suburbs in Oregon in which Mark Shaulskiy's parents lived. In my dream I am in the suburbs and it is early morning, the sun has broke the mountains from  sunrise and continues on it's daily route. This visual, and a lot of this scene reminds me of when Mark and I had planned to rob his parents safe, and had journeyed all the way to their home just to not be able to do what we came to do. It was so early in the morning when we finally gave up and ventured precariously back to my mother's house. Back to my dream, I find a road, and see a big truck with the back open, so I hide away inside to catch a secret ride. The driver uknowingly stows me away to help me along in my escape. When he finally stops he opens the back door and I hop out,  but he seems more surprised that someone was back there, rather than seeming to recognize exactly who it WAS that was in the back of the truck. I run out and wind up in hallways, white hallways like in a school but this place has a company feel, a well kept warehouse, and its just hallways of doors to storage rooms. I go into  a room, its got minimal light through closed blinds. The perfect amount of light where you can see the dust floating peacefully around in the soft suns rays that manage to peek through. Here in this room I have a mental narrative of Kevin explaining, how a room should be set up to be successful at what I'm trying to do, which is set this room up for some reason, not to stow away there but for weird reason I think I was trying to find some serenity, simply. And I started with making the room mine, so I picture BleuBleu's mural on the blank wall I'm looking at and Kevin's words are that I need a single chair, because the right seating is important, and that it MUST have a back (and I remember arguing with that logic in my head, "well of COURSE, otherwise it would be a stool right? not a chair..and I don't even HAVE a stool here to use so it's gunna be a chair obviously) hahah. Anyways, I remember vividly seeing the profile of kevins face, with bleubleu's mural contrasted in the background behind him (the one from the vid from his apartment) and he's  explaining now that I need a t.v., one that is not plugged in and that I must make sure that it doesnt work (and for some reason I get anxious and Im walking around with this old tv in my hands mumbling to myself trying to remember if he said it SHOULD or it SHOULDNT work.."he said SHOULDNT right? but shouldnt it work if im gunna HAVE a tv?"...I'm starting to lose  whatever calm I was able to afford, and at this point I'm  realizing they are definitely going to catch me, once and for all. I head outside, back where the same truck that I stowed away in before, is parked, abandoned again with the back open as it was before and as instantaneous as I walked out there were helicoptors and cops with guns and dogs. I remember knowing that the dogs were in the warehouse smelling me out so I made a vain attempt to escape being captured, just to walk into the inevitable capture anyways. I raised my hands slowly above my head, elbows cocked above each of my ears, and assured them I understood their requests and I remember yelling to the police over and over, "I am going peacefully! Hey, I'm going peacefully! Everyone calm down, I'm not putting up a fight.." And I laid  myself down on the ground in surrender and my dream ended before I could remember them actually handcuffing me, or taking me to a cell or anything like that. Quite the dream! I was just revising something else I wrote recently and in the middle of reading this totally unrelatable piece, my entire dream started coming back to me in full detail. Kevin mentioned, like I said, that I should write my dreams down. I do, and I have, but I don't take care to maintain their memory like I used to, and the sad/unfortunate fact is that I seem to dream less since I've moved here to Tucson,  and SPECIFICALLY since I got clean almost three months ago, so I miss dreaming. And it might be the case that I dream as often, but I just don't remember them like I did before.  Cheers to remembering!

-dm.

"Sugarplum fairy came and hit the streets."

            I remember taking a walk on the wild side. I remember wearing 3D glasses during the day time because my reality was so electric and so gigantic, that my eyes couldn't keep up. My pupils would cower, hunkered down in the surrounding blue-grey weather. They would shrink away in the yellowy white of their Ray Charles ways. I was on fire. I was attacking my own self, from the very nape of my neck. From the center of my spine, is where I started, and from whence my powers and problems grew. I was only looking to be alive, to have the world permeate my skin. To feel every existing wavelength with the very fibers of my muscles. I just wanted to have the weather seep into the roots of my teeth.  I just wanted time to pass through me, and pool at my feet. I wanted everything, and I wanted every moment and facet of life, to feel me watching it, to feel my eyes on it, my desire of it's fucking attention, so that the sun, and the nitrogen in the air, and all the poison in the ground, would have no choice but to stop it's necessary action on Earth, face me, and acknowledge my every taste and scent and flaw of how I stood before them. I wanted it all, I wanted the terror, and how I portrayed it only to be forgotten. How my brain would run like a shaken child, pounding against my skull, it would rampage upstairs, destroying the bad memories as they flooded the gates steadily. I pictured my brain, fervently dropping wine glasses of poison happenings, and stomping them ruthlessly like the Rabbi at a jewish wedding .I wanted everything, I wanted the exact epitome love, I wanted the flutter of my heart to feel fatal, and I wanted that comfort of  unquestioning commitment to the emotion. Where I had once felt like a half-read paper in the wind, tumbling feet over head in the dirt and grit over the edge of a sidewalk, I wanted love to come and have swept me up. Giving me the safety of gravity, like someone snipped the threads that held the night sky, letting  it fall on me like a blanket of black velvet; heavy heavy heavy as eternity. Heavy as what it held. Like my heart in its anxious confusion, wondering what all the racket my brain was making upstairs was really about. That blanket dropped like the new year at midnight, or like land that held dynamite. I wanted it all, I wanted the sadness that I held at bay until it caught me by surprise around a corner and grabbed me by my throat. The utter despair that demanded my attention like I expected of the Universe. The sadness that chilled my blood and stopped at the nape of my neck, the start of me and my problems, and resigned, frozen solid. Completely  stopped by the sadness, immovable, silent, hollowed and trapped under the ice. Stuck, the sole existing thing within the darkness of this emotion, living off of a trapped air bubble. Waiting for my life source to be snuffed by the calamity and  weight that the sadness I created, held. It was a beast of burden. My experiments gone wrong, a pet run loose. My consequences of these Ray Charles eyes. This sadness bore an infection from the smallest sliver of a shard of glass from a posion memory my brain crushed to smithereens,  but never properly disposed of.  I had wanted all of those things, the truth of them. The sweat of my Earth, and I wanted to know her taste.  If these hands were to be red, and god damn it there was to be blood, then I want it to be the blood of everyone I know. I wanted to know the deepest depths of the moments I encountered, I wanted them to bloom in front of me, with first breaths of air. I wanted to be the first face recognized, I wanted to be permanent, and important. I wanted the world to be connected to me, so we could chase eachother like tails. I was going to seek it like a duckling follows the first thing that graces it's eyesight. These kaleidoscope eyes that I overwhelmed with 3D glasses even, in my hunt of all things "more". In  the search for the farthest extent of "Right Now". And if I was going to dig  my toes into the ground until I could feel the heat of the sunset on a summers day in China, then god damn it I was gunna watch it die too. And, as I saw it, with my Ray Charles eyes. As I saw it with my minute pupils quietly seeing behind a 3D wall-the sooner I died, the closer I was to this "Oneness" I couldn't  capture as Dallas McMackin. This wholeness, that I sought. An idea I was educated about but had no personal experience of because in  all my efforts, I had concluded that life was slicked. It was our invisibly saran-wrapped, physical playground for the stupid,  for the dumb, and for the idiotic.Simply for the physicallity of it all only. Earth was where we suffered. We had a miniscule 70-80 year sentence on this blue and green orb so that we could become acquainted with the notion we have souls. We were given physical bodies, and life stages, and puberty so we could be fascinated, disgusted, and then familiar with our casings. We are like empty, self-fulfilling photo albums; where will we go? what will we capture? what might we want to keep with us forever? what would we die to forget? These are the things Earth is for. Our slicked, bubble wrapped world of perception-our Dummies Guide to gaining experience, so that we may one day hold the wisdom to truly want to understand these souls. So we start with ourselves; we are given disease, and death, and sex of all kinds so that we may understand our emotions, and the many colors in which they can paint us. How the way we feel paints our world. How if you look at the colors long enough, they can change and blur. What once was red, is completely blue sometimes in the end. The people, that the universe creates, winds and sets off toddling this way and that, those are the most catastrophic and game-changing of the tools we get on Earth. In this world. The most important tool, is others. I think more so than ourselves, because if it was just ourselves, nothing would change. The colors would never change, because we would never mix our palettes. These people are the objects that we bump against, friction of the souls, the ones that sand away at us. Intentional, accidental, vicariously; whatever the route may be, it's imperative. Intentions hold possibility of immediate change, results like a hammer to a piggy bank. Then there's the collective unconscious, still effective on us in our time here, like a trickle of water that grows into a river that evaporates only after it has formed the Grande Canyon. I felt these facts, and I wanted to know death sooner, because I had figured out the riddle of my here and now. I had burned and beaten, and loved and  soothed and worshipped my skin, but I couldn't reach my soul. I was exhausted by the rattling of my mind, and the quivering of my heart. The echo of my steps, and the harsh rasp of my breath not only in, but constantly following with an exhale. My fingers and my hands were my only friends, and they felt as trapped as I did. They begged to die, they only wanted to write and they hated watching me hurt myself when they KNEW that THIS life was only to learn that lesson. It was like finding out about a surprise party beforehand, and the dread of having to fake a sincere reaction. Of having to re enact and hold onto that lie. To try so hard to make it authentic for the world, a midst having probably just lost the very point OF that moment- The surprise. Life was an obstacle course to give your soul bruises, so you're better equipped in handling the magnitude of the After Life, or Hell, or Heaven, or whatever other world awaiting with the need to be capitalized, may be. I had wanted it all, and when the surprise was blown, I wanted to know exactly where  my prize was. I would stop up my throat if it meant I could strip this skin and feel time with my soul. If temperature lost validity and I was made up of the same components as Joy, and Anger, and the substances that make up all the light years of space, then that's exactly where I wanted to be. I had been walking, I took a walk on the wild side and met my maker one afternoon. I used a syringe to get some heroin into my veins so I could paint my world a little, and my soul jumped ship. I had perforated my skin, right through my moment on Earth and tapped my soul  on the shoulder. Instinctively it jumped, not expecting company for another 70-80 years it was caught off guard. I was handed a note through a dark door and it said "Open Your Eyes", so I did. The Dallas McMackin casing that I had been so crude with, opened the eyelids I was assigned that first day. As I did I realized that my vision was that of complete white. There was no shade, no color, no contrast, no shape or dimension. In my selfish and blind urge to paint myself something different, to change where I was into somewhere I wanted to be, I had thrown parallelism between my soul and body. I had flailed, and perforating my soul with a needle, I had sent myself spiraling too far ahead of myself like a balloon losing air. Luckily for me, the world is greater than I, and it's hands are gracious, Like I said, I took a walk on the wild side, and I do not remember where I went when I did leave this world, but all I know is when I got to come back, and I tried to "Open My Eyes" the world was all white. So far from my intentions of painting, it was now entirely blank all around. I brought my hands, my loyal servants and friends, I brought them to my face and found tears streaming my skin. Dancing rivers from my eyes-running, screaming. My fingers caressed the water telling me the details, they conveyed to me that there were tears here, and they brought cupped handfuls to their mouth to tell me that they tasted of salt, like the oceans that slow dance with gravity back here on Earth. In the white, the vast, stark nothingness without the comfort of dark, this is where my pupils were first ever afraid. They called out to my hands for directions, for details and for news. My brain smoothed away years of crushed glasses and bottles and porcelain remains for the time being, stoically internalizing the things my fingers and hands were interpreting. The messages of my hands, that first feeling of tears from eyes, this was my surprise party. Sensations, the ones I had spoken so low of, the ones I had thrown aside, and demanded instead to know "What Next?!", pounding my fists! My heart sat listening against my skull, intent upon every noise and happening on the other side. trying to make sure that it missed NOTHING of what my head was experiencing. My whole self was with me in entirety  watching my face, my reaction to the surprise party of my life. I remember when I returned from that walk, on the wild side that day. How I had overdosed in a public bathroom in a gaudy search for an emotional niche that was out of my reach, and when I was handed back to my body, soul in tact, I remember how I couldn't see. The amount of white made me cry, and I could feel  my head and heart eachoing eachothers greif and regrets realized. I remember how my fingers had felt the tears between them just to hold onto something, and how all of a sudden one of the times I blinked those tears away I saw the world appear in front of me again. I saw the blue sky, the robin egg blue sky, like it was mixed with just a dash of cream. No clouds had come to greet me, but a tree was there. With tendrils for branches, and I smiled and looked up within it's canopy, at a sparrow. A tiny brown sparrow with black markings, how it flitted from the ground only for a second before he took to the treetop. I remember watching this bird take off from the ground into the milk and sugar sky and how I paid attention to the sensation that my smile had, the pull of the corners and it's picturesque timing. How I intentionally remembered EVERYTHING about that moment, because I had almost lost it. I had stolen the beauty of the surprise, I had tossed it like salt over a shoulder.  I had lost so much time trying to negate everything around me in a shallow and heartless quest for the next best thing. I had ALMOST failed my bubble-wrapped world. But the world had grabbed me by my throat, along with my terror and love and sadness-it had looked me into my eyes until the moment no longer belonged to me, so that the memory of it was never  even an option. It had slithered through me,  overseeing my framework, seeing me for everthing I ever was and the things I could be if I tried, and it gave me the chance I was given the day I was born. I was re-assigned my task. My true task, as I had been told; ONE instruction, "Open Your Eyes" so I did, as I had 17 years before that, And I saw again, as if for the first time, like I had 17 years before. I had taken a walk on the wild side, and now I just remained with open eyes, because the world is already watching me, staring me straight into my eyes, into my iris, into my cornea through my optic nerve and pouring out into my heart of hearts. It is already there, it has always been and always WILL be, so I may now continue on walking. For it is not the arrival or the end that I need seek, but I must see the many colors of this world, and feel the textures that this life leaves on me. You see, we are but canvas, and we must choose to roll in the world of our colors. We must seek to battle the blank.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

"It's Happening Again..."

(*Beach House reference)

I talked to a co-worker today about hobbies, and our interests. The things we try to do continuously with the intent of staying sane, at least those are my goals, and I assume they are common. 

So here I am purging, vicariously spewing through these willing fingers-the part of me that's strong when the rest are far diseased, long lost leprous has-been's. I think my last nerve runs right through my thumbs haha.

I am such a "Forever-er", when I really think about it. Truly, it's admirable, at least I think so, at least after everything so far-it's admirable. "It goes down easy"..("Brandy Alexander, Feist reference). It goes down easy for me, this connection and commitments to loyalty. To a possible forever. I know that all things temporary will happen regardless of our input or efforts. 

I spoke of my hesitance towards the saying "Your first love never dies", because I could give or take life without that person, but then I was overcome with the nostalgia of the way I felt with that person. The way the Earth shook if anyone cast doubt our way. How we fought tooth and nail to protect the way we ruthlessly loved the other. How did it fade? When did the roots become stunted? Was that love, those abilities, were they transplanted? Did they do like strawberries do, slowly reaching out in the inevitability's of time and grasp a safer ground to re-start? Are these the same roots at all? Do these leaves need as much sunshine, or am I a reduced as a shrub of the night...


"Like Rock and Roll and the Radio" by Ray Lamontagne

Are you still in love with me
Like the way you used to be or is it changing?
Does it deepen over time like the river
That is winding through the Canyon?

Are you still in love with her?
Do you remember how you were before the sorrow?
Are you closer for the tears
Or has the weight of all the years left you hollow?

Are we strangers now?
Like the Ziegfeld Gal and the Vaudeville show?
Are we strangers now
Like rock and roll and the radio?
Like rock and roll and radio

I can see you lyin' there
Tying ribbons in your hair and pullin' faces
I can feel your hand in mine
Though were living separate lives in separate places

Are we strangers now?
Like the Ziegfeld Gal and the Vaudeville show?
Are we strangers now?
Like rock and roll and the radio?
Like rock and roll and radio

All these white lies hanging like flies on the wall
Hard wired, road tired
Counting curtain calls and waiting
Waiting for the axe to fall

Are you still in love with me
Like the way you used to be or is it changing?
Does it deepen over time, like the river
That is winding through the Canyon?

Are we strangers now?
Like the Ziegfeld Gal and the Vaudeville show?
Are we strangers now?
Like rock and roll and the radio?
Like rock and roll and radio

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

I can't sleep until I've written this.

*This is something that a friend wrote, and I even went so far as to ask him if I could share it, but that was me being SOMEwhat polite, because the fact is I HAD to share this, once I read it. And I'm a sorry shit for not waiting for a yes or no, and he may or may not ever see this, and hell he might've said yes already, who knows-I suck at checking my facebook haha, but it made me think (What a change in pace!) -and to finish my thoughts I write them. Hence: *

"I needed to write, and get some things off my chest.

This isn't for you, so please don't read it and be a critic. It's just free-writing.
This is for a specific person, and needs to be extremely revised before I send it... if I ever send it...

I don't fucking know...

Whatever...

So, there I was…
Literally, living in a cave.
I had a brick wall on one side of me, a single window and a bathroom dug into the side of the hill my neighbor’s house sat upon.
Every night I would stay inside, because the world outside seemed terrifying, and I don’t know about you, but I’m too smart to risk it for a party.
I was living with a girl, before, but I was just a cat-sitter, for her, really.
I smoked a joint with a new friend, one time, and thought to contact him…
And over time we started hanging out, mostly because I was bored of the two people I called friends, but really just used because I didn’t have the social confidence to go out, and meet people.
Besides, misery loves company.
So, when I moved into the cave and hardly knew a soul, I called our old friend to come and keep me company and smoke.
Over time he started introducing me to all his friends, and they would introduce me to their friends… and so on and so on, like a circus ride of undesired, useless, shallow people with nothing to offer but bad drugs and distractions from how unsatisfied I was with my life.
I kept shuffling through them like I do vinyl at a record store.
So there I was…
Literally, living in a cave.
There I was, when I met you.
You had dreadlocks, then. I remember how you smiled, and I remember telling Gabrielle that you made me feel wild. I said I think I fell in love, and now I know I did.
Honestly, up to this exact moment, right now… I didn’t think love at first sight existed.
Now, I look back and realize that I was smitten from the moment that I saw you, but you were taken.
Gabrielle informed me of the fact, and I almost hit the ground, but I was stronger then.
I played it cool, and always tried to be there for you, then… and when he dumped you, all I wanted was to pick you up again.
I knew I couldn’t.
It was too soon, so I played the part of friend… But every time I saw you hurt yourself, I intervened.
I learned you like I learned the cuts and scratches on my arms
I found out other guys had had you, since and fell apart
I told you then, I wanted you to be my only one, but I still wasn’t sure if I could trust you not to break my heart
I said if I was yours, and you were mine, I’d love you till I die
The day in Laughlin that you told me you would dedicate yourself to me changed my life, and I don’t think things will, honestly, ever be the same.
From that day on, I tried to keep myself from opening up, and in the first few months you caught me doing things I knew I should have not.
But then we talked, and you accepted me, and showed me how willing you were to fight for something… That conversation changed me… I was loyal from then on.
We got a dog. My Doughboy. He still misses you, every day…
My sister passed away, and I remember when the news came.
You got off work so you could be the one to hold and console me, but I wasn’t ready to let it fully hit me that she was gone.
I lost the part of me that made me lose the whole of you, that day…
We packed our bags and moved, to get away from friends that used us, and travelled north with your mom and brother, and that’s when I knew you were the one.
I remember hiking in Cayucos, and staring at you on the beach, thinking ‘Is this really mine?’
I’d hold you every night, and sit and listen to the fire, and I’ve never been so happy in my whole, entire, life.
I grew so close to Noah, that I saw him as my sibling, and I wanted him to see a person treat you how you should be.
Your mom was selfish, hurting and she made you feel neglected, but she loved you and I think it taught us all a valuable lesson.
We tried to get a place in Oregon, but winter was rolling in, and I don’t think you were ready to live alone on bad terms with your family.
I understood, completely.
So we came back to Arizona, and my parents took us in.
It wasn’t ideal, but we lived in a beautiful part of town.
When we returned, we learned that you were almost 4 months along.
To be honest, I was really happy… I thought how happy we could be.
I didn’t tell you, cause I knew we didn’t have the ability to raise a child, and you were pretty set on an abortion, so I spent my check to put an end to our unborn child.
I don’t blame you, and I don’t want that to be misconstrued.
I understand and love every single part of you.
So your emotions were a wreck, and I just sat there playing video games, and talking about the future like some day I’d get paid for doing fucking nothing.
I see now that I was lost because I couldn’t make you happy, and I my sister’s death was setting in.
I gave up on taking care of myself.
I gave up on caring about everything.
I tried to leave you, because I thought that it would make you happy.
Nothing that I tried to do could seem to mean anything, and so I left for a week… I couldn’t even bring myself to look at another girl… but you found someone to kiss.
At least that’s what you told me.
I cried for 2 days over that, but in the end, I realized that you were really mine… You still loved me, and you still wanted to wake up next to me.
I couldn’t have been happier, than when I made that realization.
By that time, though, your mom and brother had moved back, and you were finally able to spend time with them, and you were so annoyed and angry, because we were still living with my family.
I think you had high expectations, but I understand, especially now, because you were just having gone through an abortion.
I tried to be there for you all I could, but I know that it wasn’t enough.
I remember when we fought because you hung out with a person that I considered my enemy, and I acted like the biggest fucking piece of shit human being…
These are things I still can’t forgive myself for.
My dad and I were trying to build a trailer, for you and I to live in… but I never listened to your suggestions… and I made you feel uninvolved.
Everything I did in that trailer, I did for you… I can’t even sleep out there anymore.
We didn’t finish it. We still haven’t.
One day you suggested taking your mom’s old trailer out to the woods, and living in it for a while.
It fixed everything.
It really did.
I remember the way we would ravage each other, and walk… Bask in the sun and smile because Doughboy was so happy, and fit, and beautiful.
You were so beautiful.
I remember walking to the top of the mountain just to watch the storm roll in.
The next week we would hike in the white blanket.
I also remember how idiotic and weak I was when a drunken asshole showed up and blasted music.
I remember that you had to handle something I should have.
I hate myself for that.
I was a coward, and I know that still makes you angry, to this day.
After that, and being sick, and Doughboy being stuck inside a 30 ft trailer for a week, we ended up getting into another fight.
It was stupid.
We were stressed, and communication was getting weaker…
You moved in with your mom, and that’s about the time I think you fell out of love with me.
From then on, we saw each other every chance I had, and we would still hike and hang out and make love… but you hated it.
We couldn’t have the time we needed, or the space.
I felt ashamed every time I touched you, because you didn’t feel comfortable.
I understand.
It was nobody’s fault.
I didn’t lose a spark for you, I just felt that you were starting to.
I tried to hold onto you, like the memories I have now… but over time you distanced yourself.
The last time we fought you thought I told you that you weren’t beautiful, but what I meant is that you were, and I wasn’t enough for you.
I know that fight destroyed the last remains of your love for me, but the entire thing was misinterpreted, because I lost the will to fight anymore.
I remember everything.
I remember every moment.
I know everything I did wrong.
I know my apathy came from losing my sister, and I know it’s no excuse.
I’m changing now, and so are you… but I miss you so goddamn much
Not just because I loved you, but because you made me love…
You opened me like a book, and tore my rotten pages out.
I just wish you would stick around and write some more, with me.
I’ll always be here, for you.
I’m sorry for my actions.
I’ll try to find myself, and learn to redirect my passion.
I just want you to know that it’s not some superficial high school love story fit I am throwing when I cry for a week and a half straight…
I’ve never felt as connected to anybody, in my entire life…
I really mean it."

*All Credit goes to Rott En Flowers.


Dallas McMackin from here on out:

I used to have nothing to lose. I use to bear my soul in every step I took, in every look I gave, in every word I uttered. I had nothing to lose, so where was the hesitation? I gave no credit to "edit" and I was who I was, there was never any question in that. I guess I would say some of it was the drugs, and some would say it was, but I miss that about myself. To be honest, I don't know who I am anymore if you can't look at me and see me bleeding from the way I talk. I don't know how else to be true to myself, but to cut my mind and soul up into bite size peices and let only those who are willing to sample it, get close enough. But I used to make people worry, they used to fear for me, because I only was whatever I was feeling or going through at that moment, and now here I am, striding through bigger moments of life, nonchalantly. Unphased, and totally out of my element for that. I guess some would say I only know how to live in chaos, but the thing is I only know how to live %100. I only know how to invest my every molecule. These veins only have one mode, and that's to bleed themselves dry. This could all come off sounding very "emoyional" but I say this all very analytically. Very confused, not sad. But pondering, how can I find myself again? Or am I just still on the look out for something I've never even known. Would I even know what I was looking for if I saw it in the first place? Is this whole line of questioning, is this discomfort I describe of my current lifestyle, just my own inevitable perpetuation of a "comfortable level of chaos"? 
Why do I ask so many questions? Lol.. Haha, aghh.. Really though, I just wonder sometimes. To quote Einstein, "The question that drives me hazy, is it me or the others who are crazy?" Am I really the "hard one" to deal with? Well, sometimes, yes. BUT, why is my loyalty a downfall? Why has this stronghold of my character caused me so much grief? I guess, because I have no control over others actions, or their expectations of me. But also because of the fact I want to love a person into loving themselves, and you can't DO that when drugs are involved...or even without the drugs possibly. I am absolutely haywire, trying to pick the lock on getting over a very recent wrongdoing, from someone whose life I have literally held in my hands. I fought for this boy's life every day, in one way or another for 2 fucking years. I bore the weight that he couldn't handle, I took the blows that would have taken him out, and I fucking held my head high for him too when he couldn't look in the goddamned mirror. I shouldn't have done a lot of the things that I chose to do FOR him, for a number of reasons. I shouldn't have done things for him just to hold them over his head later, or act like he owed me a favor in return. Or turn myself into a martyr, when no one could tell me what to do otherwise, and I was just hurting this same person with my actions, and then demanding credit for taking the punch that-if I wasn't so goddamned stubborn-we might have been able to dodge entirely. I'm questioning everything that has always been what's made me myself, and since I've started these questions I have had not a single answer. And I don't know if I am lost, less self-important that I originally thought, haha, or if this is life. Is this growing up? Are these the way the days unfold outside of chaos? Or I can dumb it up and say I'm bored. Which is true, I am bored, but that's not what's going on, big picture here.

"I think I'm dumb,
I think I'm dumb,
I think I'm dumb, or maybe just happy."
"Dumb" by Nirvana.

-dm. exhaustion&mybonesarewrithing&myjawyawnsonandonandon

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

4.16.13


I sailed my thoughts from the belly of a bear, 
ragamuffin girl with a doll's matted hair. 
I put the post-smoke fire out in a mini forest of flowers that my family had planted there. 
The shrubs were adorned with silver ornaments that shook as I leaned near; like I hailed a power, and they held a fear.



-dm.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Forget-me-not flush mind.


Here's to preserving the time's of new,  
When silver knew not of tarnish, when a day knew not of bleak. 

When the bottoms of feet received the texture of a world with the thirst for adventure and new found truths, not the anticipation of pain recalled. 

When eyes held soft and fast the sights before us, kaleidoscope mirrors of the sweet things we conjured up within arms reach - no shields waved madly behind gazes, no anxiety picked from the place between the things we've said, and what we'd meant. 

Just the days of milk and honey, days made of two pieces, You and I. 

When God shook the earth like a snow globe; how we laughed and rolled  in silly confusion, and every petal that had ever fallen newly adorned our hair. 

To taste it; a tree's warm breath. Those, are the days of milk and honey, may you find them now.

-dm.