338 flushing

2005.
338 flushing.
sweet treats by brownie pointz.
roofied.
climbing up a ladder in torn tights.
the igloo.
We-Tern-U-On.
vodka cranberry.
snow angels in a snow storm.
before 11, or way way late.

Goodbye to all that.

I've been thinking a lot lately about saying goodbye to this pile of concrete, this decaying dream, this fragile balance.

I've always been a traveler. I don't think I was born to do much else but roam - this is not to say I can't commit, just that I can commit again and again and again. I can start a job, and end it. And start a new one.

I'm not sure a career is for me. It feels paralyzing, almost as paralyzing as living here has become. It's been ten years since I said goodbye to a sky filled with stars and woods filled with bitterness.

But I can do better than where I am. I achieved a goal only to realize that I have bigger ones. There is no shame in leaving, there is no shame in traveling. This place will always be here. I can always come back to it. It's nearly thirty years of living between the bindings of one book.

It would be nice to write a new book. One of these days.

There isn't a day that goes by where I don't wonder what will happen to this foreign kidney living inside me. When will it fail, how long do I have to make the most of the life it has given me before sinking into the circus of possible dialysis? How will I find another kidney for transplant and how will I go through that again at an older age? It sucks to not know how long I have with this gift, like at any second it could be gone. I try not to think about it but it always sneaks into my thoughts.

i haven't written here in over a year.
i wish i had recorded it a little better.
so much has changed
so much is changing
stay lifted

try as i might to take back this night
it slipped away from me.
i wish it was filled with regret that i haven't yet met
the one

but if sex is a hymnal i'm singing along
and if women are meant to love men,
then i've been built all kinds of wrong
i'll kiss your lips, it won't mean a thing
i'll bite your tongue, just don't give me the ring

but this isn't quite true, i've loved one or two
it's just gotten harder to choose.
to stay or to go and i always go
it's something that everyone i meet should know.

to be continued...

At least LA has trees, she thought. She still smelled them, even as it crept up on a year since her visit. Limes. She remembered throwing them in the street at a boy she didn't know much about.

It was August in New York. An insufferable humidity had kept her permanently drenched since April. Yet she knew that fall was coming, and then winter - and she knew what that meant. People locked in boxes, refusing to leave their beds. Reality. It terrified her. Could she survive another winter? Did she even want to?

She used to dream about Christmas under a blanket of snow. Now she dreamed of a Christmas at the beach.

black mountain point

I played in thunderstorms,
Up to my ears in the water at
Black Mountain Point.

However tall the sky goes
This is something only you know:
When rain comes, I soar
Yet as the sun arrives I falter
And get a little smaller…

The trailhead told me it would be miles
Until the view resembled
A body, my lake.

I forgot the headaches,
How light hurts the tops of your eyelids.
An imaginary number
Carved into my stomach.

She said girl, we woke up one day
Speaking foreign languages
To bodies we couldn’t see in pure light.

I play in thunderstorms
Up to my ears in the water.