birthday

oh beer. oh dear. every year you get the best of me i turn into the worst of me and i'm just now getting back to normal. back then i'd call richard and moan and cringe and swear i'd never drink another drop again. or i'd call texaho, and we'd shrug and say that's just the way it is. this time.. pretty bad. but at least everyone is so kind. i don't want to go back to that bar again. thats all i'm saying.

more rain, more parties. people i don't know, social akward moments, and no extra beer to drink. its a hard thing to be aroung people. constant reminder that i have diareah of the mouth. we say strange things like it's commonplace. i don't have to time to keep myself from offending anyone. life is short and i'm about 40 years in.

40. fuck. i still haven't written a novel. and i haven't really been anywhere. its times like this i try to think like a george harrison song. why are people so strange? why does living have to be so hard. i love my husband. i don't know how i'd make it thru the slipperly steps of these social constructs. mad swirl was insanity. the curmudgeon attacked me verbally and drowned in his solitude as i can back to him with a counter attack. i dont even look at him in the face. thursday the drunken bday fiasco. innapropriate behavior abound. too many beers. too much anxiety drowning in the heavy hop pint glasses. music. drums..drums drums.. jelously and insecurity.. more beers. friday a wash. saturday sober akwardness and amy winehouse hairdo. anglofied partyness. my brown can't get down. today family time, walking the pulga that smells like roasted corn and sounds like poppers hitting the ashphalt. i shoulda bought some shoes. sandwiches and long rides back home..i burned dinner but everyone thought it was good. the hours are ticking away and i have to go back to work again. these past four days off i remembered who i was again and i liked it, even if i am just really fucked up after all. happy birthday to me.

high and low

listening to music non stop. have to do something about the extreme highs and lows. wandering in and out of dream states. not sure if its the meds or the lack of or just a janky mental state. chalk up all three.
impatient. uneasy. walking with a slight limp. lost some weight, nothing to worry about. probably just the poverty diet we keep. i feel strangely compelled to go to ash wednesday mass. to feel the ash on my forehead like when i was a child. catholic bindi. i make plans just to break them. i have dreams just to document the strange familiar feeling I get just having them. the towns and cities constructed out of brain synapses and memory overloads. when I drive i feel like i'll reach the end of my dream life if i go in repetitve paths. there is a familiar road i take that reminds me of the left over cans of vegetables that were left in the fridge after my mother died. we cried and threw them in the trash. everything has been scrubbed away. as if nothing ever happened. i hold on to things forever. once they are gone i'm one day closer to death. listening to music non stop. i have to do something about the extreme highs and lows.

dream

we packed up the car, boxes and papers. we are always on the move, driving the highways of texas in the dead of night, barefoot and windows open to the star studded sky. my feet on the dashboard an some static radio station trying to slice the night with it's mysterious messages..somewhere in a small building someone is pumping vinyl into the airwaves, smoked cigarettes and stale cups of coffee. your hair is down and the wind is whipping it around your shoulders. we are finally free. you and me on the road to nowhere.

that was nice, now tell me how this makes any kind of difference.

What has happened since we last spoke. Closed the shop, lost my house, moved into a postage stamp apartment with no bedroom, sleeping on a broken futon, started a new corporate gig at part time hours and lost contact with almost everyone I talk to since October of last year. I'm sure i'm missing some things.. but that is the gist of it. Now instead of this flowery poetry type depression thing i've got this full on uncontrollable feeling of malaise and disatisfaction with things. People. Ideals. Everything fails me, or do I fail it? Do I get a big fat 'F' on life because I couldn't hack it in the real world, the real 'im in charge now' world or do we chalk it up to experience and have a good laugh at it when the toilet tank top breaks or we buy cheap food with stamps. I thought I'd be able to hack this shit, but really I'm just going thru the motions. Part time work keeps me busy and not thinking. But when i'm thinking, oh holy hell the thoughts we have.. WE the brain and I in constant battle. Oh and the boredom. No more socialite drinks and chats, no free tickets or invitations and not even Friends that I can really see. It's just me and my Klonopin against the world. Nodding off is fun but I can't dream anymore. I don't think I'm doing what I'm suppossed to be doing right now, but the bills are getting paid. Oh the resentment. Against who or what I'm not sure if but anyone but myself. I get high and nod off to incredible thoughts of walking realisations. I was not committed. I was not on the ball. I let it slide thru my fingertips. I got caught up in my own bad vibes and juju and could not accept success in any form. Now I fight a daily battle with this otherworld I woke up into. My boss is almost 20 years younger than me. And I can't do shit right for him. It's all very pathetic. I owe people lots of money, but I work 20 hours a week. I don't have anything to spare. What little I have I spend on my kid as some kind of apology for putting her thru all this shit. I'm not even writing anymore. Who cares? Who CARES? WHO CARES?

liar liar pants on fire, wrap me in white and call the warden.

mess. i'm tired of the mess. not the physical. the emotional. somewhere there must be a repellant for the shit that clings to you when you are the most down. close my eyes and dissapear. close my eyes and float away. getting pulled in a thousand directions. directional tears, and blame. directional lies and false promises. directional laser beams of sex and candy swimming in the sun of the hottest summer heat i've ever known in my life. in the cyclone of wasted people, wasted time and wasted things. cut the lines of habit down the middle. waste away and colour me purple like a bruise. there is too much ugly reality in this surreal wasteland. bodies washing up on my shore to my bare and worn out feet. too much drama and hilarity. there are lies and ugliness..i've got to find my way home. home to my crazy home. home to my safeness. home to my happiness. because no one loves anyone but themselves. or thier offsprings. and you come to me with wasted eyeliner smudged eyes and tell me its because of ME that you didn't kill yourself. no one needs to hear that. walk my way in oblivion and drunkeness down your hallway. i'll open the door that is open for me. i don't even knock. welcome to the den of inequity. sit right up and roll one, pop one and melt into the floor. i used to think i knew everything. then these stupid kids came along and ruined everything. too old to question, too old to evolve. if i don't leave soon i'm done for. if i don't pack up and go i'm sure to ruin everything i've worked hard for, and for what? a whole bunch of lies i keep telling myself. that its all going to be ok.

Lists

Pushing it all away
One swift morning plagued with regret and finality.
Wiping off the counters and cutting up the chicken
For dinner
Cracking the bones from the joints
Swiftly as easily as
Methodically pushing away
The people in my life again

Making lists

Pedalling bike hard in the 100 degree morning.
Spokes in motion spreading out the water waves of heat
Sweat trickles down my legs
There is no poetry to the list that grows
In my head
Of those
I won’t talk to again


I’ve lived

2 weeks in complete surrealist structure
Hardwood floors and uneven mattresses
Sleeping in soaking wet hair
And grabbing onto thin air
Where he once slept
Swept up in the love we had once
Now dormant in the moaning air vents
Or up in the tree outside our window

And touch is like paper
And touch is like marble
And touch is like onion skin
And touch is like four corners of your hand
Falling into my body like a stone
To find my pumping heart
And resurrect the rhythm again

I want you to touch me
And until it happens
I won’t be whole
I’ll keep erasing the world around me
One name
One place
One beer
At a time

I’m making lists in my head as you sleep
Of the places we laughed
And the times you touched me tenderly
In the open with no shame
Of the tears I’ve cried in vain
Of the answers that won’t come
The long talk that won’t happen
And all the things that must be done

Packing boxes and moving into sadness
Making lists of everything to come
And somehow by January I’ll know
If you still love me
Somehow I think It will snow and we’ll be clean
And we’ll hold hands and laugh and remember the way
Lovers live

I’m counting on January.
I’m counting on you.
I’m counting on love.
Because I’ve let go of everything and everyone else.
I’ve made my lists
And I’ve let it all go
I made my phonecalls
And I’ve cancelled all my subscriptions
To other people’s faith
And smiles
And welcoming arms..
I’ve set them
Floating on the winds of the prayer flags
Frayed and outwished

I blow my words into asunder
My final blunder
To make it all right again
One last time again
Make it right again.

into the dark.

battling depression is exhausting, especially when you can't get any sleep. i'm knocking on the notted wood of unconsciousness and it won't let me in. carefull. carefull. the wind turns the keys and leaves and the circadas don't stop thier whimpering, wavering the still in decibles of shrillness..nestled between the rain ripe leaves they murmur thier screams cutting the night open like a knife, crystaline the stars wave in twinkle corners exhale and they all fall down like a connect four game of tumbling checker pieces..sinking into the invisible line of horizon.

on these wicked nights i turn my body like a cork in the tossing sea of sheets. me. alone with the dark mocking all my thoughts. shake your head yes and no, yes and no, stuck in never ending now of terror..deep breathing leaves my chest and stomach sore with its labored rhythm, hope that any minute i will fall out of the fight to and of sleep, the terror.. the terror of darkness..alone..

no sympathy from the world, with day masks of smiles and ignorance. you can't stop this madness when it becomes a part of you, it gets into your blood like poisen, tainting everything good and pure and real. steals the precious moments of joy and paints them rolling stone black... i'm pissed at all this. i hate feeling this way and I hate that no one understands. nothing makes me feel normal anymore.