the first of january 2004

I don't even remember what I shouted as I came down.

--

how to fuck the daemons of your past

I called Becky.
I called Dave.
I called Katt and Tony.
I called Cheryl, Dustin's mom.
Jubal finally called me.

And I told him what I wanted, and I told him how I felt, and I told him distance was a mere smudge on the total, encompassing gridlines of reality.

And I drank, for the first time in just two months. I took shot of Absolut after shot of Absolut. I drank Red Stripe after Red Stripe. I told everyone of the last, priceless thing my previous lover said of Red Stripe. I drank shot. After. Shot.

Then, Dustin called.

Dustin was a figure I had entertained almost a year ago. Over a year ago. I don't even remember. There is no time in my head. I envisioned his body above mine numerous times. I am completely inebriated as I write this, now.

He came by the party I was attending, and, I went back to his apartment.

And.

He ripped off my blouse. He threw me against his headboard. He spread my legs. He sliced into my jugular. And he grabbed onto my fists. And I fought against him, and I screamed his name into his mouth, and I sliced into his jugular, and I said, "Dustin, baby, I'm so sorry, I will never see you again."

And he drove into my body with the same fierce abandon I had always fantasized, and when I called out in release, I locked my teeth around his neck and demanded that he drive harder, and I said, "I want to know the exact way your eyes ignite, I want to know what it takes, and I want you to know that I will never see you again."

And the entire two years I've known him, I fucked him with such a brutal force, such an intoxicated rage, such a seething hatred, clawing and pushing and biting, he, pressing into my ribcage, telling me he feels the difference of my shrinking skin, two condoms abused, and I said, "Fucking make me bleed, you pathetic asshole!"

And I fell against his pillows, and I lit a cigarette, and I said, "You stupid fucking fuck. It never had to be the way it was last year; you didn't have to vanish."

The celebration of 2004 finally came with multiple orgasms.

And, I'm spent. And, he sleeps.

And I do not care if I ever see him again. The only thing that turns itself over and over against my brain is, "Eight. Infinity. Eight, and, you are mine, just for this moment."

And, he was mine.

Goodnight, my turncoat. It's finally fucking over.

--

I will go away for this year, and I will pursue all I ever desired, and I may not ever return the same.

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Dear God, I am drunk. I feel the world beneath my fingertips.

--

I always want to be your intellectual companion. I just always want to be yours. I don't even care if there's romance. I am clawing through these walls here to find you. I will always love you, and I always wish to find you.

Goodnight, my dears.

Welcome to the best fucking year of our lives.

--

time & machine