sometimes, no words: only metaphor

Recorded,
so I can remember.
Slows the Cedar Song
Exposing her quiet steps
Spill down a porch lit road.



Letter-Fiction
An Exercise-Experiment,
Getting in the Mood



It was the first morning he called her beautiful.

She had just gotten done getting herself off in the bathroom. She wondered how large a portion of her life had been spent in various bathrooms, masturbating. Holding her breath as the sensations poured over her. Probably a sizable chunk of time, yes, certainly. Now she was sitting at her desk, happily lining up small piles of salted almonds still in the shell, fresh blueberries, and vitamins. Her hair was a mess. It was always a mess. She cracked the husks of the nuts slowly and deliberately, savoring the dry, brittle popping noises and the messy shards of shell that fluttered to the desk. Her female cat, the long haired one with the wide, green eyes, was sitting at her feet perfectly still, watching her with those huge, black swimming pupils. No almonds for her- besides, she really just wanted to be petted. The feline watched as she swallowed her pills one by one, cautiously so as not to encounter the inevitable catching of one in her throat, that disgusting lump feeling that lingered for hours after.

She was still basking in it. The glorified satisfaction of the night prior, and of awakening early to the curve of his body, good coffee, classical music...oh, how she adored the lewd, whispered Spanish in her ear. She could get used to it, to him. Her days had been brighter lately, and her nights both amorous and quiescent, something akin to perfect.
They would take turns reading to one another,
and he would make her hot, buttery grilled cheese; they mixed mate and chianti in their stomachs with a glowing glee painted across both their faces,
sparkling eyes and flushed, warm cheeks.

Time to get down to business. She wanted to run a few miles and share this energy with the outside air, maybe masturbate again before class-but only after she stopped by the store for cinnamon. He had mentioned baked apples earlier, when their voices were still foggy with sleep and eyes still crusty, begrudgingly opening and closing in the day's first light. She liked satisfying his sporadic cravings, and seeing that glorious flash of white suddenly appear in the midst of a sea of stubble.

She had never been good with on the spot, vocalized expression. She could sit down, when in the right frame of mind, and effortlessly flood pages and pages with eager emotion. She could leave loved ones and strangers speechless in the wake of her written word; her passion easily tumbled from her, in the disguise of letters and punctuation points and carefully chosen metaphors, falling through her fingers to decorate blank pages and white, lined canvases. However, she was not quite as blessed with the ability to fluidly articulate affections and sentiments out loud. She would stumble over explanations and stutter a little, avert her gaze as her cheeks burned rosy and tepid. She liked to think of herself as a postulant connoisseur of words. Later, she would sit and simmer in all the possibilities of witty phrasings, the responses she had longed to give whomever she had been speaking with but had been unable to find the right choice of vernacular to assign to.

However, there were exceptions. If she was in a bullshitting mood, felt no need to be sincere, or was discussing manners of s simple, casual nature- it was gravy. Easy, baby. She could hold her own in these situations, and keep a steady hand and graceful mouth. It was when meaningful circumstances that stirred powerful pathos in her arose that her tongue tied itself in knots like cherry stems, sexy but useless.

So she did not surprise herself when she choked when he asked her, very persistently, the night before:
"What do you think about me?"

Her mind went blank. Wide open space and static, a gentle panic. How to describe the indescribable? Can't be done, writer or not. Her problem was, she couldn't accept this fact- stubborn shrew. She liked to try too hard. Stop it. There was such a thing as wasting time while
trying to impress.
Soul meets body.
Remember to breathe.
Unspoken thoughts trembled like dewdrops on early morning lawns, threatening to clumsily spill down the blades with no regard to poise or pizazz. She lost herself in them and her lips were suddenly chapped, cracking a little at the edges. Her legs, bare beneath his old high school track shorts, were goosebumped and nervous jiggling.

She came to and found she was rambling.
God, what an idiot.
She briefly considered groaning in frustration but kept batting words around instead.

He was contemplative, patient, and romantic- tangled around her, eager for feedback. They were freshly showered and cozy and warm, tucked into the nook of couch cushions and wooden walls with bookshelves and canoe paddles and rain-forest blankets.

What she wanted to say was,
"I think you're stunning.
Breath stealing in all your mannerism rhythms,
lulling me into a hypnotic, ecstatic state
altering between peace, volatility, and carnality.
I like the way you jump and jolt in your sleep.
I like the way you always thank me,
so appreciative,
even when it is unnecessary or without real reason.
I like the way you are so involved in the lives and joys of others. Your loyalty, your compassion, quiet but fierce,
like a leopard, active and strong even while lounging in the heat.
I think you are blood of the earth.
Directly plugged into nature's core,
pertinently and inherently earth-bound and yet destined for the Great Beyond.
I like your raw spirituality,
how it seeps from your pores and casts a soft glow around every movement, every nuance.
I like your dark sensuality,
your hummingbird mind-
always busy, always flitting-flying in several directions, all the time (rapidly spinning, colorful blur of gems, fireworks, sparks, nectar).
I like your wide open eyes, your avoidance of the prevalent blindness sweeping societies,
observant and constant fidelity-
to questioning, delving, to living and loving life,
your loved ones, yourself,
the world.
I think you have a sparkling presence.
A gem of a judicious, perennial soul- a rarity,
with the ability to permeate and permutate, provoke change liberally.
I like your pure, undiluted sincerity. Your honesty, sometimes perfectly brutal,
but always in good taste:
I like your sarcasm, your opinionated, loud-mouthed, smart-ass spunk.
I like how you are not afraid, in the least,
LET GO.
(Release)
I like the boy in you-
your youthful spirit,
that childlike joyousness you have maintained and will always contain within...
and the man,
(from which stems that gorgeous and favored temporal laugh, post intimate acts)
the writer too.
(spectacularly woven webs of words that spin me up, wrapped in splendor and awe)
I like the boy scout in you,
showing his face sporadically through bouts of beautiful-useful-
handy-dandy-nonsense,
vivacious, innocent excitement.
I like the dirty, the nitty gritty, the violent, morbid, obscure pieces of your puzzle.
I like how intuitive you are,
and how you read my body, my eyes
like a worn in, favorite book-
nearly a second nature (every corner, every nook.)
I like you, compassionately kind,
grizzly mountain man,
in all your whiskey drinking, manual laboring, outdoor-frequenting glory..
sexy little moments, country-boy materialization.
Your peekaboo accents send me spinning into giddy arousal.
I like the way you look at me when you want to kiss me,
how often you steal my breath..
I love your unrestrained laugh and that sparkle you get in your dreamer's eyes,
your weak stomach and your fear of death.
I adore watching you...
how you move in the water,
how you play your music, how your music plays you,
the beauty of your singing-
letting it, feeling the beauty and omnipotence of the rhythm rip through you.
I like your incredible taste, (in everything),
getting in your car and hearing backwoods bluegrass playing,
coming home..
to you.
to fabulous new vinyl, good wine, chocolate, favorite groceries, tea already brewing, bedroom air thickening and smoky with nagchampa
and sex.
I like that you would do anything for me,
and how evident this is in every move you make,
and I like the steady-handed awareness within my core
that I would sprint to the ends of the earth and back for you,
give up all of myself...
that there is nothing I wouldn't do
or sacrifice
for your contentment,
not even my life.
I love how you fuck me.
The ways you make love to me,
the way your tongue parts me masterfully,
how perfect it feels to have you inside of my warm, moist depths,
how flawlessly our bodies fit together,
as though they were formed from mold that was meant to form-fit,
two pieces of a larger than life jigsaw puzzle separated at birth (reunited).
I love how you love, and know how, to fortuitously use your hands, body, mind, eyes, and voice
to the best of your ability...far more than most.
I think you are this shimmering ball of radiant energy,
a dynamic, mellifluous shade of blue...
calming and possessing absolute peace yet harnessing sheer power:
my kundalini shakti.
I like your modesty, humbleness,
and yet your delicious confidence:
you know and love who you are, are are never scared to be yourself.
I adore your passion- how much you give all of yourself,
put all of your effort into, and pride yourself in
the things you do...
true devotion.
I like how you refuse to settle for mediocrity,
and constantly push and challenge yourself,
and others.
I like your nervousness during scary movies,
and that you are active, reactive, and proactive.
I like how much of a storyteller you are:
a spectacular performer of many trades...
your enthusiasm, animation, expressiveness,
painted across every exquisite inch of your face,
woven into your body language,
shimmering in your words.
I like that you get as hot about my talents, weird tendencies, quirks
as I do about yours.
I like that you are real-
you aren't the least bit pretentious or artificial,
attempting to woo me:
that when the resplendent words you are so capable of leave your lips,
when you tell me pretty things,
i know you mean them.
I think you are a magnificent elucidation of Balance...
even in your most crazed, chaotic moments:
silly and playful, a cheeky and grand sense of humor,
and yet serious at all the right moments/
affectionate and yet valuing of space: both yours and mine/
respectful, such a gentleman/an asshole when you need to be.
I like your dirty mouth and your titillating sexuality
I like how detail- oriented you are.
You make note of the little things,
the ones others never notice,
and take time to savor lifes simple pleasures.
I love that you understand the importance of holding things between excess.
You don't overdo it..
and you kiss me at just the right moments, but never too much,
you hold out, make me wait,
and ache,
and make me all the more awe-struck when you finally propitiate.
I adore your fierce independence, and the way you withdraw within yourself, do your own thing for hours on end, immerse yourself in you, and what satisfies your soul.
I like how you always open the door for me. Run on the outside. Give me the hot water. Sleep on the floor near me when I pass out on the couch. Are my alarm clock, even on grumpybitch mornings.
I think your corazón is pure, solid gold,
and the most luxuriant, sparklingly bright, captivating treasure,
gift,
I have ever been lucky enough to be graced with the presence of.
I love that you bury your face in the back of my hair. I want you to stay there,
to stay here
with me,
always."


She did not say any of those things. After his inquiry, cross-examination for sake of honesty, she just smiled mysteriously at him, and babbled like a chatty Cathy brook in spring's first wing stretching. After all, she was an avid proponent of letting the most powerful unmentionables remain unspoken.

Not unwritten, mind you.

just saying

seek out the most luxuriant green patch of grass for your meditation
(best session yet. maybe it is the beautiful sleep.)
match hair bandannas with your friend
(buy one in every color.)
pour cinnamon and sugar on your apples
(share them)
chase vitamins with wine
(red,rich, and with chocolate accents...or your favorite kind.)
sneak a cigarette and revel in the guilt of it
(embrace little bouts of vulnerability. they're sexy)
hit snooze twenty times and put off the endless to-dos for more bed
(cozy under the piles of blankets and soak up their body heat instead)
read bloody, sexy short fiction for bedtime stories
(coffee. lots and lots and lots of it.)
dance....extra close, pressed tight against another's sweaty clothes
(on school nights)
cool your heated skin by kissing in the night rain
(naked)
laugh loud at awkwardness, unexpected or fabricated
(don't hog your weirdness all to yourself)
don't always do things on time
(Buddha's shit: the best kind)


write letters with stolen pens.
leave little pieces of your heart behind, random placement.
waste coughdrops.
dill-dally.


decorate (dust).
pick up (new bad habits).
neglect (brushing your hair).
be (a sponge for details).
go (barefoot in public).
draw (it out).
embrace (the art of odd jewelery).
splurge (on four dollar cookies).
savor (pointless walks).
climb (trees).
spend quality time (on good sex and masturbation).
let yourself (trust).
embrace (the fall).










the appreciation of pleasure can be an anchor of one's humanity.

in a world of disorder
disaster
and fraud,
sometimes only beauty can be trusted.
artistic excellence is incorruptible,
pleasure cannot be bargained down.

and don't forget your vitamins

The little hanging paper tag suspended from my teabag
reads Feeling Down? Hot Liquids Bring Relief
And I can't help but bite my bottom lip in guilt:
Stacking laundry lists, and yet
Regardless-
All I can seem to bleed from my swollen mind, right now
Is the thought that I could really just use
A different kind of Hot Liquids
Than the herbal medley seeping in its porcelain chamber
...Tea is delicious, don't get me wrong
And as much as it makes me feel at home within myself,
It lacks a certain intimacy

The kind your skin soaks up and revels in
After you've wrapped yourself tightly in (and tied a bow on the head with a flourish)
Another's body language (read: fluids)


Oh, I could get more graphic, believe me..
if I succumbed to the whims of my primal drumbeat ponderings
no details would be spared.
BUT no need for me to share the state of my hormones currently,
it's late and I'm frustrated with my own contradictory desires and urges
Wanting nothing more than to crawl under my candy comforter naked and set up shop,
content and alone and soft skinned,
eyelids lacking any preoccupations or obligations
Nothing but the sound of my own deep chested breaths to lull me
into still waters.
And yet...
there is this big, fat,
bulky, throbbing
image
sitting in the corner of my consciousness
Of something like darkened, honest eyes
shining with awareness and with nothing to hide,
grabbing me mid glimpse,
-caught me.

I'd like to look at you a little longer,
but I'm always late in this game anyway..
So i'll just forget to remind myself exactly how much dirty brevity
can hit the spot
(X marks it, you called it)
Lately I have been for lack of hustle
and in this day and age,
often times it seems far too hopeless anyway,
we're all left feeling like
the only solution to the tug of war
is to live constantly
one deep.
And maybe it is.




An unshakeable connection,
soft heated flesh in the night
a laugh that sits deep within my bones and embeds itself there,
okay. These are all nice, too.
Hey, longing....fuck you.
I don't have time anymore.
HotLiquids
BringRelief

[i need to push myself more.]

traditional medicinals for the soul
if it ain't broke...
don't fix it.


we're all waiting,
in between the lines.

it's time.

At first, this was going to come to light in the form of a letter...but I decided to borrow a friend's idea and instead post it here, although in my case it will be a one time affair, as opposed to a series. I normally choose to leave my blogs fairly vague and obscure; this is a matter of personal preference for the period in my life but is also a defense mechanism sometimes, and a way of trying not to broadcast my personal affairs too far beyond certain realms. Not because I find this inappropriate or excessive, I just never am quite sure whether it is okay with whoever may be involved in my postings, so I leave things open ended and allow people to draw their own conclusions. A lot of times, I think it's more challenging this way, to myself and to whomever may read my blog. However, I have been been doing a sizable amount of thinking in relation to this particular subject and decided I wanted to be openly heard this time around. I want my feelings on this matter to be laid out, unfolded, and creased upon the table, because it's important for me to rest with a little more ease knowing I didn't allow the status quo to remain a stale question mark, not without, at the very least, an effort to share my thoughts. I don't like feeling like I have been fully censoring myself for the sake of others, holding back my stream of consciousness for fear of stepping on toes and agitating the still waters. I refuse to keep quiet just because it is your preferred choice of action, because it is easier and less hurtful, more peaceful and backed away from the boundaries of conflict, which I know you are not a fan of. My intention is not to cause conflict, however....or to cause any sort of guilt or assumptions. I don't expect agreement, apology, confrontation, or even a response at this point in time...as has been the custom anyway. I just need you to read this and consider it, and hear me. Because I have come too far to let my level of self respect drop a few notches because I am ashamed enough about decisions I have made in the past, or my tendencies, to force myself to accept the past couple of months and hover in this suspended reign of static nothingness.

What I am getting at, more specifically is- I'm not really okay with everything. I'm not angry, and I hold no grudges, I'm not bitter or confused or throwing myself any degree of pity party-because I'm not blind to the areas in which I myself have gone, and went, completely wrong and made some bad decisions. I know what was brought upon by my choices, my own actions...and I also know some things occurred that were beyond my control. I am perfectly aware of certain reasons that may exist for why you did what you did...that is why I told you I don't blame you. Because in fact, it would be more logical to blame myself, and yet I refuse to do that also, because I don't believe either of us are entirely at fault. There were some challenging circumstances, I know...and I know you bit your tongue on more than one occasion because you wanted me to be happy and free, even if it was at your expense, and you knew what it would cost in the long run. I could never thank you enough for allowing me to truly be myself, no matter how much of a mess I might have been, and for loving every individual sliver of fiber, physical or metaphorical/metaphysical, making up the woman and spirit that I am...regardless of flaws in character, regardless of anything and everything that shadows the light in me, regardless of how difficult (and yet contradictingly easy) it may be sometimes to love a free spirit. I shared more of myself with you than I have shared with most, I hope you know that, and know that I don't regret any of it, not in the slightest. But I digress- this is not a "farewell " letter, meant to stir up tears, regrets, or old feelings, revisited...it's just something I need to do, because it is haunting me enough to make me feel a little robotic most days, waiting for something that refuses to come, was maybe not meant to come in the first place. I know how difficult and trying things got after the joyous whirlwind of magic that was our autumn... and I had no intentions on allowing my descent to bring you down, to rope you up and pull you into the depths of the stone wells of despair when I was drowning. I did not expect to be saved, I didn't feel self entitled to a knight in shimmering coats of majestic power to come woo me off my feet and carry me off into the blinding rays of setting sun, no- I promise you, you were not simply some crutch to hold me up and distract me, a phase, a certain shade in my calendar book. And I apologize if this is the way things came off to you, as I'm sure they did in some points of time. It was never my intention to put the weight of responsibility on your shoulders when I went downhill, to make you wait around for the rebirth- phoenix, rising from the smoldering ashes-nor to make you fall in love with me, only to be forced to let me go and float on [feeling as though the period of time we shared was nothing more than a waking dream, something a soul of a poet, a musician would conjer up out of hope.] You and I both know you chose this. And to some degree, I believe I also know the majority of reasons. I know sometimes it is less painful to let time do the talking...and I'm okay with that. I acknowledge the various degrees of reasoning involved here. What I'm not okay with is the decision to quietly move on and allow the door to shut itself with barely a resounding tap as you tiptoe to another room..
probably to record words that morphed from a story, a tale of two lovers, to something easily generalized to fit an emotion instead of a person, someone special.
I know you held no expectations of me...I know you wanted me to have complete liberty. Again, thank you. But maybe this is one area you went wrong. This is something I am coming to understand is not as acceptable to me as I thought, originally. As wonderful, compassionate, and selfless you were most times, allowing me all the breathing room I needed (which is something very crucial, don't get me wrong- to a certain degree) perhaps you SHOULD have had expectations. Because I did. I expected you to be honest with me. Not by omission, or blank spaces. I didn't expect you to pull me out of the bubbling swamp muck, or even to throw me a line, or wait on the shore as i slowly, inch by inch, worked my body parts out one by one. I was not ever playing victim. I warned you far in advance of what was on the horizon...and no, I didn't expect that to mean I could use "I told you so" as an excuse when it was all said and done. It was simply because I wanted to put myself out there for you, to open up more than I had ever been willing to do in the past with someone I cared so deeply for, allowing you to see darker shades of my soul than I ever believed I would be able to share with anyone other than myself (and sometimes not even.) I didn't expect you to get your hands dirty. But I did expect you to care enough about who I was a person, not just me as a creative-inspirational feeder-passionate-dreamlover-ladybug aglow, but me as a whole entity (even the stranger I am apt to become in rough times, as many others are prone to do as well) to come clean with me . Mind you- NOT care enough to stick around, because I wouldn't expect that of anyone who was no longer in love...but it would have been nice to know you were still there, anyway, even if your faith and fascination had dwindled and faded...as a friend, if nothing else. Instead, there was silence. And as suddenly as I had felt filled that fateful October, I felt completely alone. Used.Not to say you didn't feel that way too at some point..and I'm sorry if this is the case. But.. Love or no love, I felt as though first and foremost I was simply an outlet you plugged yourself into, and then, nearly as rapidly, out of, afraid to admit out loud that the possibility had dawned that it was indeed an idea that most hypnotized you, a vitality and a brightness of spirit, a mystery and a state of living that took on the guise of dreaming, instead of an actual being, soul, itself.
An air sprite archetype.
Easy to fall in love with,
just as easy to leave that same love behind without a second glance.

I'm sorry if I hurt you, it was the last thing I wanted...and the last thing you wanted too, you even said so. But it's not fair for me to take all the fall. You did hurt me too. I just needed you to know that. I know you are sorry...as am I. So please, remember I mean it when I say the point of this is not to force an apology or regret out of you. I just want some things to be clear...and in order for my own mind to achieve a degree of clarity, I had to detox some of this.

I resented the fact that you told me the person I had become was not the person that I truly was, that the person I was when we met was the real me (buried beneath a layer of shit-my words, not yours). Suffering or no, I was still me...maybe not as inspiring, maybe not as fiery...but me, all the same. And as I mentioned, I didn't expect saving grace. I know I told you it was something I had to deal with on my own, that only I could help myself. But please don't blame your disappearance on my request for time and space, because that would be asking me to believe it was an act of yielding compassion. And it was not. Understanding and quietly accepting, expressing your affections..yes, that was. But not even bothering to explain to me what was happening, not taking the time and effort to let me know and be honest? No...that was cowardly. You wouldn't have even had to explain your actions in depth, if it was too much for you to do- I wouldn't have thrashed and screamed and bitched, if I knew it's what you needed and wanted, or thought best. But I wasn't even given the respect of .." Hey, here's the deal. I need to break free of this. Period."
I was left to wonder and beat myself to a bloody pulp over it, feeling like such a heartbreaker and a royal, pathetic mess, when I don't feel as though that is a complete and adequate picture at all.

I'm sorry if this is all a little much. I don't mean to overwhelm you, I promise. It was just past due time for me to stand up for myself and for my beliefs and say these things, and close the space and tense energy between us that I've been hovering in instead of waiting for you to do it for me, like a pussy. I'm doing this not out of some show of power or resentment, because like I said, I have no hard feelings, I assure you. I just feel that I owe it to both myself, and to you, to tell the truth. Because everything I ever told you was the truth... and because I love you too much to stand by passively and allow the white noise to build without my words being heard. It's the only thing I can do, so I have to do it.

There are many more things I want to say, but I think this is sufficient right now. I don't want to go overboard (too late, possibly)...and after the rush of rememberance-tide hit me inwards, I'm exhuasted and can only hope that the rest you will somehow already know, inherently.

I still think about you every day..
and I will never stop being sorry for the course of things-
and yet, if I could go back, I wouldn't trade any of it,
not for any amount of beautiful, abundant thing
on the face of this earth.