scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

11.1.10

this blank space, this massive emptiness, this is the abyss. I fell off the edge of the world: and so i keep falling, and the naked monsters of uncharted madness reach for me. The old maps knew their way. You know, before, i didn't think it was such a sin? I feel like i am grieving someone who laughs at me from opulent pillows, but i am so much more practiced at grieving for death.

I have dreams about him, about them together, and in my dreams he turns away from me again and again and again. When i am awake the hurricane comes, and sometimes i am at the calm, and sometimes i watch the mountains crumble, and sometimes i am the mountains.

But it is January: the solstice has passed, and the next, and the next, and the next. Breathe. Be. Now. Here.

Labels: separation

scrawled @ 12:39

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8.1.10

i need to write. Obviously. im itching for it. but how?

relatedly, i need to turn up the thermostat and have some tea.

I like Hamlet, the talking in circles, the innuendo, the way if you know what they're talking about it's all completely obvious. Other people post lyrics; at least mine is free of copyright regulations, so that's a plus as well. And the themes that sing out across centuries, love, death, madness, sex, revenge, rhetoric. That moment of tragic hesitation in Act III. The way dear Hamlet insults everybody left and right: ah, romance.

I need a place to live, dry and warm, food to eat, means to not worry about. I need to get the water heater serviced and the washing machine repaired, the seal on the dishwasher, repaint in the kitchen. Touchups in the big room. I need to read the lease. I need to be in reality, i need to hear it and see it and know it for what it is, because if i don't know what reality is then having wisdom and strength and serenity and all the rest is irrelevant.

Labels: writing

scrawled @ 23:24

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