Blanket of Grey.

When you begin to hate someone who previously carried positive weight in your life, the world temporarily turns grey.
Things start to feel skewed and look grotesque.
Nothings seems to make you smile or laugh as before, nothing seems funny.
The world has changed inside of you, is changing inside of you.
You have no control over the darkening or lightening of the shades that the grey blankets over and around your life. You just have to snuggle in this blanket.
You just have to keep yourself enveloped at any cost.
There is nothing else for it.

Downshift.

We had drawn up this road map so grand,

the highlighted route to the ending we planned,

the flutter of cards as they dropped out of hand,

the calling of Gods in dreams we understand;

poor odds follow close, wherever I am,

fleeting as granules of time-whitened sand

fickle and pickled in the spices at hand,

between promise and oneness,

that same ol’ ominous numbness,

parlor tricks performed in a deserted land;

peopled with embodied nothingness,

void of all the sugary fluffiness,

where you are is ever where I am,

when I’m asleep that’s how it stands,

I dig in the deep with my polished hands,

driven mad by a fiendish hologram;

dropped from the attached strings,

to your heart’s working guillotine,

you never came back for me,

left me miserably, deservedly

just as I am.

He Versus I.

Had I not already been neck-deep in the execution of self-sabotaging the thing between me and a particular (possibly) impossible person whom I have been trying to let “court” me, when he opted to get pissed off at me (for the very first time) and wrap yesterday up by dumping me, another Valentine’s Day might have become memorable for all the wrong reasons.

Luckily (and I say luckily with a heavy and exaggerated roll of my eyes), I was well into that familiar, contradictory and counter-productive pattern of “seek-build-destroy” when it all happened – so I wasn’t too heartbroken.

I expect such things anyway, Hell, I create them. I tried to tell this one from the start, too – how we seemed to represent like, Polar Opposites at the end of the day. We have very little in common besides work (yes, we work together) and physical attraction. He literally left me with my mouth hanging open when he asked me to go out with him because I had previously imagined him as a total yuppie that travels for fun (he’s very worldly) with season tickets to the Warriors or whatever. Like many men from “the clean side of the tracks”, he was intrigued by my roughened edges, I suppose.  When I told him that I thought we had nothing in common with each other, he said something like,

“Just let me surprise you on that score.”

A surprise that I am still waiting for…

 

He:

is too normal (he reads the newspaper and drives an SUV)…too well-maintained by scheduled workouts and personal tailors…too condescending without meaning to be…too hopeful and focused on The Big Picture.

I:

am so fucked up in the head that I can’t get close to anyone (the more I want to, the harder it gets to actually let happen)…too unbalanced and paranoid by a lack of human interaction…too defensive without meaning to be…too traumatized to exist outside of One Moment At A Time.

Snap.

There’s no pattern to the trend
That teeter totters without end
No method to a madness that mends,
The sadness between every exhalation,
I pull, you push.
You’re slow, I rush.
There’s nothing happy in the end
To go and slap me in my face again
No loss of sleep, no skipping heartbeat to maintain,
No giggling, no tickling the inkling in my brain,
I give, you take.
You bend, I break.

Things I’ve Learned From Dead People 3.

  1. Dead people are ALWAYS accompanied by paperwork; if they have no paperwork, we unfortunately have NO business with them, or their loved ones.
  2. Even when it comes to a thing as sacred as a family burial plots, the living are conniving weasels behind the backs of their own family members.
  3. When or if you ever find yourself dealing with a service counselor, funeral director or arranger, there is a strong possibility that you are actually engaging with a retired Marine or Navy officer; it is just as strong of a possibility that you are being counseled by a surviving POW (At my cemetery, at least).
  4. Regardless of your own religion or belief system, it is out of a generalized respect for human life and death that you should ALWAYS stand and bow your head to the passing of a funeral procession (even our yard crew guys stop what they are doing and remove their caps when they see one coming or going by).
  5. It is a true fact that a disturbing number of people (that you know) have already planned their own burial wardrobe.
  6. Most people who are buried in a casket are not wearing shoes.
  7. The “toe-tag” has evolved into no more than an urban legend these days.
  8. Where I work, there are record books that are each literally heavier than me from the 1800s that were hand-written and can still be accessed to date.
  9. Thousands of people died of “Dentation” in the old days.
  10. Even in death, we continue to intentionally pollute our Mother Earth through our need to be preserved and maintained.

Schemistry.

A very shifty combination,
so decried the chemistry,
mixing hard-earned salvation,
in with exponential insecurity…

A noteworthy disintegration,
in the joints behind each knee,
an ever-hanging expectation,
that it will give way eventually…

A monotonous lamentation,
such disappointment did I bring,
a repetitive declaration,
a tourniquet – always reminding…

A mind full of a heart’s degradation,
a swan hiding wolves beneath each wing,
a perfected form of pure placation,
the rejected face the glass is reflecting…

A very questionable equation,
the sheet of paper full of scribbling,
an indefinably cold sensation,
took out knees and left me shivering.

I Know.

I know what you’re thinking…

You’re thinking dark things to yourself now…like:

how all of those people in your past, the ones you helped nurse through to recovery from breast cancer, colon cancer, even a brain tumor; they’ve all gotten well and forgotten about you, when you needed those kindly offered favors returned. Oh Mama, how well I perceive how you feel.

You’re thinking about all the years that you poured out of yourself into others who are long dead already; you’re thinking about how short your end of the stick turned out to be; you’re thinking that you’ve been conquered by the things that other people do or say…or don’t do or say; you think it’s time to resign and become this helpless refugee who can’t find the motivation in your brain to keep your body moving your bones.

I’m thinking about how strong your spirit is when I look down onto your drawn face and seek out any flicker of light within those sunken eyes; I’m thinking back onto my youngest recollections of you: a beautiful woman in a skirt and pantyhose, wrenching at a flat tire on the freeway shoulder – not giving a fuck. I’m thinking about how much you have gone through in your hard lifetime already, even before Cancer pirated your body and brain; before your partner abandoned you and you became homeless…and, when I think about these things, I can barely breathe. I’m thinking about how you have the right to decide when you’re too tired to fight this bullshit life any longer, to “throw in the towel” as you said this morning to my nodding head and tear-streaked face. I’m thinking about so many things that make me feel as if I’m being strong-armed by some invisible being, robbed and stripped of my medals and badges.

You’re thinking it’s time to go; I’m thinking how much I hate the fact that I understand how you feel, completely.

Mama, you are not helpless, you could never be that; you’re not built that way…but you can be tired; you can be forlorn; just don’t be gone too soon.