it begins with an open browser tab & a text box, accessed whilst in an inadvisable condition to be operating such incendiary technology. it intends to be a confession of sorts, a catharsis, release. it hopes to be inappropriate in a way appealing enough to be its own excuse. it is, as we all are, doomed to end with far too many things unsaid & undone, interrupted as it were, in the midst of exactly what it was meant for.

it is a pink floyd on the headphones, second giant travel cup of wine, two hours of sleep type of disaster looking for a place to preserve itself in the most ephemeral of mediums imaginable, short of imagination itself. it may &/or may not make any sense whatsoever, but its intentions are pure i assure you. it means to express itself, in absence of the understanding of what *it* is.

waiting is.

i am almost resigned to this & yet true resignation is a holier grail than i will ever finally find. is it sad or triumphant that i fail to abandon these dreams? it is. almost.

waiting is.

it’s just there is this one thing, this one love. neither of which exist therefore this waiting makes almost no sense at all. almost. & yet.

& yet. regret regret is what makes the least sense, what with no reason to bother with it, you know how that goes don’t you? oh wait. you don’t, do you? right. i forgot.

i forget stuff. not the stuff it would benefit me forgetting, just everything else. what remains is me facing what is left of & for me.

waiting is not going to solve anything. it is what it is, impossible. & i accept this, except when i don’t.

forty two minutes. unheard of. most of my logins lately clock in right around six minutes — what i get for a quarter. i can spend a quarter. i really start balking at things like forty two minutes (buck seventy five) — and that was two comments, two tagboard entries, and an email.

anyway, hi, i probably owe you an email! i try to compose offline but i’m not configured that way, so it’s a struggle & let’s face it — i’m lazy. i’ll obsess my ass off on things, which makes me look productive, but trust me, i hardly ever produce what i should be producing. usually because i’m obsessing on something else. but anyway.

today i lost a big chunk of my afternoon to a pen. and i wasn’t even sure it existed.

so i got this wonderful spiral notebook at the ninety-nine cent store today, 5×7 ruled sheets & the cover is hard as a hardback book, and it’s silver swirly holograpic (shiny things! good god i love the shiny things.) and a couple days ago i bought these gel pens. initially i bought them to make custom nail polish colors (the right gel inks, mixed with clear or glitterpolish — magical! & shiny!) but they turned out to be just the best pens. thick points, smooth flow, just a hint of metallic, and the colors! not the standard-issue gel pen colors. had to go back & get some cheap crap-ass gels for the polish mixing, had to keep the luscious rose art pen set.

so anyway. got home with the notebook & i wanted to scribble. so i found four of the pens — no easy task, as i’m in full-on packrat mode (re: shiny things). but the fifth, the fifth was nowhere to be found. now, there is no pen shortage here. there are the shiny pens, there are your standard foo-foo colored papermates (pink, green, purple), as well as several other pink &/or purple pens, and a couple boring regular (blue &/or black) pens i never use, though i have them should the occasion arise. whatever that might be. at any rate, at the time i launched into my phantom pen obsession, i had in my posession no less than a good-sized handfull of absolutely acceptable pens.

but. but. it was the first time i’d really taken these rose art gels for a spin. i switched between the orange/gold, the pink/mauve, the silvery purple, & the burnished teal for effect as i babbled (it’s kinda like a blog but more boring) (b’lieve this is called a ‘journal’). four color monotony scrawled in a fresh new notebook, it doesn’t get much better than that — oh wait. yes it does. for one thing, the fifth pen, the fifth pen was missing, and i missed it. sorely. and i didn’t even know what color it was, i just knew that whatever that color was, it was a color i wanted.

so i searched. and yes, i destroyed. i dug through my prodigious pile, my haphazard hazmat stash, my treasured trash — my *booty*, okay? arr. avast ye …

erm. so anyway. when i say dug, i mean that literally — i burrowed. i excavated. i found stuff i had given up looking for, but i also lost stuff that wasn’t lost when i started — my cigarettes for instance. they come in these useful cardboard boxes that i use to keep my not inconsiderable collection of very very small shiny garbage, i have approximately five such boxes right now within arm’s reach. by the time i was done searching, i had misplaced my cigarettes & had a box full of the innards of cheap pens & radios & shit like that, in my purse.

i searched & i searched. i searched until i was sweaty & disheveled, & then i searched a little more, for good measure, then i had to change clothes (and yes, i’d buried the ones i needed, so i had to dig for those) and then i … took a deep breath, realized i’d blown pretty much all my free time for the afternoon, and then i … searched some more. i began to wonder if there really was a fifth pen, maybe i misremembered the pen count of that particular packaged pen set?

and then. and then. i was walking past the dresser, the dresser which is not a place i keep pens, or use pens, the dresser which would be a place i absentmindedly set a pen down (probably in the process of being distracted by a shiny thing) & there it was. the fifth pen. oooooh, and such a lovely, lovely slate blue, the fifth pen. which is part of the reason it was left carelessly where pens are not kept, or used, because i had initially dismissed it as too ordinary, blue. that would have been before i discovered the general extrordinary nature of these rose art gel pens.

the whole set, complete with caps (!), is nestled next to the shimmery notebook now, and i’ve just been inspired to write … this, one of the long-windiest, what’s the pointiest blog posts … ever. well maybe not ever, ever. but … anyway.

but i am feeling much much better now (*twitch*) & am no longer muttering under my breath about running off & joining one of those baby seal clubs i’ve been hearing so much about.

however i am still a little bent about the events of ten years ago this day. well, the event. dammit kurt. i mean, okay, i understand, not completely of course but i do know that sometimes it is too much. but still. too much is too much but look how much has been wasted now! so much. ten years.

…
so in honor of whatever, ima gonna splurge & upload a whole messload of pictures, some shiny things, some kids playing in a park, some girls dancing …

I’m so happy ’cause today
I’ve found my friends …
They’re in my head
I’m so ugly, but that’s okay, ’cause so are you …
We broke our mirrors
Sunday morning is everyday for all I care …
And I’m not scared
Light my candles in a daze …
‘Cause I’ve found god
Hey, hey hey

so much. wasted.

…and then it hit me. about fucking time, i thought, i mean i was about done with the waiting which means nothing if you think about it which is why i try not to do that. as usual i wallow so musically, it’s all about the soundtrack & this is the most meaningful thing i’ll say all day today.

the extent of the beauty of the world around me pains me so on days like this one. i feel it physically, not pain actually more like an ache really, the pains come randomly sharp like clarity momentous occasionally oh fuck this noise let’s you/me get the fuck outta here/now i mean it this time

& with that, release is ours

what? yeah. just like that. why not? simple easy free

oh okay i know no not really

nice try though

some great minds have taught me to think. as to the lesson of the flesh, we’re all on our own.

You say, I cannot get there from here, baby
Then I don’t care where I’m goin’
Here’s to your thin red line
Mmm, I’m stepping over

Change, nothin’ stays the same
Unchained, and ya hit the ground runnin’

I know, I don’t ask for permission
This is my chance to fly
Maybe enough ain’t enough for you
But it’s my turn to try

Change, nothin’ stays the same
Unchained, and ya hit the ground running

person c, a child, must be at school at eight am with a ten minute grace period. person a, an asshole, wakes up fifteen minutes before eight & announces that person c is going to be late & launches into the routine. the routine is sacred & must remain unbroken, person c is delivered to the office with an apology some thirty minutes late.

on a different morning person a is absent. person b, a bitch (just ask person a), wakes up at seven minutes before eight am & bounces into action & routine is sent scattering out of the way & shortcuts are taken & person c is delivered to the back gate amidst the other last minute parents, (who drive entirely differently than the normal timers, person b notes) at ten minutes past eight seconds from late enough to face the office twice in one week.
Unchained, and ya hit the ground running
person b wishes to state for the record that the obvious change of plans written between these lines represents necessary flexibility & nothing else; circumstances are what they are & also reminds you that life is for living & hair is for dyeing. daffodil.

i want to want something bad enough for it to matter. i want to sell my ass for cigarettes but it’s too easy to quit. i want to will my will to science but it’s too easy to sell my ass for cigarettes. i want to take two & call you in time but the distances always close in by then. do *not* attempt to ask me what i mean i have had a little too much too late & cannot complete

the scale in the women’s bathroom is set to four pounds under zero. it tells me i weigh one hundred fifty pounds (fully dressed heavy shoes included) (the fact i felt i needed to tell you that last bit should tell you something). the scale in the men’s bathroom is set to zero tells me i weigh one hundred forty pounds. i suspect this might (at least metaphorically) explain almost everything not covered in the manual.

i have what has to be done
& isn’t yet
& that’s all i have
what i want doesn’t matter

i cannot bitch i should not whine i will not vent i will keep my fucking mouth shut for once i will i have to i really really do. no matter what. whatever. i do however have a word: unbearable.

almost. almost but not quite.

one last small vanilla cigar one last beer before disconnect. it’s tuesday right? ok. seems the last several days, they merged they blended hell they were fucking frapp�d dude. days like one long wild-eyed pasteurized homogenized grade a freakout. show. freaksomething, i don’t know. and. now. finally. ready. ready did i say ready? i meant some other word, something involving the force of circumstances and may i say i am quite sick to death of circumstances at this point?

and if you thought under the couch was crazy, do you know what happens under a refrigerator over the course of a decade or so? i’ll tell you what happens. unimaginable horror is what happens.

two hours so far full awake stalling. road rash raw through & through. i have wandered, i have walked through rooms like water, thick history family swirling around me, body temperature mostly but icy in places. is this giving it time to sink in or is this wallowing. i am breathing through the pain. i wonder what it is that is keeping me from screaming. it is nowhere near empty yet. if i take the vicodin i will feel less but not enough. i save it, it is maybe the only thing i can. now. a better person would sacrifice these house to herself hours & get on with it.

me?

the yellow glow spreads over the glass hazy with years of vanilla scented smoke i sit listless distant staring straight vacant into this the last of this light which hesitates and is lost on me for ever and ever and more, and – and please, please realize i never intended it to end this way i never intended any ending whatsoever, have i ever mentioned how back in the newness of this, how i wished we could live forever, just to keep loving each other and this is the loss, this innocence

is this love still inside me, dead rotten maggot ridden mass of doubts violence pathos loss? is that what this is? will it kill me

how long? even an estimate? how about a guess? oh. whatever

and what is this, this vivid almost physical craving, this ridiculous wish for a lapse in space and time and unconsciousness in sufficient quantity so i may once again awaken in the same dream i fell into in the first place and if not may i please have a moment and if so i would like one of those on the balcony on the hill and the county fair fireworks flashing over the ocean and with one voice a whisper ‘life is good’ yes we were this innocent once and yes we meant every word every last perfect pure infinite word

i would like to please believe love please just this one time if you could please just a moment please just the joy of that good life just one last minute of it

yes i see
i understand. yes. wait no, no i don’t. but that doesn’t matter yes i guess i have learned that much from this

and that is progress isn’t it. of course

goodbye is a matter of days away, though the loss of love was consummated long ago, years and years ago, and it has been a long dying gasp of a last five six maybe even seven years, yes

i can already feel it, the moment i leave, leaving behind this house this home this family for what it’s worth for the last time. i know goodbye as well or better than i know even my own self, which i have been known to lose on occasion, while goodbye is an always, a constant, ever perched restless ready on the tip of this tongue of mine

the water flowing, the endless river … forever and ever