glory! : heaven tonight

washer

Goodnight my love Remember me as you fall to sleep Fill your pockets with the dust and the memories That rises from the shoes on my feet I won't be back here Though we may meet again I know it's dark outside Don't be afraid Everytime I ever cried from fear Was just a mistake that I made Wash yourself in your tears And build your church On the strength of your faith Please Listen to me Don't let go Don't let this desperate moonlight leave me With your empty pillow Promise me the sun will rise again I too am tired now Embracing thoughts of tonight's dreamless sleep My head is empty My toes are warm I am safe from harm...

Tuesday, November 14, 2023

heaven tonight

heaven tonight

i keep listening to music and reading and rereading the same books i was into at sixteen.

i have copies so wrinkled and used and abused, i have copies so old.

sometimes i listen to music and wish we all died and i could be reborn knowing id end up in his arms like i have before, i want to have his face be as he was before though. all bright eyes and bright skin. i want to be something that is like me but not quite. get rid of the things i dont like. the softness of my features, my jaw and fingers. the fickle humor of my insides. my vices gone but for the ones i truly do enjoy and feel no despair at. smoking, for now, for one. i wish i was so beautiful. i wish my teeth were real.

i see myself as a bag of bones, my brain is my old sack of marbles. im so rotten and my skin is all moist and smelling like fungi and corruption. if you shake me i make a weird rattling noise.

i want to slip into dreams constantly. i wish i could slip into dreams whenever i could. dreams and reality, to me, have been equally as real. only dreams dont last. i sleep a lot. i sleep enough so that my dreaming to living ratio is almost half and half, counting daydreaming and some disassociation. in my dreams hes still there. a homanoid figure with a darkened face, or a light blob i can only acknowledge as him through context. i could recognize him in every life i think. i wonder if he can recognize me, if he ever has. if he saw me today and opened his eyes really, would he see what i see?

he deserves a beautiful angel and im a weird little creature. thats why we cant really be together. im wrapped in cellophane. hes so far and wont speak my language. he cant. his eyes are shut and im talking about colors.

i know its not a good idea. but i wish i could live again, someplace else. God, 1995, like my guitar teacher used to say. You'd be happier as an adult in the 90s. so many teachers of so many disciplines have said those words to me. youd be happier in the 90s, maybe in europe. youd be happier if they let you explore yourself fully.

if you mold yourself you mold!

but life at home is usually fine. i strangely feel like we still barely know each other. i think we know each other well enough. but i think my mind is like his, it only slipped from my hands and crashed against the floor one too many times. its dented and bruised, but its still recognizable if you know what to look for. barely. i just need another host. i need another body and maybe even a wig. hes better off. smarter. im just better at decoding messages and remembering dreams.

will we meet again or is it over? was this my last chance, did i blow it? did he?

i hate having to look for signs. i am so bad at looking for signs. maybe the rain is the response to my prayers, maybe its just the time of the season. you know?

im sad. i wish we touched like we should, hand in hand. im screaming in tongues. im in a straightjacket chained up inside a room of padded walls. i wish he knew me as i am. too much going on for words, i feel like im trying to explain a bad trip through click consonants and hums. at least we know the other exists, at least i can hear his footsteps. at least hes happy. i can take a peek at that whenever i want. whatever, man.

gottamn!

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sylvia plath, the bell jar

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

Psalm 18: 6-11

In my distress I called upon the Lord, And cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, And my cry came before Him, even to His ears. Then the earth shook and trembled; The foundations of the hills also quaked and were shaken, Because He was angry. Smoke went up from His nostrils, And devouring fire from His mouth; Coals were kindled by it. He bowed the heavens also, and came down With darkness under His feet. And He rode upon a cherub, and flew; He flew upon the wings of the wind. He made darkness His secret place; His canopy around Him was dark waters And thick clouds of the skies.