breathing is overrated anyway. and all of this everywhere i go others are having this too it rises up in me i don’t want it i don’t want it easter means nothing to me nothing i was not abused i was not hurt in any way.
i am not doing good at all, i am drowning.
there is no place for me any more. words come in gasps and little spurts but they don’t, there is so much more head than words, there is no hope. so i’ll be quiet.
i can’t breathe i can’t breathe i can’t breathe!
it’s really clear that things slip downhill in the evening. it is dark and suddenly i can’t breathe. my words feel stunted and i can’t stop the violence in my head and i don’t know why i’m writing, because honestly it’s the same impulse as the chimera talk about: just to give up, quit, we’ll never matter anyway. although it’s only somewhat social anxiety, it’s mostly depression. and these involuntary daydreams.
but in the morning we woke up fresh and forward-looking, into welsh, into music, ready. doing okay. we played guitar, studied welsh, clear on our priorities for this new quarter: our homework, our music, and welsh. simple, but it is simplicity that makes the best life, for us. things have been too complicated. they’ve been good, but returning to stillness is a relief.
Continue reading ‘these are not words’
so we’re back from texas. i am almost reluctant to post this, enjoying such my respite from email, to let the world know i’m back in the flow of things. i don’t feel in the flow of things. i’ve gotten used to filling my time with books, welsh, there’s just so much to do. but here i am. writing. and somehow i’ll have to keep up with email, at some point. it’s kind of nice to be disconnected, though.
so will this be the mammoth entry where i talk about everything? i don’t tend to be good at those. but there is so much to say. the chimera is peerless and queenly and our life is sunny and sensuous. (the best part of leaving home is always coming back.) how did we get this worked out, this beautiful life, this sweetness, this quiet happy sensuous rhythm? it’s so good.
Continue reading ‘you always felt like suede’
I’m going home today. I’m happy and scared and for some reason terribly nauseous. I’ll see Aeryn oh aeryn my love. My nose is running terribly. Bleh.
I’m waiting for the Chimera to get up. I couldn’t sleep past quarter to eight this morning, because i’m nervous. I will be glad when this whole plane trip is over. It is terribly anxiousifying. It’s almost ten this morning, now. Which is when they wanted me to set my watch alarm for. I’ve been just playing games on my clie, i’m so terribly terribly nauseous though and i don’t know why. See these boring things i have to say. What real life is made of.
Continue reading ‘home today’
I haven’t been writing, although i have had plenty of alone time. On the whole. Yesterday afternoon we visited S. (to be respectful, I’ll keep the Chimera’s abbreviation, although mostly we are bad and speak of people plainly, forgetting that we can only decide to shiver-naked ourselves and not to bare others.) And that was good, it was good, comfortable company. We freaked out though, bit all our nails off, in our mind saws cut into our skull, razors sliced our cheeks and eyes, axes hacked from behind at our neck and skull and brain, fingers pencils poking through our brain, our buttery brain. Mostly it was all there, above the neck, and what wasn’t was the usual slicing in twain of our symmetrical body, the razors making thin red topographical maps.
Continue reading ‘our buttery brain’
My stomach is cramping from the food i have forced on it today. Not enough nutrition, too many calories. My head hurts, don’t know why. Books are my rediscovered addiction and i bathe. I feel shitty. I have accepted today that despite all this writing, our love for the Chimera is something that should be put quietly aside. (We have learned to be more quiet, lately.)
Continue reading ‘roeddwn i’n ddiflas’
by C.S. Friedman.
We all yearn for hyperbole…
This author has me, i catch the subtleties, i approve. No one is perfect but i tend towards extremes in my words as does she. She gave me words for a concept i have. She understands. This thing i understand its hyperbole i appreciate it i acknowledge. This book which understands how close how close are hatred and love. For all the war, i hope she has the sense to give us an anticlimax, to let neither side win. These purities of extremes. This is what i like about scifi. It can tell pure stories, where the normal fiction gets its power from reflecting the mundane, the middleness of how life is. Both potent. But i like scifi. This author likes what i like about it, we are a match.
Continue reading ‘of conquest born’
I’m reading their poetry, gasping with beauty, thinking about my own words. How, miserly for songs, i stop up or don’t try for finished poems, thinking the creativity in me is finite. And yes, a bit, precedent has held me up, but i write so little anyway, isn’t one or t’other better than nothing? I don’t know for how long these strands of song stay in me. I don’t know if i’ll be able to cash them in. There is too much i want to do, though, stretching me brittle and impotent. I do want my music to be tended, to be fostered, i have laid down priorities.
I don’t know if i understand anymore what it means to love. Aeryn says if it makes one sad to think that ever, ever the loved one might not be a part of one’s life. Well, of course, i am sad always with a corner of me because this bond i have with you is so elusive. Because of course someday even this tenuous feeble connection must die. (Forever is not something we are very often capable of trusting.) Easily you pass that test; if let, those parts of me would always trickle tears. For you as for a very precious few. Those in my heart surrounded by this or that chasm.
Continue reading ‘for the Chimera’
