Thursday, May 25, 2017

Rings of Saturn

I logged off my work computer with no intention of logging in again until Tuesday. With all the personal drama winding to a close and only lingering feelings of either inadequacy of loathsomeness, it's time to move on and look forward to the upcoming weekend.

"What are your plans for the day?" The Electrician asked.

"I'm going to the airport to pick up Hellion, and from there the plan is fucking."

"Those were pretty much what I expected the plans to be."

Someone, currently in the air, is a young man I adore to the end of the world and back. I can't wait to see him. Somewhere, in the upcoming weekend, is an adventure that is not quite spaced out but that I suspected will be a lot of fun. International Mister Leather is almost always a good story generator.

From Alpha male doggy Doms to jock strops and cock rings, the entire thing is a good time. I want to get implements of destruction and pleasure and wander around rooms that smell of leather and rubber. I want to laugh with friends, and dress casually in corsets, and go to leather balls, and dance, and laugh and just...

Take a moment and breathe.

Nick Cave, as usual, has recorded a song to describe my light at the moment. He always seems to have the music ready for me, although sometimes it takes me a moment to realize, or a moment to catch up. The Boatman's call was not an album I had ever liked before last year, but last year it became very much what I needed to get by.

The Skeleton Tree is beautiful and brilliant and for most of the last few months I thought Jesus Alone was the song I needed. As the life I was working through. Then, yesterday, I was caught but the words and in my sadness, and in my happiness, and in my grief, I realized that the song had changed again.

       Her eyes that look at me through a rainy hair
       Two round holes where the air buckles and rushes in
       Her body, moon blue, was a jellyfish
       And I'm breathing deep and I'm there and I'm also not there
       And spurting ink over the sheets but she remains, completely unexplained
       Or maybe I'm just too tongue-tied to drink it up and swallow back the pain
       I thought slavery had been abolished
       How come it's gone and reared its ugly head again? 
       And this is the moment, this is exactly what she is born to be
       And this is what she does and this is what she is
       And this is the moment, this is exactly what she is born to be
       This is what she is and this is what she does

And I thought to myself, yes, that explains me. On the cusp of changes again, on the edges of love and loss, on the edges of amusement and debauchery, on the edges of a stopover and a flight, on the edge of my art and my muses. All of it out there, and inside me, and me...Still figuring it out. Still loving, and losing, and breathing and fighting and dying.

The weekend should be fun. There will be adventures, love, smiles, wine, tears, friends, dancing, amusements. All smiles. And exactly who I am. Exactly where I have always been. Right there on the edge. On the edges. 

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Musings in the Arms of Others

It all ends eventually anyway.

"Have you ever been with more than one person?"

How to answer that question?

Is it just sex when you are in love with all the people you are in bed with? When ever minute with them is a minute that you wouldn't trade for the world. When the beginning was wine and kisses in a kitchen, that turned into wine and kisses on a couch that turned into a relationship with two humans, relationship. Relationships.

When does the answer to that question begin to make sense when everything you believe says that sex, life, love, is to be enjoyed and shared.

It's not just sex.

"Do you think you fall in love easily?"

How to answer that question?

When you aren't afraid to let you heart wander and create fantasies of futures that can never be with a person you know for only a few hours, days months? When in your future you lay in bed reading pages of each others novels feeling inspired, feeling in love, feeling the emotions of a city or town and that moment just as real as if it had happened.

And if it only happened in the mind. Isn't that love? And wasn't that worth it?

Maybe my problem is I fall and keep falling and will be falling and have ever been falling in love...falling in is a constant state, but I never seem to fall out. Even when it all comes apart, the depth of my affection is still there. It is there, it has been there, it will be there, it was ever there.

"Doesn't it hurt, though?"

How to answer that question?

If it stops hurting, what's the point? If you know in the beginning that it will only end in tears and you avoid the tears? I'd rather all the loves I've ever had than avoiding them for fear of the pain. It was always worth it. Each love, a walk in the park, pink trees and the wet cool temperature of spring, in love, falling in love with the people who love you, the people who save you. No matter how fleeting. Worth all the hurt.

It's never been finite, in my eyes, it's not a resource you use up, and it's worth losing yourself in it sometimes.

Monday, May 22, 2017

Post Trauma Script

Echos of the past. Every single micro moment of every single event playing out in my head like it is real all over again. Ever single feeling of shame coming to the surface.


Today I was very good at who I am. I was very impressive at being me even when being me meant an international stage for an audience of thousands at six a.m. The sun rose behind me and there was an aura and there were feelings of being angelic and there were feelings of being above it all someone.

And it was very good.

And I felt good about it. Almost immediately crushingly guilty for feeling good about it. Buried in work today, being good at all the work I do. There is no emotion there, but everyone who interacts with me describes it as "passionate, energized, excited"


There feels like nothing today and that is the hardest part, but I'm almost through it. I spent the night waking up almost every hour, my heart racing through the entire night. Each dream the same dream, fighting, chasing, losing, fighting, chasing, losing, not quite, not quite there, but


That's the thing about the way it triggers. It's all just past emotion pulled to the surface with a mirror light. The details you don't want to know. I have five years of details in one of my past lives. I have a year in another. And in another a year more. Put that all together and it becomes a little past anchor rooting you to the spot of it and you want to just circle around and around and around and...


Some days I have to remind myself that I am so far past my past. I look in the mirror and very little has changed. To my advantage. To my detriment. Sometimes I wonder if there were more changes if it might be easier to let go and move on. What I really want some days is to look in the mirror and be a different person. Some days I look in the mirror and I see the red highlights that come out in my hair and I remember a different face and a different name and a different person and her different traumas and her loss and her suffering and how strong I have been and how easy it is not to be strong and yet, and yet, and yet...


Tomorrow. I get through tomorrow, and then we find our way to being okay. From there it is a hope skip and a jump.

Writing helps.

People will help more. This weekend there will be nothing but people and we can write new stories together and this will be the best of all. In the end it's five minutes, not five years. Five unexpected minutes, but I refuse to be held hostage to it. The processing time is hard, but lingering is worse. And so, it's just a few more days. I...