Thursday, October 29, 2009

The Flood

It's not going to last.

And no matter how long it seems to last, it will never be forever.

This is not necessarily a bad thing; the good things get better, the bad things get better, the great things end, and the bad things end. Everything is in flux, no matter how static it may seem. Something makes way for something else.

With every moment, implicit in our action is the fact that someone else will go after us.

It's not going to be as good as it seems it should be. But it often turns out to be something that has value.

You can judge situations all you want, but they're either going to exist, or they're not. Get busy loving or get busy leaving, because nobody else is feeling your irritation.

It's always better than you think it is, and it's always worse than you think it is.

We are afraid of the wrong things, and sometimes the fear runs so deep, we forget that we live under it. We get used to the protection.

You're responsible for getting it there, because everyone else is apathetic, lazy, or doesn't have your standard of excellence when it comes to what you want.

If they say they are, they're not, at all. Their actions would take the place of the need for their words.

When there is evidence, there's no need to convince.

Beauty, elegance, and incredible quality are very difficult to obtain both in people and in material objects. You have to pay a lot for them, and you have to work a lot for them, but they're the only things that mean anything, and they are divine.

Quality saves energy, time, and money. You always pay more for what is poor.

Humor, however, is usually free, and always priceless.

Self-crucifixion is the only way to perfection. But guess what? - It's a myth. There are fleeting moments of it, but guess what? It's not going to last.

Life's greatest curses are answered prayers. If you disagree, then you know exactly what to pray for, and I need your help.

If someone has to keep making excuses, then they are not with you. Not in any way that means anything, and not in any way worth preserving.

If they don't apologize, then they are not with you, and you do not want them around.

If they can't forgive you, then they are not with you, and you do not want them around.

Life is work.

Anything worth anything has to be worked for, and earned.

Anything worth anything is also going to hurt a bit, if not a lot. It is at least going to be pretty uncomfortable.

Perhaps the only exceptions to this are relationships with other people, when the fit, like a great piece of couture, is just right.

Time is all you've got, and even that is always, always up in the air.

There's no beauty without danger.

I've learned to ignore any grand idea of God.

I've learned to assume that if there is any God to be had, it is within, and is as natural and instinctive as being hungry, or trying to catch something if it falls, or reaching out to embrace someone in joy or in pain.

It's not anything you can arrive at by thinking about.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009


10:21pm - 12:01am
Duke of Perth, Clark Street.
Emmy Lou Harris on Ipod.

It’s a bit of an unbearable sadness, and I don’t know who to turn to, and what to express to whom, without sounding desperate.

It’s a strange thing, to think that I have to work for my own happiness, that it’s not something that I’m automatically granted, by virtue of being conscious. I can’t believe that even that has to be a struggle.

Is this what it is to have high standards? Is this something trying to force my hand to develop a better life for myself? Because I don’t think it’s going to work.

Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think it will.

I feel these choices coming at me to reach out to people, to allow myself to be reached out to, and I feel like I’m failing, failing, failing.

Like every hand that reaches out, I just push away. I don’t know what else to do because to receive that hand would be so painful, I’m not sure why, but that’s how it feels.

It’s strange, to have people around you reaching out to you because they love you, and you, not being able to absorb that, almost as if it’s something your body literally can’t digest, so you don’t even try to ingest it. You just avoid it, in principle, in whole.

This requires a bit of a celebration.

I am free of it. Of the guilt. It may still be a while before I fully acclimate my life to that new status, but I feel it tonight, this is meaningful.

I recognize tonight that I didn’t cause his death, that I didn’t force his hand. When he said “you saved me, I’ll never forget that”, and “we’ve got to look out for each other”, I don’t think I should have taken it as, We are the only ones who can help each other.

I’ve not written back to people, and they didn’t kill themselves, so just because he did, does not mean it’s my fault. Even if I was the only one who knew about it, even if I was the only one he divulged all this stuff to, even if, even if, even if. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault, and tonight, I know this, I feel this, even if reason or rationale or anything else fails to pull through for me. It’s not my fault. I’m free of it.

So if I’m free of it, what am I to do?

Go to New York.

I know I said I wouldn’t drink, but… I think tonight called for a toast.

What are the choices that lay before me?

A lot of things.


The embracing of every aspect of my life, and those in it.

Being honest with people and declaring exactly what it is that I’m thinking.

Not smiling if I don’t feel like smiling. No matter whom I have to sell a dress to.

He and I had come here, and we sat at this exact table, in this exact same spot.

I tried hard with him. I tried to learn, I tried to be a better person, but there was a point at which I thought, and acted, like “He’s just gonna have to take me as me. As is.” And I don’t know if he could, but I guess, in another way, I don’t know if I could.

I wanted so much to have someone set a standard for me – it’s breaking me up a bit right now, in public, in a flipping pseudo-English bar right now, no less, to admit this – but I wanted someone to set the bar for me and for me to rise to what I thought that would be. I think the whole time, it wasn’t even about that, there was no expectation that I had to be any certain way, but nonetheless, I wanted to, you know? I wanted to try. I wanted to feel the joy of going over and above the line that didn’t even exist; and for the first time in my life, there seemed to be a man that loved me unconditionally – (oh god, I’m so afraid that this feeling is only fleeting, that I’m going to relapse two Tuesdays from now and realize that he’d be alive if only I’d written to him; the precariousness of almost having saved him is epic, but I hope I never believe that again, never again, never, again).

I compare everyone to him. I can’t help it. No one was as…warm, as intelligent, as embracing, as determined, as strong, and the problem is, because he was so intent on covering up so much of himself, I think a lot of that strength came from his ability to wholly avoid and ignore….or put aside…his pain. I wish, in a sense, that things had turned out very differently, but really, they couldn’t have. They couldn’t be any other way than they are, right now.

This is the rub: the ability to consider possible worlds, other worlds, and not be able to do anything about it, to be able to think of a different outcome, and yet, for it not to be. This is a kind of hell. Not that I think it is, but actually, that it is. I cried for so long, and I cried so much, thinking that I had let him down…remembering receiving the news…thinking that it couldn’t be possible, but, that of course it was.

I don’t know how to rebound, how to bounce back from that. To know that the one person you loved more than anyone was gone….it’s the strangest thing. Because you know, having been alive, having been involved with this person, that you would have had an impact on them, but the thing is, you didn’t reach out. In time, that is. It’s a timing thing. And the motherfucker about death is, you don’t come back from it, not after a week, not by the time they found him.

I read in some Kabbalistic text that there was a way for someone to be brought back from the dead. That a rabbi had lain on top of a deceased child, and had lain, eyeball to eyeball, nose to nose, mouth to mouth, on the person, and after seven days, had brought them back to life. At Dayne’s funeral, I wanted to rip open his casket, and lay on top of him, before he was interred in his tomb. I wanted to lay on top of him, eyeball to eyeball, and see if it would work if there was even a possibility that it could be the case, that it could save him. But I knew I would look crazy.

Monday, October 26, 2009


. Status quo is the strongest force in the universe. In this sense, logically, liberalism is insanity; conservatism, as a metaphysical principle, is the only reality. Liberation is a dream. But it's one worth fighting for.

. I never, ever thought it possible that by giving it all up, I'd bring it all in.

. Every day, I am grateful that I return to my apartment. Because it is mine.

. I read an article yesterday about Guy Ritchie. He has three lines that he lives by. He revealed two, and concealed the third. This bothers me in a way that I cannot fully express. If you've got an idea to share, fucking share it.

. I am really, really impressed with the voice I use to talk to my dog, and how much I think I sound like a little kid, with the way I phrase words. I once made my ex-boyfriend choke on his food because I used that voice on him, and so, literally, he could have died from how cute he thought I was.

. This voice would probably annoy the shit out of someone else.

. But then again, maybe they would just end up choking. Just a little. Just enough to make it count.

. Thanks to him, I've discovered a predilection for really filthy, sexist jokes. And I'm loving it. If you have a donkey, and I have a rooster, and your donkey eats my rooster, what do you have? (Holler if you know this.)

. I feel better when I don't eat meat products.

. And yet, I crave steak, with garlic butter, parsley, and fat rinds every day, at least once a day.

. My principles on the matter are as slippery as the butter sliding off the steak I'm eating right now.

. Today I realized what a fucking airhead I sound like when I make bold declarations like "I'm a vegan." I've learned to shut up about it all so at least if I'm being a big flake, no one else knows.

. On that note, I'm pretty convinced that if you have to declare it, it's not true. Your actions would speak for your words.

. (damn, that was good.)

. Every single time, I've thought, "I'm gonna marry him." It's become something else now. I'm okay with not knowing the end. The fact is, since I'm not sure I can change any of it, I'd rather not have the guilt on top of it.

. It took one and a half years to go from denying it to accepting it, and everything in between. The priest told me, "Remember the stages of grief, so that when it happens again, you're better-prepared." That was the rub: it's going to happen again.

. I disagree with death, so I disagree with life. That's a hard thing to live with. You're always denying and rejecting the things that are all around you. The seeds that are being sown every moment, and the fruits that they are bearing, you are burning. It's a very combative way to live life. But it gives me something to think, and it gives me something to fight. And that is important.

. I've cursed existence and God a great deal. I'm not ashamed of it. But someday, if I'm burning in hell (fingers crossed), well, that's just gonna add fuel to the fire. Literally.

. Joy said in the car yesterday, "You know, it was a really hard day for all of us, but I've never lost somebody that I've been really, really close to." It dawned on me that I lost the person that I was closest to in the whole world.

. It's a ridiculous thing to have to resurrect from. I guess it gives me an interesting story to tell, but the problem is, it's not a story I want to be telling.

. The beauty is that you build your life around someone, and this gives your existence incredible meaning, more than you'd ever known or thought possible. The bitch of it is that when they go, you go with them. I've had to learn how to be a person again, since this. One part of you cannot die; all of you dies, and then all of you has to be reborn. You cannot break off a part from the whole.

. In a sense, then, you choose your own death, and it's a reflection of your life, of your mind. For him, it was, "This is the way it is; I'm right, and no one can convince me otherwise." And then, no one could. And we were suddenly convicted of something that wasn't even on the table. I could have stopped it, maybe. I maybe could have interceded. Why didn't I, then? Because I didn't believe him. Well, now, I'm convinced.

. It was while running on the treadmill that I realized that he's gone, and that I don't have a feeling about it. I'm not sure that that's a good thing. But considering how much my heart hurt over it, maybe it's a great thing.

. I'm not sure if I had the extra beat before it happened, but I know that at the most intense period of grieving, or really, right after that, I went to the doctor because my heart was behaving strangely. I believe that the grief caused it, caused the actual sickness of the heart, caused what they think is a tear in the muscle.

. I hear myself think this and start to feel sorry for myself, but the fact is, I wanted to cause myself that pain. Because I believe that he felt it, and I wanted to be with him, even if it was in pain.

. There are two roads to go down with him: life or death. If I choose him, I choose death. I have to let him go. Even he knew not what he did. I like to believe that after, now after his death, he knows differently. But that's a lot to like to believe.

. I am so, incredibly, unbelievably blessed by the people in my life, and am especially re-blessed by the reintroduction of old friends to my life, after many years. I'm massively thankful for all of you, even if you can't handle me right now. It will come together soon.

. I am learning what it means to be loved and treated well by people. And more importantly, to accept it, because I know that I am deserving of it.

. It's a very simple thing, really: when you reject what you are given, you stop getting it. You'll get another chance later, because that is just how life works, but really, you've got to accept it. You've got to embrace it. Give it a bear hug and fucking mean it. This is what it means to have grace: to accept the invitation to be beautiful.

. This is something that is many, many years in the making, and yet, its effect is retrograde in experience. It shows me how much others have always been this way towards me, and now my life, seen through a different lens, is infinitely, instantly, like a kaleidoscope of richness and tenderness.

. I thought I saw him at the train station. He was sitting on a stool at the bar. And suddenly I felt that it was the end of a movie. And it was a happy ending.

. I wanted to tell her off. After it had happened, I wanted to have looked her in the eyes and said "You're going to apologize to my friend, then you're going to leave and you're going to take your shitty money elsewhere." But I was in shock. I was so shocked at her casual cruelty, that I couldn't even look up at her. I'm ashamed at my weakness.

. I need to pause before reacting. I also need to improve my reactions.

. Basically, I need to be a lot better at being a raging c**t.

. I have film rolls of him from a few years ago. They may have disintegrated by now. I remember the pictures themselves, but it's not enough. It's never going to be enough.

. The CD he made me is the only thing he ever gave me. I thought of loaning it to a friend and it seemed to me that I was being asked to give up a vital organ. I didn't ever, ever want it out of my possession. Now, I really could give a shit.

. I click really well with the smart, bookish girls that come in, the ones who are really intellectual and really funny. I don't click so much with many of the other ones.

. I firmly believe in saving yourself.

. But I believe that if you can change someone, then you have saved them.

. Nothing gives me such purpose and hope as thinking this. If it's in increments, if it's by altering them in even some small way, then it's like my job is done. Life is empty if I remove that possibility. If this makes me ragingly, egregiously codependent, then, oh well.

. I try as much as possible to practice radical forgiveness. But other times, it's really a good thing to not let someone back in so quickly.

. I don't understand being hurt so much by someone that you couldn't have them in your life. Unless it's a type of physical, or mental, or sexual abuse, or they stole from you, or you just can't stand them, then I just can't understand how you wouldn't want someone who was a friend to not be in your life. What could ever be that bad? Maybe things end out of guilt, more than they do out of perceived receipt of pain.

Sunday, October 25, 2009


I forgot.

I forgot.

There was a bright thing.
It moved quickly.
It had a soothing voice, and it made me feel special and right and like a good fit.

And then I forgot.

I wake up, every half hour, or two days, or 3.6 weeks, or five seconds, and remember that it could be.

I wonder how it is for you.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Hedy Lamarr, It Was Me You Were Thinking Of.

I don't know how I continually arrive at this, when it's a moving platform that at every chance evades my landing on it. But magically, supernaturally, I land it, every time, every single time.

It is frequency-hopping of the highest skill on my part, really, on the part of any human being. The greatest only constant consistency is the abject denial on my part, the refusal to see it another way other than the way I'd like for it to be, the way in which I don't have to assume the worst about other people, the way in which the illusion is maintained.

I thought that because you liked me, you were on my side. It was something I forgot: that you have interests that need to be met, and I supply the demand. Somehow, I forgot the rules of engagement. I forgot the standard of the need for the transaction, what it means, and what it comes from, and what it leaves me with, which is nothing.

The Devil Is Deep Water

I can feel it; there's a wholeness to be had, and I cannot get full from what is currently in front of me.

There's a nourishment to be obtained; there is a need to be addressed and attended, just the same as a patient with a wound that will not close.

Only this one goes without alarm. Or, really, it's a silent vibration, a pulsation that can only be felt by one; but it is an alarm call that plumbs the air, alerting someone, a particular anyone, that the distress is real, that the need is great, that it's not enough to be clean and pure, but rather, we have to get wet, to get dirty, to be blended, because without the danger there is no beauty.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

No Tip-Toe

There's a sense of slowed-down urgency... of running to stand still.

I don't realize at certain times, for blocks of time, that there are choices being made at every moment, and others are going to assess them, just as I am going to assess and evaluate the choices of others.

It's hard not to take it all personally; after all, if someone does something involving you, how do you not take it as a direct action against you or to you? How do you not take it personally? Because even if they weren't thinking of you, then, well, they weren't thinking of you. It's hard to avoid your involvement with others in your own life.

How much should you take it personally if you don't factor in? I guess there's no answer for this, or no correct answer. I guess you just give people space, or you give them a chance to come around, or you just try to not irritate them or upset them further, if you know the things that cause them to get frustrated.

But sometimes, I just want to trample all over the eggshells.