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My Dear we're slow dancing in a burning room |
Sunday, January 30, 2011, 11:31 AM
Then one day grandpa left. He moved to another house, one with too many doors, too many hallways and too many crying faces, too many beeps that would scare me, too many forgotten souls waiting by empty rooms for something to happen, too many white coats and charts, gloves, soap bottles and boiled cauliflowers. Grandpa stopped smiling and he soon stopped speaking. His grey eyes still clinging on to the charm they used to have. I cried but no one saw. I guess that's why they always keep the waiting rooms dark and cold, so that anyone who sat there would feel their senses slowly fading away into the walls and would not feel ashamed to cry, even if for a while, grown men would be children at the hands of their withering parents. 'It will happen. It just depends on how prepared we will be.' I heard a priest say to my father, the disapproving doctor from the corner secretly scorning at the faith my family pledges on one man, a mystic compared to his skill and technique in the field. And then grandpa stopped opening his eyes one day and that was all that could be said. No loud wailing or crying, only a cold body and a small metal cross gripped tight, the body of Christ melding into one with a dry clenching palm. I watch as grandpa walks slowly away from the room, no one else sees, not because they are asleep, but because they're too struck by grief and pain. He turns around and smiles at me, louder than any Hallelujah they can sing, he tells me he's going away. "Where did grandpa go?' They look at me and for a moment are stunned, they try to find the best and lightest possible way to tell me that my grandfather just passed away from cancer, theories of going to a better place, of being re-united with God, of the angel of death coming to cradle his soul away, endless amount of tales to beautify the notion of death. None of them struck me as dramatic or uninteresting, to me, he went home. Someone took him by the hand and he took a taxi home. That was all that needed to be said. A day later, I sit at home watching Hey Arnold drinking some milo as everyone else is at the funeral mourning the loss of a great man. A ginger coloured tabby cat appears at my front gate and stares at me from beyond, I put down the cup and walk slowly to the gate. It smiles at me and licks its paw slowly then sits upright, its brilliant green eyes staring straight into mine. It seemed to smile as I did, quietly I whisper, 'Grandpa?' Friday, January 28, 2011, 11:16 PM
So take me away. Away from now and tomorrow, flush me out with cold water and wash all the unburied bits left lingering in my soul, back to a simpler time when nothing really mattered and the push and pull of fate was secondary to the one and only aim. I'm too tired to think about anything any longer and I'll spend the rest of my known existence plunging forward into a cold sharp piercing pain if I don't turn away now. Wednesday, January 26, 2011, 11:50 AM
Tuesday, January 25, 2011, 11:42 PM
Monday, January 24, 2011, 11:02 PM
Creaking chairs and clinking glasses being stored back into the belly of the beast as the hour passes on, midnight runs through double doors and grown men turn infants on the concrete. Funny how we once called them our heroes. It's nowhere near that happiness you once felt and not nearly as rush-worthy as the very first jump into oblivion, leaving behind a scared 7-year-old shell. Pass on and pass out. It's the nature of all things to lose freshness. So we jump away from what once was and into what will be. Nevermind the sirens behind us, they'll get tired and we'll get faster. Friday, January 21, 2011, 12:16 AM
'Tears.' The creature mumbled under its foul tongue and pulled me further along. The ground started getting softer and I could feel something pulsing underneath it. The barbs seemed to dig deeper into my spine until eventually I felt it gripping my chest from behind as we reached the bottom of the mountain. 'In here, there is no hope, there is no point, only effort that is wasted by your own foolery.' I did not quite understand exactly what the creature was saying nor why it had taken me down here. I knew I had to shake myself out of this nightmare but I felt like I had to stay for just a little bit longer, like there was something worth watching. The creature reached into the ground and pulled out a small sachet made of a smooth hide-like substance. He pushed a cold finger through it's opening and pulled out from it a small diamond that I could only make out as a glint in its hand. 'This is hope.' The creature placed it in my palm and clasped it tight to me. It burned white hot in my palm and I screamed out, wanting to let go. But the more I resisted, the more the barbs would twist inside my chest and burn me from the inside. It slowly released its grip and when I opened my palm, the diamond had crumbled into fine dust that fell through my hands and into the ground. There it began to glow like fire, the particles moving about erratically. After a few minutes, it formed a small butterfly that took off into the darkness. The creature began to cry and its tears became diamonds and sank deep into the pulsing underground. 'Where am I? Why have you brought me here?' I asked, hoping that my hint of an immediate exit was explicitly brought across. 'This, is your heart, and you are a fool.' The creature tightened its grip on me and looked up from the ground pulling its face closer to mine. I stared back at myself through doubtful eyes and I finally understood. The creature again reached deep into the pulsating ground and pulled out more diamonds. 'This is worthless here. Take it and do with it what you will. Your dreams and your desires hurt me, and so I weep when your mind begins to flourish. Let go of everything. There will be a time and there will be a place. Until then, the hope you create for yourself is false and does nothing but send butterflies to your stomach. Forget about the hope you create, son, forget.' I start to cry as I watch myself walk away, the diamonds I place in my palm burn white hot again and crumble into dust and explode into small butterflies of a deep dark red. I call out my name but I don't answer. I walk away and I try to stop myself from leaving but I don't care. I fall to my knees and stop. Not because I can't, but because I don't want to. Things would be so much easier if nothing happened. I close my eyes again and I fall backwards onto my armchair. My blank phone stares back at me from the corner table, I begin to think but stop. Try to stop before it's too late. What I must do is clearer than night, but getting through to it is an entirely different case and point and I'm giving up. Thursday, January 20, 2011, 12:30 PM
Layers form on top of your bones and a hundred years later, beneath the floorboards of a community college or a boarding house will be the suffocated remains of what once was an exercise in choice that you clearly failed at and the remembrance of one such individual would have been lost to the whispers of the wind; Even they don't pronounce your name right. Retrace the steps of your in-ambition to the one point you could not have been clearer about. When all the fight left in you was pushed to the edge of existence and formality was splintered apart and thrown away into the ocean, resist. Resist then as you resist now, blockade of hope and goodwill against the raging sea and remember that none was better off in the first place. Tuesday, January 18, 2011, 11:49 PM
There are a million and one ways in which our paths can cross tomorrow or the day after, each one a different nightmare; or at least, it can become one if you want it to. There's very little one can say at this point of time to make anything better or worse. Our fate is like a rock in the middle of the milky way, nothing can happen to throw it on or off course. I guess I could spend too long a time searching for closure, much more than is needed. A war can wage on for as long as it needs until clarity is found and all the doubt exposed by the clashing tides will finally subside so that only the flesh is left. Worn out and away, the first step is the hardest after all. Sunday, January 16, 2011, 1:16 AM
There must be some kind of way through this whole mess but there never is a clear answer. You'd waste a lifetime looking for a manuel on how to grapple with life's headache and still get no respite. I am a house cat staring at the image of a mountain lion in the mirror and it's never been clearer to me where I'm going or where I want to be. It makes the world of a difference if you could just snip apart the guidelines of insecurity that form a lattice around your head. There's a beauty in your imperfection that makes you perfect to me in every single way and there's very little anyone can do to change that; there's very little I can do to change that. Don't get me wrong, I wish there was something I can do to change all this to make it easier on you, but whatever makes you happy. We can glue this pin to the grenade so it never explodes and throw a cage over the seeming 'truth' we both speak of and pretend it doesn't exist, the world around us can stop and burn for all I care. Wednesday, January 12, 2011, 12:59 AM
Tuesday, January 11, 2011, 1:35 AM
Monday, January 3, 2011, 11:13 PM
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the machiavellian ist
Vanity isn't a sin, a little narcissm wouldn't hurt.Andrew. Music. Food. People. What more could you possibly want? |
partnersincrime
One day when i wake up and find the motive and time to link anybody, i'll let you know. backtoyesterday
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