Saturday, February 14, 2009

love is strange.

(This was written on a boat quite some time ago, I believe right before coming back to New York last summer, so it isn't exactly indicative of my current mind set -I am much less melancholy- but I like the ending. I don't think I've posted it before -couldn't find it in a quick search- and thought it might be an appropriate Valentine's Day post. Happy Valentine's Day everyone!)


if any sentence has ever been true, that one is. i'm learning to relax into that truth as i grow older, but it just gets stranger and stranger still. i don't know what i'm doing, and i'm almost ok with that. god knows i've been pretending like i was ok with that all this time but its just a monstrous front. i have NO idea what the fuck i'm doing. there is no future no past; it is all happening right now. i think i've settled this and that and then these ghosts come flying in from all corners. they don't give me any peace and never will. perhaps i like it that way; if i don't i better learn to because i know it won't change.

i don't even know how to conceptualize/imagine it any other way. i can't even get my mind through a short little story that pulls me out of this weird loop. i find myself calling out to old ghosts even as i'm reaching out to hold what is right in front of me right now. why can't it be enough? why do i have to know what i'll miss in it? why must these hobgoblins torture me? how do i survive this?

oh cut the crap, this is the only way i can live. smack in the middle of a swirling complicated world with all the uncertainty and absolute certainties colliding and acting a fool. i have to occasionally sit myself down and remind myself that i am a devil and my part in all this is rapturous laughter and conspiratorial giggles. I'll not let this absurd existence get the better of me. I've said my prayers ("Wow!" and "Thank you."), so enough with time on my knees. I'll stomp out and hold the beautiful as close as I can and dare it to hurt me deep; I can smile deeper. the joy is ecstatic, only the more so because of the pain. a thousand curses upon my name if I lay down and give up, if I break and beg for a stay of the trauma and tragedy, if I trade the joy for the cozy complacency, for a membership in the bleating mass. I've said what prayers I'm allowed already ("Wow!" and "Thank you."), but if I can offer up another... never mind. no new prayers; only new horizons. one day after another, one hallelujah and then another.

1 comment:

Benjamin said...

color me confused.