Words, words, words

#10: I am filled with broken promises.

And after a while, they don’t hurt as much.

Sometimes, I wonder what kind of life I’m setting up for myself.

A world where the minutia feels like vapor; where ‘this and that’ don’t sting, but they should.

We need glitter bombs and hips

#5: I swear on this, no matter how extensive my current musical elitism:

I saw ‘NSync in concert when I was 15, and when the lighting went crazy, and the girlish pubescence swelled into a frenzy, and JC Chasez (the specter of my wet dreams) threw a janky towel in my direction, I swear–that I had peaked. My heart knew it. My body buzzed with approval.

For a few seconds, I had a lived a fulfilled life.

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And later, if a person is wrong about that feeling, after they’ve witnessed the scope of a messy, unpredictable, human existence, I wouldn’t sweat it. Our instinct shouldn’t be to diminish the past in the presence of knowledge or foresight.

One should feel so sure about a moment at least once.

“Take, take, take–“

#4: I can still feel you next to me.

I hate that when it gets dark enough in my room, or in my head, that I’m there again–sophomore year, in a dorm room that smells like dueling man musk, with the glow of The Godfather video game for Playstation 3 (or was it 2???) hovering over our bodies. I was already drunk, but you pressed that bottle against my lips until I complied. You did it again, and again, until the images surrounding us were well-past muddled. Transcendent, even. You waited until I was pliant enough, when resisting felt as if I were pushing against the rock collective that make up Stonehenge.

I hate those words, prey and predator, because they imply an inevitability. They’re ingrained in the notion of eventual victimhood, but that’s what you did, right? When you told me to stay after everyone else had disappeared, when you smiled, when you chose to drink nothing because you were sick–you waited. Back when I used to think of waiting as a passive activity.

I’m not that foolish anymore.

Instead, in my dark, there are pinched nipples and cold hands down my jeans. There are words that you don’t hear. That you ignore.

And then there are things I remember and choose to forget.

But what you told me after killed me. I almost laughed, would have, had I not been so angry. They came at next day’s end after you spent hours chasing my ghost all over campus. You wanted to explain before I told someone ‘important’. I never did.

“I always liked you,” you said. 

That had I been your sister, a mythical being for you to foist your culpability upon, that you would be furious with that ‘other guy’. You gave these sentiments in between nervous apologies, but you might as well have said nothing. I would have preferred it.

You ruined me for a while, you know. I used to think you ruined me for other men, but I know better now.

I have evolved.

Un peu grande vérité

#2: I miss you, too.

You close your eyes when you laugh. For brief moments, you lean and hunch your shoulders; your arms cross. Your body is so beautifully overwhelmed with life, that it becomes concave. As if its natural response is to contain the expulsion. But why?

A laugh from you is joyful disintegration.

“And now for something completely different.”

My year of radical (selective?) honesty.

365 days.

365 posts.

365 anythings.

Somethings.

Why?

Because I believe in my making myself uncomfortable for the greater good. I don’t stand for much, at least not in the traditional sense that always seems to taste like integrity or some kind of fuck. But I do think finding catharsis in withholding has left me with pieces instead of fortification. And I’d like to think of myself as whole. Or at least weightless.

And sometimes, you do shit… just to do shit. But wouldn’t it be great if you turned out to be all right in the end? Better, even? That the shit led to a sum of all your pieces?

(I think I’m funny.)

Maybe we should think in dreams instead of resolutions. They’re both constructs, but I like how the former has bit of panache. Empire waists and sequins. I close my eyes and they’re still dancing. It is how I know that they are important.

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