Thursday, November 27, 2014
A poem my grandmother would like.
But then my mind started thinking of a veritable cornucopia of clichés.
And it went wrong even before I sat down to write.
I have so many things on my mind today.
The sky still looks like dawn.
An icy light behind the clouds.
And I'm surprised by how small adjustments can turn everything around.
And then something else happens and I'm back in a position I don't want to be in.
So then I do something else to try to regain the joyful momentum I had going before.
And maybe I realize I don't want to be where I was before, because I wasn't going where I thought I was.
And even though I make declarations to myself to write more poems that make sense to people, I still don't.
I really do have aspirations to craft poems with touching, sentimental imagery.
Actually sometimes I set out to do that and I think I know who will like it, and they usually do.
The thing is that it's a departure from my infuriatingly incomprehensible excessively confessional style.
Try to say that more than once, or read it more than once for that matter.
If I was crafting a holiday piece for you I would include things that people can relate to.
Mentions of the traditional "bird" and aromatics.
Some kind of commentary on the joyousness of family, while completely leaving out the dysfunctional elements as if they never existed.
Basically a mostly fake, completely skewed version.
Some people might like it, because it supports the myth they're working really hard to keep alive.
Other people could find themselves feeling much worse, because in truth the experience is very different for them.
Can you see the position I'm in?
No matter what there will always be someone who would like what I write to be a little bit different (or completely different).
And somehow my poem about Thanksgiving is actually more about writing.
And I can honestly say I am grateful for it.
I can feel it when a poem is "coming on."
It rushes through me and wants to be known.
I keep misspelling "completely."
I want to say comepletely.
Come with all of yourself.
But before you come over consider the consequences.
I might not be who you want me to be.
And you might not look good.
So staying apart > infinitely better.
You know, I feel like it might be confusing sometimes to try and figure out what I'm talking about.
Or rather who I'm talking about.
If you read my work you may wonder who "you" is.
And perhaps you get the idea it changes.
Or maybe you don't wonder at all.
Maybe you don't care.
I was going to reveal myself, but I flinched.
Okay, I wanted to say I don't know who I'm writing about.
How embarrassing I wanted to lie to you.
I do have different people in mind when I write "you."
But I don't think they have any idea what's going on most of the time when they read my rants.
By exposing myself I am intentionally trying to burn a bridge behind me.
Another thing I've noticed.
People don't like it when I write about them reading what I've written.
I think this is because it makes them feel exposed.
If I just don't mention it they feel like they have some kind of window into my inner life.
Which honestly is creepy, because it makes me think of the Peter Gabriel song "Every Breath You Take."
You may be watching me, but I'm also watching you.
It's a two way street.
And I have my own way of watching, which you may not be able to emulate.
Sounds kind of threatening, which I also do not think is popular.
So by my own admittance I have written something that isn't compelling and could potentially be designed to actually turn you off.
Well, I think my job is done here.
I won't tell you how to feel or what to do on Thanksgiving.
I don't think we need people to tell us how to feel.
I feel like God gives me exactly what I need all the time, whether I know it or not.
But it is not always easy and mostly it actually isn't that hard.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
When it clicked it was because I remembered how you were smiling about something morbid I said.
And I remembered what I said.
So I watched it play out in my head like a movie.
Suddenly it all made sense.
What I'm wondering is how long will you be in town for?
Because following a logical line of reasoning if you do what you came here for I won't have anything to say about it.
Oh, what did I think of you?
Yes, as you know you are quite charming in the beginning.
You get angry at people later for buying into it, because you blame them for not seeing what is underneath the winning exterior.
If I were to pick one aspect of your ensemble that gives you away it's the style of glasses.
What worries me most is that if I see you again it will probably be the last time.
But since you're reading this, and you don't like your women to know, I think you'll at least wait a while...maybe I'll forget...
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
I remembered seeing him at work before.
I thought he was more eager than a normal salesman.
But I was on my phone so I brushed him off.
But when I saw him again I could tell there was something that was interesting him about me.
His expressions told me it wasn't sexual.
He made a point to tell me his favorite color is mint green.
And that he's from Pennsylvania.
He seems taller than he is.
He started working at his job about three weeks ago.
His microexpressions told me all I need to know.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
I got access to some new information.
So, I got to go up another level.
I'm astounded by the results I'm getting.
Word of the wise: it's good to be edgy.
In fact, in this game, I have to be edgy.
I can look back at my past and see a pattern.
Keeping things fresh is a great idea.
And remember if there isn't a visible problem, don't make one.
Mistakes are the best teachers.
I remember something that happened nine years ago.
I went to a doctor's office, but I don't remember what it was for.
When I was in the room with him I sensed danger outside the door.
In my mind I saw a very sick, troubled man lurking around.
He was killing people, I thought.
In the elevator on my way back down I saw something I couldn't make head or tails of.
There were two people who were dressed in street clothes with EMT equipment.
They looked unhappy when I saw them.
To my knowledge there are teams of unknown people responding to certain specific emergencies.
If you're reading this they might be around you too.
It's time to purse my lips and silently sigh.
There must be someone telling me a lie.
If we both know what the lie is, then what?
If we both feel kind of sick of this why are we doing it?
There must be a lot of lies bound up in this case file.
It's more than I can handle.
That's why I'm working solo.
If other people benefit, so be it.
I came here to create it not beseech it.
Monday, November 17, 2014
We've got the soundtrack prepared.
The vibe: Dangerous Remix.
Here's what it looks like.
If you want to know a useful secret: plan almost everything, but leave the details for last.
It's hard for me to convey how quickly this is unfolding.
But I'll brief you at the meeting.
Hey! My name is what they call me!
The design is The Design of the Universe.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
I know I don't know the plan.
After an excruciating struggle with my fear this morning I had a breakthrough.
The concept: locus operandi.
I am the locus of your focus.
What I need to do here...
Is empower myself and if I have to scream I will.
The duration of the battle is taxing on anyone's endurance.
I can see through you.
Sorry about the panic Mr. Chateau Marmont.
I couldn't answer, because I was afraid you would eat me!
Only realizing now how flawed my telling of the story is.
I see people and I watch them closely, but my imagination fills in the gaps.
I've seen people do this to me as well.
Recently more people are loving me.
I guess they realize I could use it.
And I have seen so much bravery...I am touched.
I've been preparing for a long time.
I think I'm ready every day.
I can embrace it.
Can you embrace me?
I'm sorry it was hard for you.
You fooled me.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Less vigilance and more negative thinking.
I was cruising along, and then I stopped, and projected failure.
It is not my job to project on what happens in the future.
One of my biggest excuses is to look at certain privileged parties and see what they do.
Then, I feel enslaved, put in a box, like Schrodinger's cat.
I am enslaved in a sense and I know it's true.
I trust my instincts.
God hasn't written a list of rewards for me.
But he has been up late writing for sure.
I don't think he's done writing scenes for me yet.
He's giving me a lot of material.
When I sat down this morning to write I had mixed feelings.
I got jumpstarted, stalled a few times, hoped for brilliance, knew I was focusing on the wrong agenda.
My agenda was going down anyway.
My agenda was mostly based on the weather.
The part about failure.
I feel like I failed.
But I only feel that way, because I didn't get what I wanted.
Also, I asked for way too much.
I'm casting around looking for something to prop me up.
There must be something I can use to make myself feel better.
I'm not finding anything.
Everything has too big a price.
If I don't want anything, then there are no obstacles.
The feeling is that I do want something, but I haven't figured it out yet.
On some days I feel like this will be over soon.
On other days I feel like this is for life.
I have to keep going I tell myself.
I don't want to.
Something burning inside of me died.
I'm just scratching the surface.
I keep seeing myself on a gurney.
And the person who was after me is caught.
And it's almost worse that way.
And when they give him the lethal injection I have to be sedated.
How I know this will never happen is simple.
Because if I can write it, it won't happen.
How I know the current circumstances will change is because they always do.
But you know, I'm in trouble.
Let's face it, I have no idea what's going on.
I hope to be increasingly uncertain.
There is more room for life.
I can't check out.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
I am so relieved to be free of the inanity.
Monday, November 10, 2014
Saturday, November 8, 2014
I want to say I'm surprised, but I don't think that's accurate.
Here's how this goes for me:
We both do our work and essentially there are no surprises.
But there are always surprises.
The setting is a little odd.
It's odd, yet familiar.
It has quite a bit of potential.
Of course I have no idea what's on your agenda.
My assumption says it won't take you long to complete.
In this sea of vagueness I find myself casting around for the correct words.
To purposely be utterly vague and yet speak to you.
I have an idea of what that looks like right now.
You're in your "bed" with the covers pulled over you so you can look at your phone?
I could be wrong.
But it shows how dysfunctional I am that this is how I talk to you.
Just in case you can't see me in your mind's eye:
I'm in my fuzzy "winter" pajamas, ready for bed, whatever, this is stupid.
I should be ignoring you completely, but later I might want to remember this moment.
Or I might want to forget it, but I won't.
The answer is definitely no.
I finally got it.
The message was loud and clear.
And go away.
I'm not angry.
I just can't.
I'm sure you understand.
How much stronger do I need to be?
To make you stop.
We've always been on opposing teams.
You and Me.
"Today a ninety year old man was arrested in Florida for feeding the homeless."
She channel surfs until she reaches CBS.
"We're getting some interference from..."
She's transfixed by the blonde anchorwoman with the big, white smile.
The woman reminds her of a friend she used to have.
On the outside she looks great, but she can sense something is wrong inside.
There are several days of peace in the house.
At night she goes to bed early while he makes pottery in the basement.
Sometimes she thinks he's lying, because it seems ludicrous that he's really making pottery.
But the next day the shelf has extra pieces on it with his signature luminescent violet and blue colors.
She stares at them from a distance as if she's trying to see inside them, to see what he feels while he makes them.
Honestly she thinks the whole weight gain thing has blown over, because it's silly.
Tonight she doesn't know where he is.
She sighs and watches the mediocre, mind-numbing commercials.
Then something across the room catches her eye.
She peers into the darkness and first she sees glasses, followed by him, standing by the ficus.
She acts before she knows what she's doing and flicks off the TV.
The room is completely dark now and she moves like a wild animal up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs she hears him laughing, really laughing.
And she comes back downstairs and turns the living room lights on.
"Baby, you know the only cameras left in the house are yours. Let's drop the act okay."
"First tell me who Richard is."
"Richard is a figment of your imagination."
"I taught you that."
"Well, it's highly effective."
"I don't believe you."
"Eat some ice cream, you'll feel better."
They smile at each other in a way that's a lot like dancing.
It's all a dance.
The acting, the living, the dying, the dancing...
But in the end what she learns is to say "no."
She can say "no" and still dance with him.
Strange but true, she's the one who can't afford to melt.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Her side of the bed is empty, which makes him angry, because it means she's still fighting.
He remembers when he always got up first.
When she was depressed in bed he could use it against her.
When he knew she was already weighed down by negativity he could pile more on top of her.
When she exhibited signs that she was malfunctioning it made him look good.
Now he feels like he's permanently losing, and he remembers the time she told him it would be better for him if he stayed away from her.
The main reason he's losing is because he's over fifteen years older than her.
No matter what he does he definitely can't change that.
And on top of it he's still unsure whether or not she's smarter than him.
He used to look at a lot of the decisions she made and think they were pretty obviously dumb.
During that time he seemed to have all the power.
But later as things changed he looked back and thought about how her actions were deceptive.
As he lies in bed he has a moment of detachment in which he realizes he's obsessed.
Then he looks out the window and glares at the overcast clouds and for some reason he thinks about something he hasn't thought about for a very, very long time.
Actually not thinking about this particular topic for a long time for him is different than how it is for other topics.
He remembers when he got his first clue about "him" and how he thought about it every day.
He thought about the way she played the whole thing out and he still can't believe Richard doesn't exist.
His name is Dick?
There's something about the fact that he actually thinks that's the man's given name, and he feels like if it was any other name he wouldn't believe it.
Then he thinks about something he never conjectured about before.
He remembers the painting she gave him.
The one that was sloppy.
And he remembers how he told her it looked like a vagina to him.
Then he remembers that painting of the ballerina shoe she did that was in the women's restroom at that Italian restaurant.
Someone drew on it and made the shoe look like a penis, but only because it really had that potential to begin with.
There is also a painting she did of an orchid that looks phallic.
The phallic symbols must be representative of Dick, and she is of course present in the painting she gave him and probably others.
His eyes widen.
Is this possibly the reason why he was always drawn to her artwork?
Were the clues all there?
And what else was she doing this whole time that he was unaware of?
Then he thinks about something else.
He thinks about his first major art show.
The one where he incorporated the elements and women and secrets.
Could she tell what he was up to by looking closely at his work?
He feels like she probably could.
He always knew she had an edge on him.
He wonders if she noticed the last thing he did before the show?
Later he realized it was a mistake.
He made an amateur mistake.
First of all, the pieces were all obviously tied together by a common elemental theme.
But right before the show he applied these weird lines across them.
At the time he thought it was a brilliant idea, because it tied all of them together visually.
It was one of those moments when you find yourself taking a risk and feeling like it's a good idea, but underneath it all is the feeling it could be a big mistake.
Instead of thinking about the fact that it might be a mistake he kept going and did it to all of them.
It wasn't until he was in the room at the show watching people look at his work that he understood something was wrong.
Since there wasn't anything he could do about it anymore he pushed the truth away.
He does the exact opposite regarding Richard.
Something feels right and like the truth about this cipher.
At this moment she comes into the bedroom and looks at him oddly.
"What are you doing?"
"Uh, nothing, I was just getting up."
"Well, there's coffee downstairs. I'm going to Pilates."
And he hardly even hears her, because he has so much to figure out still.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Because to them happiness means settling.
Which contradicts what he thinks he wants.
Remember they're together for a reason.
Underneath the surface there are layers upon layers.
At the core he chooses her for who she is.
It's a daily choice.
And vice versa.
When he comes home the next evening the house is dark.
He stopped texting her a long time ago.
He thinks texting is "gay."
He has a complex about appearing masculine.
Texting: not masculine, no.
Saying "no," is masculine.
She's supposed to say yes to him.
But of course when she says no it's a huge turn on.
She can only say no when she has the power to say no.
Which isn't all the time.
Since he can't text her to see where she is he sits on the couch and looks at porn on his phone.
The house isn't filled with her warm, receptiveness, her presence.
He's hungry because he's been eating raw broccoli and chicken breast all week.
The thing that really pisses him off is that his stomach looks the same, but his face is older looking.
The porn that used to work for him isn't working.
He thinks about calling her, and then sees himself from a bird's eye view, and he looks like a big pussy.
He puts his phone away and gets out his hidden bottle of whiskey from the pantry.
He pours himself two fingers straight up.
After drinking that he feels angry.
He loses the usual tabulating control of his thoughts, and he starts to justify why he's always right about everything.
When she walks in he's on his third glass and the bottle is out on the oak table.
She's fresh from a run in the park.
When she steps through the door the breeze smells good.
It smells like pines and wind.
When she sees him like this she stops in her tracks, and he almost feels bad but he no longer has the ability to.
"Did you have a nice run?" he snarls.
"Yes, I did."
She heads toward the stairs.
"Come here," he tells her.
This is how it is.
She's in a commitment where she has to face her fear on a regular basis.
She's terrified of him and she should be.
Her awareness of how dangerous he is is part of the reason she survives him.
She walks directly over to him.
He roughly slaps her ass in black spandex.
"Damn, you are fine. You know that baby? You are fiiiine. What did I do to deserve a woman like you?"
He licks his lower lip and he looks cold-blooded.
She changes, it's like watching a chameleon.
She becomes dangerous in her own way.
She lifts her shoulders and shrugs.
His hand is gripping her hip where the bone protrudes.
She moves away and he pulls her back.
"What do you think you did?"
She knows she can't say anything about love, or sex, or anything cheesy.
And that easily she breaks and the tears rush out of her eyes.
He looks satisfied.
"Good. Get your ass upstairs and shower you smell salty."
Monday, November 3, 2014
He comes home from work with a pint of Cherry Garcia, York peppermints patties, and KFC.
He's acting jolly in the kitchen, opening the freezer, putting things away.
He calls out to her to come downstairs because he has a treat for her.
She's upstairs working on her thesis, but she calls out to him.
"I'll be right down. I have a movie I want you to see."
When she comes downstairs she looks slightly flushed and happy.
He's actually happy too.
They're both slightly confused about why they're happy.
But they don't think about it much at all...because when either of them thinks a lot it means worry.
She sticks her hands into his warm jacket he still has on and gives him a big hug.
Wow, it feels good.
And for a moment they both think it could last forever.
But then he remembers that he has a plan.
Fried chicken is gross when it's cold, so he grabs some plates and serves them.
Plates filled with chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and biscuits.
The truth is her plate is filled and his is masquerading as being full.
He has that look on his face that she's very familiar with.
It means a plan is starting to come off in his favor.
It's true, he really knows when something will come off well.
One of the main things they have in common is a high level of self-awareness.
So, instead of eating at the kitchen table they go over to the couch and get comfortable.
She puts on "the movie."
She couldn't believe he hadn't been exposed to The French New Wave or La Nouvelle Vague.
She couldn't believe it when he told her hadn't heard of "À bout de souffle."
For a while he just pretends to watch it, but he's really looking at her eating.
She eats like a delicate animal.
She really has a very particular way of eating.
She analyzes each bite before eating it, so she's not the type of person who would shovel in a mouthful of salad with a caterpillar riding in it, because that happens.
She chews with her mouth closed, methodically, and it seems like she takes the time to truly taste what she eats.
He doesn't want her eating style to change and in a way that's at odds with his goal, because it takes her forever to eat a real meal.
Without meaning to he finds himself drawn into the film, especially since if he doesn't read the subtitles he won't know what the hell is going on.
Jean Seberg is definitely a sex object.
This much is clear right away.
And the guy is a bad ass.
So they're watching the movie and since he can't imagine she'll eat the rest of the food on her plate he gets dessert.
During a sex scene while she eats her ice cream he finds himself massaging her leg.
Then he runs his hand over her stomach and before he knows it he's kissing her sweet mouth and grasping her breasts.
They hear French in the background.
She understands some of it and he understands none of it.
Then she gets turned on and other things happen.
And it's a successful night.
And the next morning is a successful morning and for a while both of them are happy.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
She's helping him to get her clothes off and both of them are aware this is ridiculous.
Once she's standing chilled in her white panties and bra he realizes this is all wrong.
He's still hoping against hope that maybe she's changed.
So he kind of plucks at her underwear.
At this point the fire is gone from her eyes.
They both look disenchanted.
She gathers her clothes up off the ground and says she's going to take a shower.
"You look thinner," he says.
The reason she knows he's dangerous now is by the absolute calm in his expression.
The fact is that she's about as strong as steel at this point.
So she's also very calm even though she knows she's treading on thin ice.
"You might be right. I heard something online about how sometimes people lose weight before they gain weight."
There isn't a single thing she can say here that will exonerate her.
So, by mentioning the internet there is a broad vagueness combined with something that could easily be proved or refuted.
She's using his own tactics on him, which is quite brilliant.
"Can't you try harder?"
"After my shower I'm picking up some cheesecake."
"What kind of cheesecake?"
"Plus some potato chips for later. Just plain cheesecake."
The irony is that that night he ate most of the cheesecake and potato chips when he was watching the Cowboys play the Broncos.
He got so absorbed in what he was doing that he forgot all about her.
And the next day he avoided thinking about it, because he didn't want to revisit the horrible loss of his team.
It wasn't until three days later when he stepped on the scale that he realized he gained three pounds.
And for the next week he avoided her until he was back to normal.