Thursday, March 12, 2009

fragments (thoughts)

pk by .littlegirlblue


__- what happens after?
__- do you love me?
__- how are you feeling?
__- how's life?
__- what was Haifa like?
__- why do you believe in (a) god?
__- how long since you had sex?
__- where do you call home?
__- wanna hang out sometime?

i can't write right now. if i could i would. i'd write about the things i love and the things i love writing about:

women, and all the things about them, eyes and their regular breaths when they sleep on your chest, and their ugly toe-nail polish, and their getting annoyed over nothing, and the shape of their hands, and still difficulties unfastening bra-straps,
__and my piano has gathered soo much dust and isn't speaking to me, and the rain (after i asked soo soo nicely) promised to sit besides me a few days just to encourage me to feel better and i might find someone who wants to wear a big jacket and sit out on the wet grass with me under the dark.heavy night and listen to the beach and the rain (and not know which from which) and kiss for no reason other than that seems to be the sort of thing a person does in a situation like that and i could use the affection anyway, i can always use the affection,
__and failure which is a meanspirited little bitch who hides and could jump out at any time and slap you back into red-faced tears
__and my father and my sister and my mother, and my friends, and the feel of my friends' breasts and needing to go to the gym because i have too much bottled up too too much too much inside that if unreleased lodges itself in muscle walls and cardiac arteries and mute shadows
__and i want to talk about time and the line i really wanted to use today, somewhere, somehow was:

you find you are soo far from yourself. from where and who you are. like falling asleep on the train and waking up to a new world.

also, she tried to challenge me and said:

____LESSON 1: How to be succinct.

____(take everything you just said to me and turn it into: "I miss you")

and perhaps she was right, perhaps that was what i meant. what writer actually knows what they mean?, none that i know. the bulk of us interact with words like blind-men with piano keys or photographers with foreign landscapes, never really understanding whats or whys or hows, but just blahblahblahing and spitting it all out and letting our fingertips do the talking and in the end stand back and think: yes. that is actually what i did mean. who knew.

and i take her up on her lesson;

____"when we hug i use your heart"

and i think about that feeling. and how addictive it is. and the last time i had it. and a list of sad old names scrolls through my head. a list of places. a list of moments... first few times Mar and i had chai at Douzan. helping Ashley move out of Westwood. Vanessa's occasional: HELP! or SOS emails/texts/phonecalls (followed by: what happened dear?, like clockwork, sure as tragedy, once ever few months i'll see the carosel come around)

but what am i trying to say that's lodged in my throat that i cannot quite say?

____(maybe i'm just hungry. maybe that's all it is.

(and my mother looks at me worriedly and says: no baby. the whole world doesn't hate you. you just impose your misperceptions of the world onto yourself. if you feel like you hate you, you decide everyone else must too. they don't. no one hates you.
me: some people do.
mom: few.
me: yeah. maybe.
mom: yes. definitely.



mom: more tea?
me: yes please.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

you are still my favorite adjective, and also