Malaise can, Still Matter

I woke up in your basement still wearing my clothes. All those conventional delusions of the romantic blitz immediately sunk-nailed & grounded by the disappointment of hearing your mother's loud footfalls on the kitchen floor above my head. Immediately, the disturbing dimensions of your life, the speed of our constantly overpassed and passing burdens, looms inescapable. 9 AM. Dreams of the college sweetheart, the flirtatious man-eating friend, and I all parsimoniously concealing strength in layers I never knew I had. How many pockets are in this hoodie?
The past has died. The future has yet to arrive. Until you come down the stairs to say good morning. We are in limbo.

Zogma: Repeating an idea using different words.
Fractals: if you take out any little portion of the whole, you would see the whole pattern repeating itself again and again, and again.

All these little micro-text blurbs in my blog are connected, I assure you. Writing about lumberjacks, sex and text messages… I may seem crazy. It's just the polarity shift of my priorities to mostly emotional concerns. Every love song on the radio seems to apply directly to me. I see objects, dislodged from their contexts, like the heart in an Aztec sacrifice, or the slow distillation of elements in a superfluid matter-of-vat...

The Greeks Explain it Better

At the beginning of time, human beings were spherical balls of contented delight,
rolling around in ecstatic harmony, a potent ball pit of life.
Then the gods cut them into two- into males & females.
Now we are condemned to spend our lives seeking our other half.

For those of you who don't know, I've been on the road for a month now. From the handsome charisma of slushy trammeled Boston, to the logorrheic settlements of New Jersey elite bars. The mad road of promise westward. Across lolling moral bluegrass Appalachia, the factory salt night of the dinsome Cuyahoga river valley, car rides with Midwest girls obsessed with Regina Spektor, ignoble Greyhound grit and time warp Amtrak train conductors striding down the aisles of dim-light station-stop America. All gas guzzling and conveniences. Fields screaming to grow the new cash crop, condominiums, rising out in vine like tar twists of road. Can't wait to spring, every cable and conformed corner holding another McShopping Mall. Highway homogeneity seeming to squash me the huddled and invisible insect in the car, through the plane window, trying to find something. Grasping and yearning my way to the end of the angled earth pacific, or the girl.

"We are all pawns in a game whose forces we largely fail to comprehend"
- Dan Ariely

I woke up in grungy Arizona this morning. Wearing your hair from Sunday on my sweater and staring up at the raw desert sky blowing inconsistent messages around that made me feel like a total disgrace.
Last night I avoided writing any of this, or any of the other little stories I accumulated this weekend, but I was able to chat with the old online crowd and it somehow turned into one of those long winded high school phone conversations about the acuity of feelings and the general malaise of bearing the brunt of your baggage while starting in with someone new.

Someone knew.

Zogma: Repeating an idea using different words.

I should have said the right words the first time and avoided all this aftermath.

Stepping into that cavernous setup, one falls further into the vicissitudes of its frail pillared foundation, and the coursing intaglio repercussions that result from such a risky endeavor.

But it would have been worth it.

There's a lyric that I hate,
but I could never put my finger on WHY:

"Fear is the heart of love…"

- Death Cab

Fear isn't the heart of love.

At the heart of love is a desire for oneness. Maybe if we'd talked about it. "We have so much in common," I would have said, and she'd agree.
"Yes, yes, we are like mirrors coaxing out the best possible reflections from each other," she would say. (You're always spouting out such adroit little poetries.) "Let's buy a house. Let's buy a kid. Let's buy our dreams and by our love buy ourselves a life..."
But we couldn't buy the time, and by the time I figure it all out I see that we could have made it work if we'd simply put our heads together where our hearts had laid the way.
It's not about fear. The elusive otherness of fear may play a twin role to the totemic core of two lovers' shared outlook and unification. But it's not about fear.

The voice low and keening, land lying lower beneath the black infinity of night.
This is a story about things that don't turn out just right.

It is a dance of self-restraint, a stoic twist of desire and self-mastery. That's the toll love demands. It's tolerance, and patience and pain, and when you face up to these hurdles you Rise equal to the pleasure that intimacy affords.

I woke up this morning and it seemed, again I'd dreamed of you but you were gone, and going. We both kept going.

I woke up this morning and packed my things and decided to keep going.