Categories
about time

#theclimb

These things all mean so much
it is all about the climb
a search for words
within the hash of tags
and I go away to Westeros,
to the Neck,
my adjectives:
dorky, chunky, aggressive, and needy
of such things a knight is made
a man of jealous rage given a weapon
of photography
against my words
he asks him to climb
not me.
These lances are resolutions
to be splintered by force
pushing against the door
marked pull
“I am not a smart man”
but I know he doesn’t know
it is all about the climb
he will reach out
hold the ones and zeroes
in his hands
they will comfort… so
is your place in heaven
worth giving up
my kisses
such a clever exchange rate
love for hashtags.

Categories
about time

the fever broke.

something in me broke yesterday. i shifted through the last stage of grief during a run perhaps, I am not quite sure. What I realized is the truth behind what everyone (even him) told me: I’m incredible. I’m worth more than being broken because he is. It doesn’t change how I feel, I still love him. But I’ve let him go. Remarkably fast, if I say so myself. He didn’t put me first, and he should have. I hope he learns how to do that in the future. Being destructively beautiful doesn’t last, and cats only warm you so much. Surely in the months to come I’ll find another flip, where I decide he really was doing the best thing for me, because wonderful things will happen and being a sentient ape I will search for patterns in that noise. “Wow, he must have known X, Y, & Z were coming and realized that he was standing in the way! He’s so considerate.” *not impressed either, McKayla*
The world is opening up (it would have anyway, which is, of course the rub) and moments are flying towards me at a speed I will have to work to maintain. I’ve gotten very used, over the past 9 years, to a privation of choice. Limits, Frank. You may have A or B, nothing else. How I will manage the depth of what I need to face is an open question. But I’m not afraid. It’s one of the reasons I can’t understand why he did what he did. It seems a reflexive action done out of fear and I’m prison-tested against letting fear push me down.
Good luck, monito.
It’s something I don’t need. I’ll make my own.
Let’s do this. 😛

Categories
listens

“Wasting Away” by Alexx Calise

o3z95puGDzQ

Categories
about time

head above water.

*blink* smile *blink*
finally slept well (thanks benadryl). woke up smiling. trying to game the length of time i’m supposed to allow myself to mourn, to honor what I’m being forced to walk away from, is such a thorny question. time to deal with other things.
to go to grad school or not? what to study if I do? surely I should have an answer by now. but after majoring (in order) in History, Creative Writing, TV & Movie Writing, and finally getting my degree in Information Technology:Cybersecurity – well. I don’t have a fucking clue. I think I might like to work for social change somewhere, but I have no idea how to do this.
move to NYC? chase that old dream? but will I end up working a job a hate so I can have the right to wander streets that made me feel alive at 22?
or be near formative people?
stay in Louisiana? keep working at a job I’ve mastered which gives me the leeway to travel the world a couple times a year? buy a little house, keep a cat and garden?
i. don’t. fucking. know.
but my head is above water today and I’m smiling.

Categories
about time

emptiness deferred.

another sleepless night. more gnashing of teeth and tossing in the bed. more protestations to an uncaring Internet. the ebb and flow of clarity, I suppose. all my talk of not believing in regret, seems rather like boasting now. at 130am. Alone.
i keep trying to stoke this anger inside me, to develop this cinder of hate. let it burn until i’m numb and have moved on. #anotherfailure
i don’t hate him. i just miss him.
Monday waits on no one, perhaps this time I’ll dream.

Categories
about time

lust. in the marriage bed.

seventeen plus years ago I moved to NYC. with a North American nothing: $200, 3 weeks of clothes, and 1 friend. I slept on benches, squatted with strangers, sold my body, did drugs, went dancing, and met some people who are still with me today. I did eventually make NYC work, if in a roundabout, discombobulated sort of manner. I worked. A lot. I got paid. A lot. And I built a second life for myself. A secret me, steeped in the pleasant muck of the burgeoning Internet and hiding from the light on the horizon.
I loved NYC. Still do. But anyone who knows me well understands how I love. It doesn’t really die.
When I moved there I had a portable CD player, and two CDs. One of which was To Venus and Back. I played the song “Lust” over and over again, letting the staccato of the drums over Tori’s soft soprano merge with the sensations of movement around me. Two things which on the surface, the song and the place, had no relation. Yet somehow, I found something in them. A resonance. NYC became that some for me. It was my own ghost-lie, my own whispered reality. And I waited.
Seventeen years and a lot has changed. But not that.
NYC, I am coming back to you.
Soul-trading, as it were.
From one love to another.

We’ll see how brave you are. 🙂

Categories
listens

“The Sound” by The 1975

FSnAllHtG70

Categories
about time

hiding in plain sight

as my relationship unravels before my eyes, and I contemplate what it means to be told my love no longer loves me, that he is empty, I feel the need to regress to my old habit of blogging on here. where no one will ever see it.
so here’s the short story:
we met in line at a Tori Amos concert, the dream meeting for two diehard fans. It was instant crush. He knew it before I did, because I never suspected someone so beautiful could look at me that way. The deeper I went, the softer, more gentle, and amazing I found him. The hitch? He lives 5000 miles away, and I had only been out of prison for 7 months. It would be years at the earliest before we could really make a life together, if that’s what was meant to be. Prison had inured me to waiting for things I want, to internalizing my pain and doubt and fears, to compartmentalize it away. Focus on the now, Franklet. Do today. One foot in front of the other. It worked for me, but not for him. The idea that in a break-up someone always leaves with everything seems horribly true at this moment.
I had never loved someone who loved me back at the same time. I had never planned my future with someone and liked what I saw. I had never looked in someone’s eyes and saw my own beauty reflected back at me. I believed.
Right now I’m full of what-ifs:
what-if instead of blocking my early release from probation my PO had done the right thing and recommended it?
what-if instead of convincing himself he could not wait, he had convinced himself love was worth trying and moved here?
what-if instead of telling me he didn’t love me, he told me he needed a break from the pain?
what-if instead of breaking my heart he had found a way to enlarge his own?
So what now?
Pick up and move on? Or fight for him? Plan to travel to where he is and put it all on the line? I am that guy, but for now, I just have to be broken. And wait.
But I just want to be clear, here, if nowhere else: there is nothing brave about letting go of love.

Categories
about time

six word story: prison sex

“stand between the toilet and wall”

Categories
about time

six word stories

In an effort to be my ineffable and lovely self, I’d decided to catalog my emotions in the craft of Hemingway-ish daily six word stories.
on love:
Spanish for Dummies. You will learn!”