Out of blue and into the black.
“In utter loneliness a writer tries to explain the inexplicable.”
– John Steinbeck –
Often I will have these ideas for writing and I think they are brilliant and good, then I’ll sit down and they’ve evaporated or just seem silly. I think today I thought about writing about the difference between men and women. Because you know no one has ever written that stuff down before…It’s be groundbreaking! Ha yeah! Right…And there was some intensely important and emotional uttering I had in mind. But fuck me if I can remember what it was…So much for depth and meaning.
Lately I feel like nothing stays with me. Nothing is here, it’s either coming or gone. I don’t know security and I don’t believe in the future. Man I haven’t stayed in one place this long since I was a kid. Always running, always moving, the velocity shaking off the bodies….Reducing the drag. Nothing to carry with me but what’s in my pockets. Now I am too old to run and I got weights holding me down. Man I almost feel resentful when I picture what it might be like way out on the coast or where the city is still awake. How do you do this? How do you live this still life, the day-to-day, where you put your time in and try to give it meaning on the weekends? Is the posturing and posing all about trying to make it bigger and shinier than it really is. When you pretend you are one of those chicks in a television show or a guy in some two-bit movie. Is it really just taking a shot at feeling out of the cage? Fuck man, it’s for the birds.
But in my most puzzling paradox I panic at the thought of goodbye. I don’t take farewell well. I cry and grieve, I ache and long and I try to go backwards, or make you leave walking backward, so I can fool myself. It’s maddening. I wish I could be cold, be forgetting, be cavalier, like so many I seem to have known. Just cut it away like a strangling vine. My father has been gone for two and a half years and not a day has gone by that I don’t spend a bit of it sad and wet eyed. Yet I see some that just sort of accept the inevitability of death and move on. Not me.
I am a fucking mess, a loser and a train-wreck. I cannot imagine ever being too close to anyone. And if I am really and brutally honest I can say it is because of me. Because of my damage and my insanity. I am awkward and discordant and after a while I just seem to vibrate apart the machinery of love and friendship. I am ugly and dark. Why should you care really? I’m a bridge jumper looking for a foothold on the railing while you watch.
And sometimes even my positives just get all ass over tea-kettle. I have a huge heart, no really I do, I ache and sigh and love so much. But it becomes this fault, it manifests as weakness. I cannot be cold. I cannot just be flippant. I want to feel the big thing. But it seems that makes me odd. My intellect is called weird and it is seldom understood. Instead I am supposed to grunt and scratch. I am male after all. And forget even talking about loving my child unabashedly and without reserve…That’s a huge hammer I am hit with.
Nothing makes sense. No one thing…So how do you do it?
Being this gets harder every day. If you have a God, talk to him for me…My spirit is dying and my body is catching up. I am not going to play the GOd game anymore. And I am not going to pretend it makes sense to try.
So here I am…Two weeks from a birthday I never ever planned on making. And it feels like I deserve parole…I’ve done my time.