Namaste blog tribe
I still feel shit. The worst part about the crash-like low times is the literal sitting around and waiting for it to pass.
It has to pass.
One of my best friends killed himself in April. I never mentioned it in these parts because I wasn’t ready, I’m probably still not. But considering that two of my best friends have now killed themselves over depression, in the past 20 months, I can’t help but think of them both when I get this low. (more…)
combine coming back
he taught me how to keep secrets. again
i stopped talking. universe listening.
wearing a straight spine. knowing when to bend.
dreams returned. celestial glistening.
my frail wrists twisted. toward the horizon
with every touch already inside me
i chanted his breath and swore. we were. one.
exotic desire. arabian sea. (more…)
My phone is off. I’m envisioning a turn-on date of Monday, maybe Tuesday. I really want to get on an airplane and gun it back to Australia, but I know that’s not going down for a few years.
Besides, I came here to publish a book. I’ve done everything else I said I would, that’s still lingering.
I’ve felt tremendously sad over the past few days. It’s a dull saddness sunk in the pit of my stomach. Comes and goes, goes and comes.
One in ten Americans pops anti-depressants. It’s also estimated that 70% of this country is popping something. That’s something I’ll never do. I think being sad is a natural emotion to endure. Earth is really, and I mean really, a trecherous land. Humans are unevolved and life really sticks it you sometimes. (more…)
mix what’s told
we were, strangers.
while he told me about
he was born in manhattan.
all he knows is
new york city. (more…)
“Drinking your own urine is the actually the cleanest thing you can do, it’s like an elixir.”
I’m having dinner with a Greek classical pianist. Another craigslist connection. He’s tall, how I like. Decent style. Dark hair, deep hazel eyes. We’re both replacements. I’m here to replace his ex-wife, he’s here to replace you. But neither of us will talk about that.
“And enemas,” he continues, even though I’d really like him to stop. Because I only came out for sex. And every word he says is making that idea more of a distant memory. A sheer impossibility. I’ve been here 37 minutes, I wish he wouldn’t talk. He should stick to smiling, he has a beautiful smile. “Enemas are so important. Isn’t it great that we’re both vegetarians?”
“Yeah,” I say raising my hand toward the waiter. He sees my empty glass, smiles and turns toward the bar. Shortly later he returns with my third martini. A dirty vodka martini, straight up with blue cheese olives. Every word the pianist says is making him less attractive. It makes me miss you. Missing you makes me sick. It’s been making me sick for nearly three years now.
You don’t care about that though. You never cared about me at all. (more…)