14.Jan.2004
just one beat of your heart.
--
and stranger than fantasy
8 months ago, I wrote to my girlfriends:
"The guy I'm currently sleeping with exasperates me. I have this realistic fear when I make my extremely important life transition, he will not come with me nor support me."
And, he didn't, but his intentions were always questionable, as I'm sure mine with him were the same. I'm fairly certain in the beginning I set the stage to fail, as everything about me to him was fabricated. I won't deny this, now, and, as everything turned out, I don't see any reason why I should continue to apologize for it. I check my stats, now and again. I find a match, now and again.
This must be completely mutual:
--
When you left me that evening in July, you contradicted all of your politics. I stood on the roof of a parking garage in downtown, Oklahoma City with two of my girlfriends, sharing cigarettes and enjoying the view seven hours after being in downtown, Elsewhere. I found myself convinced it wouldn't be the last time I would ever see you, and, it won't be.
Years later, when all of this is merely vaguely significant, I'll peer into the haze of a crowd for which I'm performing directly at your face. You'll be sneering, heckling, and tossing broken bits of popcorn at me. I'll toss my head back and laugh heartily, acutely cognizant that the only thing which will never change between us is your incessant contempt for me.
I am glad all of this turned out so irrevocably. I never wish to return to you. Making peace with this was medicating. It took some time and, honestly, some embarrassing desperation and, admittedly, obsessive analysis from my confusion-addled and equally young mind, however, it finally came. Without you, I finally realize that, yes, I am in a calmer place, now.
--
I may have strep throat, which, certainly means I'm going to (yet again) give up smoking (momentarily). I continually tell myself I'm going to quit soon, but, the truth in that malformed goal lies simply on that I don't want to quit smoking presently. Nothing's happened to change my mind. I've met no amazing, non-smoking lover that completely changes the way I view nicotine, yet. Nicotine is an appetite suppressant, and, these things are particularly important to me.
--
This year has been phenomenal. To those outside of my demesne, I'm sure in text it's trite and shallow. The point is that I've bleared the edges of fantasy and reality, and, really, there's no other way a delusional extremist can subsist.
--
My body aches. My throat is in flames. I have half an hour of weight-training ahead of me, and already it's nine-thirty-five in the evening. I've been stocking up on calcium and iron the past couple of days because of this.
--
This is mental confluence. I'm oblique regarding elucidation merely because I trust no one else outside of this situation. I'm terrified and intrigued. I'm avulsing myself from physical relationships here as it only serves to cloud my judgment to futurity. I curiously endeavor to position the cards in such a way that it's never been executed in this fashion. I wish I could be casual about anything I do. I almost wish to be less intense.
I really want to divest him of an ebony robe against a window encapsulating the descending Eastern sun, so I may lay my older sage-lips upon his neck and breathe barely-audible tranquility against his pallid skin.
He's different because he thanks me when I tell him I love his brain; he doesn't shy away from me, nor has he ever. He doesn't assume insecurity. He doesn't use me. He won't throw broken bits of popcorn at me. He hasn't failed me.
I said in a previous entry, "curious to futurity", and, I am still, to the tune of Tangerine Dream's "Blue Room", a la the Legend soundtrack.
--
time & machine