Thursday, March 27, 2014

Don't worry, this is about someone else

When you hang up and realize how alone you are
When tears of desperation spring from your face
When your friends call you to babysit their kid so they can watch a movie 
When your whole body hurts 
When you can't be bothered to get dressed 
When you wish you would die in your sleep
When you have your funeral planned 
When there's no hope 
When you are 80 years old 
When you are everyone's rock 
When you've stopped talking to everyone 
When you have nothing left to say 
When it all ends 

Wednesday, March 26, 2014


When you cut yourself on a brand new nail polish bottle that smashed in your hand. And the Polish is blue. And you assume that the red nail polish all over your nails mush have come off somehow and gotten all over your hand. Mixing with the blue that just spilled. And then you try to use nail polish remover to clean it all off and wonder why your fingers are stinging. Then realize that the red is actually blood. The sick part is that you enjoy the pain. It feels good. It feels. You feel something. And it looks kind of cool. And the only thing you are upset about is the fact that you broke a good nail polish bottle.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014


From "The Courts of Chaos" by Roger Zelazny

As I slogged along, I was hailed from somewhere to my left:

"Stranger! Halt and regard me!"

Wary, I halted. Couldn't see a damned thing through that fog, though.

"Hello," I said. "Where are you?"

Just then, the fogs broke for a moment and I beheld a huge head, eyes on a level with my own. They belonged to what seemed a giant body, sunk up to the shoulders in a quag. The head was bald, the skin pale as milk, with a stony texture to it. The dark eyes probably seemed even darker than they really were by way of contrast.

"I see," I said then. "You are in a bit of a fix. Can you free your arms?"

"If I strain mightily," came the reply.

"Well, let me check about for something stable you can grab onto. You ought to have a pretty good reach there."

"No. That is not necessary."

"Don't you want to get out? I thought that was why you hollered."

"Oh, no. I simply wanted you to regard me."

I moved nearer and stared, for the fog was beginning to shift again.

"All right," I said. "I have seen you."

"Do you feel my plight?"

"Not particularly, if you will not help yourself or accept help."

"What good would it do me to free myself?"

"It is your question. You answer it."

I turned to go.

the story never ends

Let me tell you a story.

There once was a girl.  For the sake of the story, we will call her Olive. Olive looked very young. She had great genes. External genes that is. Most of the women on her mother's side looked very young. A true miracle. Internally, Olive had aged way too quickly. She had the soul of a 93 year old. An old soul. And too many experiences to count for her young age. Painful experiences. 

Olive played a part. She was the lead in a very complex play. She was the heroine. For everyone else. She showed up to every practice. Never missed a beat. Lines were all memorized. Costume was always ironed and pressed. She even ad-libbed when others' faltered. Olive was a pro. Always to be counted on. Reliable. Responsible. 

Olive held it all together. Until one day, she couldn't. Olive couldn't fake it anymore. Her facade started crumbling. The walls around her soul could no longer hold themselves up. The glass surrounding her heart lay in a shattered mess inside her lungs. Every breath became difficult. Every movement felt weighed down. 

Olive continued showing up to practice. But her lines faltered. Her enthusiasm was lacking. She showed up. But she wasn't really there. She was nowhere to be found. She heard nothing. Not the director and not her fellow actors. The only sound that penetrated her body was the music. Only music. The music had never left her. Never abandoned her. Olive felt enveloped in the music's power. It ate her alive. 

The story of Olive never ends. It just goes on and on. Until it doesn't. 

Monday, March 3, 2014


What's it like to live in a house. A home where everyone is depressed. No one bothers to utter a word. Each person is more drained than the next. Overwhelmed. How do you function. Survive. Each step is agonizing. Every word is so difficult to get out. No distraction. No break. Constant misery. You wait. Wait for anything. Wait for nothing. Life continues. But you remain the same. Unchanged. Unmoved. Static. Immobile. Stuck. Always stuck. Stuck with others. Stuck with yourself. Stuck in yourself.

Just another day.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

I want...

I want you to hold me
Lay with me
Touch me 
I want you to want me 
Need me 
Feel me 
I want you to adore me 
Treasure me 
Satisfy me 
I want you to need me 
Desire me 
Inspire me 
I want you to electrify me 
Motivate me 
Move me
I want you to understand me
Respect me 
Love me  

Where are you.