Sunday, May 31, 2015

Billie Holiday says I'm a fool to love you,

<Written in March? I'm not quite sure of the exact time frame now-accidentally saved this as a draft because I prematurely ended it, but as sadly ironic as this is now, my desire to keep this blog nakedly truthful and starkly honest will have me posting it tonight 5.31.15 >


But I am a fool in many ways.

How I wish I could write this/type this on my bed 10 ft from where I sit now, barefeet nestled in the dirt outside my door, warm in my bed, I wish I could sit there, and smoke, and just be.
But like my existance has been for as long as I can remember,
I will struggle through this.

I don't know who fucking reads this stuff I write,
I presume no one outside Steve, my best friend,
and possibly my only true friend.
The only one that withholds judgement when I flounder and expose my truths,
and my struggle, and the hurt in my journeys,
The only one who calls,
and talks,
and laughs,
without expectation.
Except maybe the expectation, of hopefully the same in return.
25 years andd I have found one such friend,
and thank the fucking Universe that I ran into such a soul.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Welcoming Spring Committee

A fine day it is.
I'm gunna walk it out.
I'm waiting for Randy to rumble on in with that dusty, dirty, dilapidated diesel-doused pile of steel bones he calls "A Truck".
I love that truck. Fuck his beemer.

Anywho,
Keizer,
Randy,
and I
are going to go on a hike. Through the emerald forest that spikes and dips its way, in a thoughtful pattern, to Jason's mother's house.

I can't wait to see my puppy,
my mid-sized pile of fun.
My stupid, slobbering idiot of a love bug.
My biggest, silliest, twerkiest fan.
I'd say "quirkiest" but given a few years of my own past I do happen to know some tweakers and perma-fries.

Steve if you're reading this I miss you pal and I am sorry I didn't make a better effort to ditch what I was doing and come say goodbye. I think I was a little resentful given my current situation at that given time, and my out pour of effort into the program, which a jokes worth of a return when it came to social support from meetings. Also, you seem to be in a very different place, meeting different people, trying different things. Time always has time, and fortunately so do we, so I truly think that if it's all copacetic and meant to be we'll chat again, maybe even see eachother. It's happened to me with much less important folk.

Well the point of this post was for no one other than me (and Steve), and just the mere fact that I need to write more. I must, I should, I will, and I can. So here it is. For no other reason.

We've all got to start some where, right?

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Born Bad

I am dying,
dying slowly in a pile of milky flesh warm and cynical like white velvet left behind.
I am crying in the room I tried to make into a home,
i crammed, and scooted furniture, i read magazines that were recycled, i painted blood in and out of myself. I fucked and fought and cried in that room, THIS room, and I still can't find enough room ANYWHERE where I might fit.
Except for inside his hands,
in the crease of his palms.
Tucked away between the bristles of your tongue, as they part way for the smooth of your voice.

"I love you Mallory", you hint-you slide it out there with the intention and force of food handed through a door for an inmate. Like the best food they could have never expected-and you stand there intensely, watching me inhale those words, those consonants and vowels sweet like sustenance.

and I coo back to you with all the honor, joy, comfort, and warmth of the world that goddammit "I love you too Mickey". I roll the truth from the tip of my tongue, with all its hundred thousand bristles gently releasing my words back to you, so you can live off the sustenance of my love.

You are the only one I love. You are the only one I love. You are the only one I love to love...
And we eat together like fever hounds-lapping up the energy buzzing off of your aura-you nibble lovingly on the electric pain reliever I hope my love is for you. And it is. You paint my eyelids with scenarios of tremendous horrors, and all the terrible happenings that might make someone lose hope or hate themselves; you say "darling, if you lost all your arms and legs no one could take my love from you-even then, no one could pry my grip". You cry this to me, with your phantom limbs tracing the grooves where I've cried a generations worth of tearful rivers, deep into the lines of my face.

How could I not be lonely without you? You are the only Truth I've known that could stand the test of time-you never left me, you stayed, tattooed behind my lips. You lay nestled among my fingertips, reminding me of our journeys and adventures. Wherever I went there you were-more Truthful than the Sun and Moon. You were the laughter deep inside of me waiting to escape, while I tried to swim from your impostors. Some said I was Cool, some kept me trapped like a shivering bunny in a cage. Some mocked me, joking I was just like allll the other baby birds that had fallen from their nests.

But here you are, where we last were. Here you have been waiting, to give thanks with love letters of the mouth, and we lay muddled and excited as we drew near and canvassed adventures across each others necks. I could lay here forever with you, never blink, and never atrophy. Only the Truth can make you whole again like that.

And I couldn't bear it in my soul if I ever had to miss you again. Together, forever, until we die, and die, and die again.

See You Soon Mickey