My Blog

I was missing you,
and then i realised that i hardly have the right,
i’ve seen you rarely since we’ve met.
It’s just been our way,
first you, then me, then you again,
and now i’ve lost track.
But i wanted to tell you that i miss you anyway,
because you’ve always felt familiar,
like i knew you, and you knew me
since childhood.
Only we’ve forgotten since we met again.
Me and my comma clutter,
You and your silly,
I’m glad for it,
so maybe i’ll let myself miss you now and then.
Just a little.

You always do that, laugh and not explain, start a sentence and refuse to finish.

I should be a bigger me.
feel like a tiny little being.
feel utterly alone.
And that’s the draw.
i am still too small to not relish alone.
No room in here.
One at a time.
I fill my own head so well,
so sometimes the outside is this funny vague haze.
Out There the rest of the world buzzes and breathes and covers the sky. Ominous.
Except further out than out there is my perfect that cannot be touched or properly described.
and it draws me away.
i cannot posess it completely, cannot just let go.
That much wrong is beyond me.
But the draw is still there.
It’s good to be anonymous, forgotten.
I miss it.

But i am faithless.
I cheat on my independence, betray myself.
Must have something when i cannot have what i want.
No need for empty,
And so this is good too.

sleepless. The curtains are partially to blame, even my mother agrees.

Where is my music these days?

I think i should return to something.
Something to do with dictionaries, and bad taste in clothing.

Laughing is such an odd thing. Frightens animals. Sometimes frightens the laugher. But it’s so sexy, warm, pleasing. Hysteria and saddness, kindness…doesn’t it feel a little like cheating to give it so many values? That tingle in your scalp when you realize it lacks any humor. A moment i’d like to keep somewhere handy.

do you remember nudging your baby while he slept, anxious and afraid, and then you laugh at yourself when the relief washes over you because he moved just a little, and he didn’t wake either?
those little moments of crazy. I love them.

and knowing what your world is
and the way old window units sound when you first start them up
and the smell of the heater when you fire it up for the first time that year
the way penolope evaded her suitors
the smell of leather and cavendish and old books
the way i may feel differently about any of this at any time
someone who can keep me up till dawn without my noticing
louis and frank
that we have music and that it is so accesible
the way my son teases me like no one else
the way he is as obsessive as i am: sometimes but not always
the fact that he is over endowed with energy, but can turn into the gentlest creature
spending all day in bed reading a book
when that book makes me laugh or yell
the fact that someone is actually still reading this
my constant and insistant need to keep taking it all in and finding more
lips and eyes and most of all hands, a mans finest body part
impish grins
awkward moments
strangers that delight instead of irritate
blue sunlight
bitching and ranting
surviving when some thought i couldn’t
laughing when others thought i shouldn’t
having a life that glows despite the tarnish
the fact that i have the impossible luck of meeting and sometimes befriending the most astonishing people
the fact that some of those friendships are mercifully brief
change
moments of absolute unimpregnable solitude
knowing that the stress hasn’t killed me yet
my perfectly imperfect larger than life absolutely unique perfect fit of a family
jon stewart winning more emmys
being sung to while i fall asleep
people that feel comfortable
apple
and being hysterical without anyone holding a grudge