“There’s no place like home to make me feel alone”

Once again I fell under his smoky spell. Just when I thought I had risen above my old obsessions I found myself wrestling in his sheets after midnight. He responds with blankness, he no longer feels for me the way I seem to want for his attention. He is melancholy while I push buttons that I know are infallible. Less begging this year, more of an understanding, a Christmas tradition if you will.

And now I wait for my in house love to return, I wait with little remorse. Have I no heart? Or is it that I have too much heart, too many feelings? Too much feeling, touching. What now? I tend to be destructive in idle love, I need a jump start and I doubt Disneyworld will fill the void but I’ll give it a try.

Happy Birthday
Happy New Year
Another year full of hope on the horizon and yet I doubt it will be much different. Same listlessness, same absentminded philandering. More heart, less soul. More soul, less body.
Wishes, dreams and mostly schemes.

Looking for more information on the Moons

Maybe I’ll just go and cry alone at all of our love and everything I still think I'm missing. You are my beautiful being, the sleeper to my dreamer, the rock to my waves and yet with all that has and is becoming I feel lonely and still a little lost. I wish to slow dance to scratched records under twinkle lights with you while you want for television glow and hoppy beverages. Where and how have we made this happy medium my love? You have taken the crazed look from my eyes and replaced it with a glazed love-drunk stare. You saved me from myself and I only hope I have saved enough of myself to be eternally Me.

Two months later: giving up the old Obsessions and It's Love again

Listening to Built to Spills “Car” and thinking of the old days where I relished in our awkwardness and my keen ability to seem completely insane but be in total control of our relationship. I have done my best in these last months to break my lasting vice of the old Him. Small successes have been made and I am proud that the turmoil that these thoughts and obsessions were causing has subsided like the staunch heat of summer.

I once again find myself in what should be autumn and yet no leaves have changed here and my sweater speaks only of the incessant air conditioning.

Most importantly Love has grown from where there was only a dry well. A lovely babbling brook of laughter and joy, smiles where there were tears and a clenched jaw, conversation where there was silent resentment, lust where there was disgust, companionship where there was deceit, trust where there were glares of jealousy but most importantly Love, again, from a best friend.

Well its almost like being in love

It smells like tears as I cry myself to wake. Through sobs I ask for your help and you say, “ I’m sleeping.” Well sweet prince as you lay in slumber I’m lost in life and silently plead and beg you to love me whilst I struggle to tolerate myself. It feels like an earthquake tearing through my soul. The image in the mirror is but a shell of my former vivaciousness. I plead to her come back to me, come back and go back to nights of wild ruin and days of sun soaked abandon. Have I chosen this life in exchange for the wonderful nightmare of a dream I used to live? It seems that way more and more. I try to tell you secrets and you make them into jokes, cant you see I need something much more then your carelessness. I need an intellectual, an artist, more than your muscles and muscle milk. You may look good on futuristic paper but your canvas in blank and mine is being shaken away like an etch a sketch where only specks, mere remnants of my former life cling there statically. I need a change and hopefully something will present its self before someone does.

Lonely never, ever change

I wake in the night breathless from dreams and nightmares, alone for once no one to talk me out of these illusions except the bright light of the television.
In dream I choked and struggled for breath as I ran from my family congregated in a church, I never was good at breathing when it comes to structured God. As I ran from the white clap board steeple down the dirt path my nightmare followed me, a young man, he must have been beautiful at one point, in a suit with a black cloth over his head, once I turned to catch my breath he was there unveiling as I screamed, “no, no, no.”
His right eye was sewn shut.
Blind to the world?
I woke with a start still mouthing the negative.
This vision has left me in a funk listless and sad. Listening to old standards as I go through the motions, “ Lovely never, ever change.” These songs remind me of dinner parties from my childhood, candlelight and Billie Holiday, pasta and my mom sneaking cigarettes. Days were easier then, nights too, and I just keep searching for somewhere beyond the sea.

Old Obsessions

I’m building something for you; compiling my obsession when in reality you owe me nothing, not even the acceptance of a package, the return of a phone call or the reciprocation of my desire.
I search for your smoky smell in my clothes and pillows, you are already gone. Your face in the glow of the television was everything I needed and it has now become everything I long for. I imagined it would be your face when I woke up on this side of my universe but it wasn’t. You are not here and you’re barely there. I try to pick up, try to move on. Seduce me again, I beg you. Try to block it out, try to smile. Want me again, I beseech you.
I fell down on my knees in the gravel, arms stretched to the full moon as tears streamed down my face, body shaking. Maybe it was the tequila or the gin, but it feels much more real than those easy libations. I’m lost again; lost in loving/lusting you a million miles away as I, most likely, have barely crossed your mind.


“my only friends are pirates, it's just who i am

i'm better as a memory than as your man.”

te amo?

I remember her saying he was wonderful
I remember it being a secret
I remember him breaking her heart or maybe it was her who did the breaking.
And there it was a lovely romance fallen down around her ankles.
Whole heart exposed.

They say that if you dream in Spanish you have become fluent
I think they lived there, in dreams, in Spanish
Heavy hot humid flowers hung on their words and work and music.

Quiet music hidden

You could feel the whirl wind of loss in her words and see it in her eyes
her own account sadder, introspective, while she watched his every movement, his ever faltering ways, as he escaped her.

There was begging, there was lunch with no music.
It would have been nice to say it was a bitter sweet goodbye but it was more bitter as she reminded herself “ don’t forget to breathe,” and moved on to mend within.

All the while remembering,
He was wonderful
It was a secret
And she did the breaking.

like ten thousand balloons

Pull me in
I feel like I’m floating away
Pull me in
Pull me back
Kiss me
Hold my hand
I’m getting lost out here with out you
While you sleep in sweat next to me
I miss you most when we touch
It’s not enough to just be with you
Look at me
see me
Love me
While I struggle to love myself
Pull me in
I’m floating away on tears and fears
Pull me back
Before I’m too high, too far gone.

A Lonely September

I used to cry over you and even now as the tears well up I reminisce sleeping in your nook, your smell of cigarettes and soap. I miss you as I listen to bands to told me about, I miss you as I wake from dreams that your OCD rituals plagued, I miss you and I want to kiss you, in all your drunken gloriousness. I itch for those old kisses or any kisses for that matter. Chills run through my body as I think of love and lust and lacking all of it. A romantic, with no romance. I try to find substance and inspiration in this humid life, I try to find wonder and awe in this suburban life, there is nothing yet. Where is my city? Where are the wonderful lights of uncovered stars? Where are you sleeping these days? I long for your hot sheets in exchange for this humid life and our long drives down rocky coasts and dirt roads. Your long fingers holding my hand because at least someone would be holding it. I have let you become my lasting vice. I day dream of running away with you to continents and islands, day dreams that will stay just that, dreams, while I wait and write movies of our unfinished life.

“I didn't mean for this to go as far as it did
And I didn't mean to get so close and share what we did
And I didn't mean to fall in love, but I did
And you didn't mean to love me back, but I know you did”

This life or the next

I dream of him and airports and antiques. Glossy tables in old libraries upon high hills, steep hills that our dreamland go-carts could not traverse. Libraries with butlers that “shhhhh” your giggles, long stretched windows to view those wonders that could not fit within these walls. Ancient swords and jackalope heads hung on the walls; magically woven rugs run the length of each hall. A tiny airport out of Casablanca meant only for parting lovers. This dream is a welcome break for images of a new corporate life, video tapes of every size and shape, stacks and rows of them have plagued my dreams for the last two weeks which were in turn the first two weeks of the rest of my life. Regardless I always cherish dreams filled with old romance and wet kisses. While I ponder him daily I have had to put my obsession with the future, our future to rest, because now I am a world away and lie in other arms, wonderful arms. And so I can only dream and rest assured that our tortured souls are not yet finished with each other and we will meet again in this vessel or another to torture and obsess for another lifetime.

Watching Joseph Gordon Levitt movies and crying myself to sleep.

I miss being alone and cynical. I miss the city and trying my hardest to look hard so I wouldn’t get mugged/raped. I miss him when he’s right next to me and yet I fantasize about running away and never coming back. Things are falling into place; I’m growing up and its terrifyingly cool. The perfect job a million miles away from the perfect place. We settle. I miss the writing and crying alone in cold movie theaters. I miss the fog and almost rain of it. I miss the dance, the fall down, back arching, burn of the dance. Missing it all won’t bring it back but I think the reminiscing is enough for now. Cheers to life, love and the lack there of.

Once Love

Looking through the archives, by March he was gone. The one love that I learned the most from, well I can look back now and call it learning when in reality it was torture, for him and treacherous for me in the long run. Monday he called to wish me happy birthday, I cried when we got off the phone. The torture prevails changing sides as he has undoubtedly blocked me from getting to him. He is sweet but I think his words and drunken advances were nothing more then a ploy to get me into his bed, but of course always the romantic I’d like to think he was trying to touch my heart again. Driving down my favorite road for the last time a panic attack began and I started to feel ripped apart. I knew I had left him too drunk for him to call in the promised five minutes or at all for that matter. I feel splayed open, cut down the center like a frog in seventh grade science. Heart and soul exposed, heart rare and vulnerable for the taking. To be taken between thumb and forefinger and smashed to a muddy crimson mash.


And now to put all the love and hot sweat out of mind and return to my domestication and loneliness, maybe it’s not really the adventure I kept trying to describe.