Untitled

12:42 AM
Drunk, but not too drunk
Just marveling at
The taste of alcohol on my tongue
After five years of
World crushing panic
Every time I tipped a bottle back

Lying in bed
With candles lit
My last great love’s
Scent lingers on the pillow
Long after the echo
Of their laughter
Exited the room

Lingering on
Like cigarette smoke
Permeating hair
Painfully aware
Of toil dragging a body down
Taste the weight of age
Gravity gripping my face
Fear the grave
Lick my lips
Taste a long kiss goodnight
With all the beauty and bitterness
Of mortality on my lips, still

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Untitled

On Island Road

Cooper City Florida, 1987
Voorhees and Krueger Come
To gruesome life on a suburban television
Screaming children run
Across a flickering screen
Fleeing bloodslick blades gripped
In the hands of fictional horrors unrelenting

The credits roll
The Screen goes blank
The groan and hum of the cassette
Rewinding breaks the brief silence
As the screams of so many murdered
Teenagers fade into the recesses
Of my young mind.
“What did you think of that?”
The words slide
From his tongue with cold eagerness
“Uh. A lot of people died.”

I am six years old
Spread on the floor
While parents wrestle with oblivion
Behind closed doors
He says ghosts live
In the corner of
Every room, watching
This scares me more than the movies
For some reason

His mother’s apron
Hangs limp from a hook in the kitchen
I imagine now, every corner filled
With aprons, suits, dresses
Suspended
Haunted
Lifeless

The cathode ray glow
Filled with cheap horror
Keeps my restless ghosts
At bay until the morning

Less than a block away
My parents sleep
Ashtrays on their night tables
Who smokes in the house around
A first grader with asthma anyway?

Late night cable
Takes a turn for the worse
Filled with wet mouths
And hungry curves
Speaking a language
I have yet to learn

He unzips his pants

There are power lines outside
Humming static against the
Thick night sky
The heat is oppressive

I know I should feel something more.

Right here
In this town
Sneaking around
Feet pound
Late night blacktop
Still clinging to the sun’s last heat
In this house
On this street

I feel nothing.

Do you know how
To give into hate?
I now know how to give in
To hate.

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Photo credit unknown
On Island Road

8/28/18

I have been feeling weird and anxious all day, and unable to place exactly what lay at the source of that anxiety. I’m in the middle of packing all my things to move and struggling to get an abscess tooth taken care of adequately with my inadequate state health care. I even lost my patience with an overworked healthcare worker today, saying “I have a fucking infection in my face, and all I want to do is get it treated without losing more of my teeth. This cannot possibly be this hard”. I almost immediately apologized and told the worker that I knew they are just doing the best they can. I’m just so frustrated having been trying to get this tooth fixed for weeks now. None of this is exactly out of the ordinary though.

Then I realized what day it is. My father would have celebrated his 80th birthday today had he not been dead for 24 long years. I didn’t know my father well. He worked tirelessly and came home exhausted and checked out nightly. He would eat dinner sit in front of the television, drinking and smoking until he fell asleep, only to get back up with the sunrise and do it all over again the next day. He looked old past his years, with strangers often confusing him for my grandfather. I didn’t realize until I was well into adulthood that my father had a drinking problem, much like his father before him and the dependencies inherited by my older brother.

Tonight I am thinking about all my friends. I am thinking of all the people I don’t know who I am afraid for. I am thinking of everyone struggling to care for themselves sufficiently. I am thinking of everyone I have ever loved who struggles to live well because they have always been told they only deserve so much. I am thinking of all the people who the world has a way of knocking down anytime they find a way to stand a little too tall. I am thinking about everyone I love who I worry is literally working themselves to death. I am thinking about low intensity class warfare laying waste to all the cities I have loved, making them uninhabitable for the people who made them what they are. I am thinking about the houseles folks whom Relic and I gave some things my emotionally abusive ex sent me unprompted for my 36th birthday to last night. I hope they liked that soft gray blanket and Joy Division shirt. I am purging things to move and they had been sitting in my room long enough, reminding me of the text messages that followed their arrival in the mail two winters past. “Hopefully you like them. The blanket was expensive.” Gross. I am thinking about sitting next to one of the great loves of my life earlier this afternoon, feeling wave upon wave of exhaustion exude from them, and feeling how much the potential of loss scares me even more as we go deeper, get more vulnerable, and as we get older, as if I held them tighter death wouldn’t be as much of a certainty.

I went for a bike ride in the late summer night until my heart beat right again. My chest has physically hurt with anxiety all day today. I am so tired all the time, and the wildfire smoke surrounding the Puget Sound has made it hard to want to exercise lately. I wanted to move my body and not tread down the path laid for me by either of my parents, ignoring despair and inertia. Though I do hope my father’s ghost rode along with me for a bit. I sat on the hill beneath the water tower waiting for the moon to Rise, listening to the music I have loved for more than half of my life. I listened to early Cock Sparrer LPs. I remember my how my mother hated the music and subcultures I was joyously diving into when I was fifteen. Inexplicably, she liked Cock Sparrer. “I think your father even would have liked this” she said.

Go figure.

The moon rose, full, ancient and yellow. I remembered a night so much like this one back home in Appalachia with one of the other loves of my life. We fucked in the cemetery, sweaty and joyous and in love. When we finished the mountains stood silhouetted by the moonlight and I felt the immediate sensation of someone having touched my soul in such a way that I felt like I had been here with them before.

My remembrance was interrupted by the kiddo walking up and taking a seat on the pavement next to me. We listened to a few more records there in the dark, with the moon rising higher and the sounds of the city to our backs. Percy Sledge, Lee Moses, Maraboots, and Symarip. I can feel a shift coming. For once I’m not overwhelmed by the darkness behind and ahead. I’ve survived so many nights of going through hell in this city by keeping going. For once those nights feel like they add up to something.

Thanks dad.

Thanks lovers (Save for that aforementioned one whose gifts now grace the hands of some of Olympia’s houseless population.). Thank you friends, past and present.

Thank you moon.

8/28/18

Anyway, things burn.

Flicking matches scratched
Off of broken teeth
Into broken homes hollowed out
Dry as bones and drenched in gasoline.

Making way for moving the fuck on
I just wanna watch it all go up in smoke
Tearing out every page we wrote

The story wasn’t even good the first time around
Bored as I get with cliched melodrama
And true tales of tragedy and woe

Come on baby, dry your eyes now
We’ve all fucked with fire
Just to know how
It felt to get burned. 

Anyway, things burn.

brief notes on war being the force that gives us meaning.

Moment of vulnerability:

I woke up this morning from a recurring dream I’ve been having for four years now. I hadn’t had it in a few weeks/months and it chose last night to reappear. The dream is usually a bittersweet, yet welcome visitor. In this dream, I get to revisit the single greatest heartbreak of my life.

In dreams we always greet one another warmly. We meet somewhere where we are free from the bottomless wrath and pain we’ve had surrounding one another.  We acknowledge the love and friendship we shared, apologize for the damage we caused one another, and go our separate ways. We never go any deeper than that simple act of peacemaking.  .  We never try and make amends or start over.  We both know some wounds go too deep for that.  We just walk away peaceably.  It’s my favorite worst dream ever.  I used to have it weekly.  It’s down to every few months now.

In the interest of context, four years ago I walked away from one of my best friends.  I will do the reader a favor and spare the details of a tumultuous friendship and it’s subsequent ending.  To say it hurt would be an understatement.  It was that type of heartache where you fear you might never feel like yourself again.  I later likened it to waking up with the emotional equivalent of a kidney stone every day for a year.

The last year of my life has been spent trying to reconcile the ruins of relationships and interpersonal conflict, while also recognizing and reconciling a life that has been largely defined by interpersonal conflict.  I’m fucking exhausted.  I get it.  I’ve been referred to as an incredibly volatile individual time and time again. I never learned how to trust.  I struggle with the belief that love is nothing more than reproduction instinct coupled with lust, and in the end I mostly rely on my tendency to lay complete and utter emotional waste to whatever causes me pain to keep me safe.

Loving freely through layers of trauma and the mean streak my momma left me is the single heaviest burden I have ever been blessed with. It’s going to be my life’s work.  Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it’s worth it, especially in the last year, where I’ve had my narrative surrounding people, and whether they are poison are not reinforced again and again.  It turns out people can be poison, myself included. This is why I’ve mostly been a “got no friends, only people I know” kinda guy for so long.

I don’t really know how to close this.  I don’t have any answers, not tonight.  I know how incredibly difficult I can be. If you are a person I’ve hurt, or I’ve hurt someone you care about, I’m doing the best I can at working on it, okay? ❤

 

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brief notes on war being the force that gives us meaning.