it used to be like this.

it used to be like this, __then of course, it wasn't. __but then, of course, it was again.

__(3am, sitting in my car in the driveway with the engine on - too scared to turn it off and be engulfed in the silence, in the sadness that would come with it [the fact of]:

__the spectacle is over q. the glitter, the nonsense talk. __and you are alone, again. 
__always again. 
____and it is because you are not enough. never will be enough, and no one even notices you are gone. 

)


___*___*___*

i tell my stories, and make my jokes. eyes occasionally darting from side to side to appraise who's where. planning sequences. it's true i'm not as smooth as i once was, but with practice it'll come back to me. (something i've said has gotten a laugh). hey guys, let's sit for a bit shall we? this is a transition, i know there's only one available seat, a high-chair between two attractive women on which i'd have to perch. the transition is seamless, i move into a new conversation, they're left hanging around. the girl to the left likes me and touches me frequently. the girl to the right departs - women can sense these things. a male friend of mine takes her chair (men cannot sense these things). later he says 'i think we've got a good connection, can you not go for her?'. i take a moment to think about this, i don't usually indulge this stuff, but he's a sweet guy. you know, ultimately it has nothing to do with us. women do the choosing and they choose for themselves and they choose early and there's nothing one way or another you can do to persuade a woman after she's made her choice. ___i'll make myself scarce, but... this is an exception. ___i mean it, i don't usually do this. i doubt he understands how serious i am. anyway, the girl doesn't know me. she can't like me. she calls me by the name that only acquaintances use nowadays.

[life is defined by moments. there are moments wherein truth is frozen. available for re-examination after re-examination, displayed endlessly for the rest of your life.

we had only been speaking for 5 minutes, she'd asked twice where i'd lived, which i couldn't see the relevance of - to our conversation about Nina Simone - so kept evading a clear answer. finally she took my hand and started walking out. she stopped in front of her friend, 'can i grab my keys'. the friend gave me a looking over and was not approving. she handed over the keys. it occurred to me what was happening. i wasn't sure how i felt, what i wanted. if i do, i'll feel so lonely and if i don't i'll feel so lonely.

it's become one of those moments: that moment of understanding that i'm doomed to the loneliness of it. ]


___*___*___*

again, i've misplaced it again.
lost it again.

back to the beginnings ,
rebuilding from grits of sand.


___*___*___*

the insecurities are killing me. if you want it straight, there it is. 31 year old, oxford graduate law student, works wonders in the peripheries of the room. and feels like little more than a barnacle, attached to the bottom of the rowboat, humming aquatic chants to amuse the cool kids in the boat, who don't hear him, or know him, or care one way or the other whether he clings on or doesn't.

i had forgotten this feeling. i have not missed it.

here it comes: 2:57am. the knife's-edge of 3am. razor sharp, merciless.

the less you find of me in the morning, the better.