Old things revisited

                             unfiltered                                                    '02

revenging circle of a stabbing sane less cycle
perpetual strumming with blood stained fingers
into distortion from mind alterance
beating my other unconscious disillusioning decisions
thought provoking silence from coldness
trapped within a razors rusty edge
or even the fading in your strained gasping breath
smoke vigorously exiting your cursed lips
as it disturbingly vials a stormy cloud
settling above.
sex building, wanting to exert, electrically performing
to shock and petrify your hand clumsily fumbling down
the valley of sweat dripping reflection of flesh
into battered clothing you wear preciously without comfort
hiding from the unconquered rat race, still staking bricks
balled up raging emotion you've hidden from the rest
tears from withholding what my heart has said so
hysterical convulsions spilling sluggishly from my
dissected, over-analyzed words, formed wrongly by imagination.
Skin bulging out of the self-mutilating bars
of you're staged imprisonment.
uncomfortable selfish silence created by your arrogant
AVOIDANCE, sudden thrustful burst of forgotten
unrealistic situations.
outlet of unawarable loss of control spilling paint onto
any blank, untouched, seemingly challenging surface
obsessed with the self-indulgent misery of craziness forever building.
praised puppet string go free fucking flowing
blindsided annoyance, grumbling echo of flutter fucking
cyclone within the emptiness of my unsustained addictions
so insatiably unkempt and left strangely unresolved
foolishly conversing a scheme unthoughtfully gathered.
clenching fists wrapped around my pulsating arch
leading up the path of skin into further worthlessness
of existence undesired to proceed the journey to the next
step of higher place, mesmerized, melting, inter folding
center staging the spotlight around the gleam
of shot sparkles, light from your fire lite torch
held under my undeservedly spanked ass.
Playing off every anticlimactic word with gesture
intended twitch ass willing by curiousity
to experiment
with a phase that euphorically collects into more trouble
then is worth to maintain your normal life
that I'm meant to viciously destroy without choice.
Impatiently awaiting confrontations that muster
with the shaking of your blood dripping bristles, you unkindly
thrashed across my beaten bare body still scarred
from the melting rubber you forwardly left across my chest.
Images clashing, emerging into the diminishing being of self.
Mysteriously affected by your absence, left abandoned
spontaneously leaping into a broken glass that can't be filled,
cracked, smashed, shattered and used for convenience.
Bewildered by my constant attempts of failing fixation denied
with rejection,
I hang from the noose you've tied around my tired head.

Dec 18

They say the universe never gives you more than you can handle. I'm wondering how much he/she/it thinks I can take.

It seems as though this is my year for learning, growing, and beginning to like myself.

My wife left our relationship technically in August, although my heart was trying to tell me this for a large part of this past year. In hindsight, it never should have gone on that long, but apparently there was reason for it. I learned a lot about myself, I bended in ways I didn't know were possible, I sacrificed my dream of being a mother, I learned that monogamy was possible, and I gained a new sister, nephew, and niece. I stayed the night with her family the day she left. I cried the whole time with my sister by my side. She stayed with me for a week and 2 friends I work with turned out to be more supportive and compassionate than friends I've had for years. Through the heartbreak of the break up, I grew to love these girls fiercely. It's funny that it took my heart break to bring the three of us together, separately and together. It was worth it. Out with the bad, in with the good? I lost my best friend but gained two more, both of which accept and embrace who I am and give me the courage to do the same. I've gained more self-confidence and happiness I didn't seem to have the strength for with Sarah. She feels dead to me, it's slightly awkward, but I'm allowing myself to feel whatever I need.

There's this positivity about me, this weightlessness, this palpating heart once again. I can't for the life of me remember a time in my life that I felt so free, so self-accepting, so vulnerable and so happy. Shit still happens…total your car, get charged for an OUI, cars getting towed, fights with the neighbors, people die and dogs get fleas. SHIT STILL HAPPENS. And most times all I can do is laugh, because breathing, beating, flowing, eating, shitting, ambulating, etc…might just be But I have faith, in myself, in the universe, in the people I surround myself with, and in the chance that I really am a good person. I started online dating, which I always use to pick on my friends for doing. It's been a lot of fun and has pulled me out of my shell. It's been exciting meeting new people, and I've had more sex in the past 3 months then I did for the past 4 years. I feel more accepted and more myself with strangers then I did with her.
I crashed my car into a tree Nov 23. No one should ever "put the baby over there" while driving. The car was totaled, S had to meet me where the car got towed because it was still registered in her name. It was beyond awkward and the first time I had seen her face in 2 months. I saw my car and almost pissed myself laughing. What is a girl to do? S said I was being a dick for laughing, which only made me laugh more.

I haven't gone home in almost 3 months which is the longest time away since I moved to Portland. I had a "Divorce Party", which my mom came too. Friends from home met my friends from Portland. It was a shit show and I had a blast. I have moments, small periods of time, where I realize how much I am loved by the people I surround myself with. No matter what happens, I am grateful and proud of how far I've come and where I am. Life is good, life is funny, life is complicated and life is a gift.

I heard a rumor Sriracha was going out of business or some shit. WTF?

Grey

Life is so fucking unbearable at times. Nothing is for certain.

Many people grown up thinking that unconditional love comes naturally from their parents, then their parents beat them or molest them or are too caught up in what's happening for them they don't realize they are allowing someone else to. You go to school, you socialize, you learn human behavior, you're disappointed by human behavior, you have best friends you have boyfriends or girlfriends, you lose some you win some. You're heart gets broken, you learn a few things, you do a few bad things. It's suppose to be this journey, it's suppose to be a learning experience, the end is suppose to justify the means.

What happens when it doesn't? What happens when you grow up envisioning what you're life is going to be like, and it turns out you don't have any of it? What happens when you do all this gut wrenching, soul vomiting, someone put your body through a meat grinder without an anesthetic, hard work, and you still feel just as lost and lonely only more complicated? Life throws you lemons so you make lemonade? Fuck that shit. The universe only gives you what you can handle? Fuck that shit.

I've spent 31 years on this earth, everyday trying to thank whoever is responsible for all the beauty in this world, and still everyday not knowing if I'm doing "the right" thing. Everyday I'm unsure of myself. Everyday I'm saddened by the ways of this world. By really good people dieing of cancer, of babies being born addicted to drugs or being beaten and killed, of woman selling their bodies for sex, of animals being tied up and left for dead, of some stranger barging in your home and stealing your hard earned things or raping or beating or killing you and your family. I'm sickened, I'm scared and I'm completely fucking baffled. I grew up feeling lonely and displaced, I grew up not wanting to live the way I had seen, I grew up wanting to be something great. Even if by great it meant a great friend, or a great painter, or a great doctor, I had these really high hopes for myself. Instead I have this heart that feels to big for my chest, that feels too heavy to be real. I don't wonder why people commit suicide, I don't wonder why people turn to drugs and alcohol. I wonder what you're suppose to do when every day hurts, when everyday you cry because you're not who you wanted to be. Why when the things that keep you up all night aren't even real or because you still feel guilty for making your mother by you a toy she couldn't afford.

I've spent 31 years trying to grow up, trying to learn, trying to be better and trying to accept myself for who I am and what I've been through. Still I just go to bed panicked, still I see what I assume is a struggling mother and cry in grocery stores, still I listen to a song that gives me temporary release, still I stare at the floor speechless and wonder if my brain is the correct shape.

My biggest accomplishment is that I'm still breathing, and it fucking hurts.

I am laying on the couch with my dog, Mallon.  We have had her for 4 months now? I have the receipt, somewhere.  A few months after Flash died, unexpectedly, we were searching for a new dog. I kept putting it off, in fear of the feeling of "replacing" Flash,  and Sarah was sending me pictures everyday of rescue dogs to get. See Flash was a special dog.  He was short, he had droopy ears, he drooled and when we first got him he had a hard/stubborn time walking a single mile.  He was stinky, he shed all over the place and he liked to go on nose bound, people loving, adventures from time to time.

I haven't liked dogs all that much in the past, I mean I liked them well enough but I never wanted to live with one, I never wanted to have to vacuum everyday because of one.  But Flash was a special dog.  I brought him in to my work a few times to introduce him to some of my favorite residents.  I became, rather quickly may I add, proud that he was mine.  I lay ed on the floor with him and didn't care that that meant dog hair coated clothing.  I enjoyed having him lay on the couch with me (poor Nubs, I'm sorry it took me so long), I fell in love with this dog.  His ears were my favorite, and he was so handsome.

Sarah called me at work on the house phone one night, which she never does and said that she wanted to bring Flash to the vet, that he was acting funny and not moving.  He didn't budge for food or even water, which he was obsessed with, he wouldn't get up to go outside.  She had a few hours before taken him and Nubs for a dog walk, so we assumed that he ate something that didn't quite agree with him, or that he somehow ingested a pair of our underwear. So we would wait until morning and if he was still acting funny then we would take him in.
A day or two had passed, maybe even three and he was acting like his normal self.  Then he had another one of those episodes.  Meanwhile, in the world outside of our house, one of my favorite residents had been battling with pneumonia during the same week.  My emotions were already trying to prepare me for the heart break of my friend. Sarah came with me to my place of work to be with Blue Jay, I'll call her, I knew she was dieing, I didn't want to miss a minute of her last days.  I was in love with her too. 
When we returned home that night, about 11, he still wasn't moving.  We took his temperature, 98 something, and after reading on the inter web about appropriate dog temperatures, we knew he was in some sort of danger.  I wrapped him in a blanket, put him in the back seat on my lap and we drove to one animal clinic which didn't have an xray machine so we drove to another.  After they took an Xray, and an ultrasound and drew out the contents of his abdomen, within seconds, we realized the depth of his pain, of his injury.  The tests revealed that he had tumors on his liver and spleen, too large to do anything about and too late because they had already burst.  We went over surgery options, taking him home options, and finally, decided to spend our last hours hugging him, loving him and crying with each other. Deciding to let him go was the hardest decision I've ever had to make.  Not jail, not rehab, not dirty streets, not family dysfunction, not every relationship I've ever had to end, has ever compared to the feeling I had that night.  He was laying on the table, with an IV in one foot, just breathing and looking at us.  Licking his lips and looking around, and we couldn't stop crying. I didn't want to say goodbye.  I didn't want to be without him.  I didn't want him to go.
We left with him in a box.
I wanted to bring him to my mother's and bury him.  I also didn't want to miss Blue Jay's passing.  I was so fucking torn between the death and dieing of two beings that I loved so dearly.  Blue Jay would have wanted me to go, Blue Jay loved animals.  Blue Jay met Flash.  So we drove to mom's the next morning, we put some things in his little long box, my brother Tristian read a letter he had written to Flash, and we buried him.  It was all so god damn surreal.  I week later and I still couldn't believe that had happened.
I returned to our home in Maine and I went back to work. That very day I clocked in and went to visit Blue Jay, I was so surprised that she was still alive.  I was so selfishly grateful that she was still alive. She passed that night, and all I could think of was, she waited for me to say goodbye. Not ten minutes after the nurse officially declared she had no heartbeat, I heard her daughter walking down the hallway.   I knew her walk, I knew her footsteps.  I walked into the hallway and tried my hardest to keep my cool.  I was so confused as to the right thing to do, do I tell her before she enters the room, do I let her walk into the room on her own...I started crying and told her Blue Jay was gone.  We hugged and we cried and then I left her alone to cry over her mother.

to be continued...

Is drinking a glass of Jameson at 1:09 AM ever a good sign?  I worked until 10:30 tonight, took a shower, drank some sleepy time tea and tried for the last hour and a half to fall asleep. My mind sometimes, a lot of times, doesn't get negative or positive signals for that matter, to shut the fuck up. I try to let the bitch down easy, but the brain is a powerful bitch with a stubborn mind of it's own.  Oh and my wife has decided we are not getting pregnant right now, or basically until she decides it's time. And this is me trying not to blow the whole ship up.

2 months have past and I have shit to show for it. I messed up the fertility monitor (your only allowed 1 fuck up per cycle, I managed 2), so we weren't able to inseminate last month. Here's looking forward to a September made baby :)

Turns out more than a beer a day, 2 cups of coffee a day and I forget how much sugar, is detrimental to your infertility. A new study for some idiot suggests that having your cellphone in your pocket does as well, although that wouldn't too much surprise me I guess.  So, I cut down on everything and am trying my damn est to switch to decaf. 

My wife and I attended two free Yoga classes last week through a space on Congress st. Never have I taken a serious yoga class before, but it was nice. We took a beginners class (didn't like) and a Gentle/Restorative (did like). I think something I need more in my life is quiet, stillness, stretching and most of all breathing. 

It's a funny thing, these blogs, your writing into the "air and space" as if people give a shit to read it. Mostly I like typing on a computer and use to journal EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME, so in pen and ink's memory I try to keep it up.

I survived Pride and all I got was some fucking diarrhea.And it's true, when people say "HAPPY PRIDE", I want to punch them.