dear melissa

go on and strut

Dear Joe

dear melissa

tea time soon

Dear Joe

Dear Joe

It's about time for this shit right here.

dear melissa

I submit. I accept defeat. I have struggled and lost.

I will sit and feel the thumping of my chest, the heat flushing over my face and the tremble in my furrowing brow. The shadows of self-deprecation stretch long and pale any nearby light.

I am a product of so many generations repeating a cycle that seems impenetrable to time. My father told me that humans become most dangerous when they lose hope. I have hid under stairwells in the middle of the day, bent into the fetal position of safety, eyes closed, no sobs to savor a need for catharsis and let go of that last drop of hope. I count the paces in my head, 5, 10, 50, 100, 2000…the smallest distance between myself and the return of hope is just up ahead. I have walked those extra steps in my head, on the street, at a bar and found out just how much further I was to finding it again.

I let go. I abandon responsibility and become the things I fear most. Disavowed, I am the uncaring child of a dying world. I die too. I want to die. I want to delete, vaporize, cease and then it is over. It is all too dramatic. Silly boy, playing with words, playing with pity, playing with life.

And then I let go of even this.

I take that first big breath of a new body. A body that forgives itself. A body that can forgive again and again. All the layers slip off. All the filth and fear that is still staring back at me lifts away. It will come back, it always does. Little knick and scratch, teeth marks, blot stains keep the historical heritage of this turning and turning in time.

I walk through the door of my apartment and my cat that I never thought I would want is still there. He wants me to feed him. I do. I enter my room and fix the bed. I open the windows and take off my clothes and lay on the hardwood floors and the sun slips in through the curtain as it waltzes with the breeze. I feel my body against the ground and I am suddenly connected to every inconsequential gesture that all beginnings start with. I start again because that is what we do.

And because he smiled.

And because they laughed.

And because she was still there.

But mostly because there is more work to be done.

Dear Joe

Dear Joe

dear melissa

Dear Joe

Dear Joe

Dear Melissa

It is the hour of the wolf. A Nordic tale that speaks of a wolf that stalks outside people's doors between the hour it is darkest just before dawn. It is the time when the greatest of nightmares seem the most real and life clings to itself for fear of losing grip. You can't sleep, and all you can see is the troubles and the problems and the ways that your life should've gone but didn't. All you can hear is the sound of your own heart. I've often been awake through this time. I've practiced methods of trying to scare the wolf off or hide from the wolf. Were I to come from a family who drank, this would probably be the time to do so. So I take suggestions from other lore. One large glass of vodka before bed and three very small sips of vodka, just in case the wolf had babies. I'll curl up on my bed, no breeze coming through the window, city soundscapes and the absence of chirping. If I had a cigarette I would smoke it. Instead, with no blanket to cover me I will clutch my book and take deep breaths and let the vodka help me along.

Dear Joe

bean faces!

Dear Joe

dear melissa

this should be known:

dear melissa

fucking hell have you seen any of Leah Brown's hair installation work?

Dear Joe

Don't be sad

dear melissa

today I am sad and I miss you

dear melissa

I would like you to start wearing purple please

Dear Joe

I maintain that this is one of the BEST LJ communities in the internets.