Category Archives: Relationships

Smiles like Sunscreen

So what if we did away with persona?

What if we shed our lambskin for wolfish fur, and a set

of fangs, bearing sharp our desire for blood, deep meaty flesh,

bones, calcium, and enamel?

What if she said “I want you on my mantle,”

a porcelain doll, where you sit collecting dust,

until she decides to brush you off and make you useful?

What if every day she stared in your eyes, and replaced those

sweet lies with a bitter, unpalatable truth?

 

What if she was cold and uncouth and her words caused

you to shatter, but she just stood in laughter,

mocking your eye as it rolled across the parquet floor,

and when she was done breaking you into pieces,

she put you back together again, buttoned you up,

told you to mind you don’t catch a cold,

kissed you warmly on the cheek, and then stopped speaking

to you again.

 

In her you might see the softened blush of redolence,

moments of passion, intermingled with tenderness,

only to end in incomprehensible violence.

But, what if, by meeting we didn’t mind the first impression,

and the pink clouds of infatuation were replaced by grey,

ominous nebula?

What if she said, “I take an enema because I am so

tense and backed up, that my body refuses to expel

it’s own toxic waste?”

What if she said, ‘I can’t let go, I never climax, because

I need to stay in control?”

What if she told you “don’t speak,

don’t move, don’t touch anything, stay very still, like unseen

particles, because I need for you to cease existing at the hour

when my anxiety is most high, which is at night, when

I think I might die?”

 

If she sat with you over coffee and told you of every

thing imperfect about her, of all her shortcomings,

and solidified reasons for being alone,

then what if she took you home,

and you knew that she wouldn’t touch you,

wouldn’t want you near her, couldn’t bear

the sound of your breath beside her in the bed,

what if she told you these things instead of

pretending to be kind, sweet, compassionate,

the one?

 

What if the sun came with a warning label?

“Might cause cancer, but may also cause flowers to bloom.”

Would we still want to wake up to the daylight?

But we would and we do, we slather ourselves

in u.v protecting cream and admire the beams

as they cut across our field of dreams,

because truth is, we’d rather have flowers

than tumours, so we ignore the signs,

failing kidneys, inability to breathe,

inability to grieve, due to the painted on smiles

we wear like sunscreen.

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Filed under Cancer, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Repressed, travel, Uncategorized, writing

Stalemate

I don’t understand chess, I never learned it, but I do get that there are Queens and Kings and pawns, and I understand the concept of a stalemate. I think all my past relationships ended that way. “I can’t make any moves, seems like a dead-end here, you copy?” “Over and out I read you, no moves to be made, all possible moves cancelled out.” It’s like being on a two-way radio playing chess. How the hell did this happen? Fuck my life as they say. I’ve never had luck with women and I never had a real desire to learn chess. To me it seems like something old people do, like golf, golf, chess, and ballroom dancing. If I ever get that stale mate, check me off the board. I’d rather not continue, I’d rather find myself at the end with no more moves left to make and a pocket full of memories of how things used to be fun, and I’ll take those and sit in the sun with a drink and a book, and stare at hot young Greek girl’s asses by the beach in Mykonos, no wait that’s something my ex girlfriend did when I was with her in the sun on a Greek island. She told me quite frankly, as we watched a young woman walking on the beach. “she has a nice ass,” and I thought this girl sure doesn’t hold back her thoughts, but she was right, I suppose, only those things never much mattered to me, maybe when I’m really old I’ll miss being young enough to imagine waking up in a spoon position with some Greek girl’s tight ass against my pelvis, but if she’s one of those carefree bitches, I’ll feel worse rather than better, and if she’s got too much of a tortured mind to have fun, then I’ll be equally tormented, so who cares about her ass, it’s only good to look at and imagine something better. But I got her back later at the café that evening, a lovely waitress came out to serve our coffee, and as she walked away I declared “wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman so hot in my whole damn life, what a Goddess!” And my ex just looked at me and said “thanks a lot.” I aim to please I guess, but then you know, we hit that place of no going forward and no going back, and as I reflect, there was never anything for us to go forward to together, and never a reason for me to go back, except maybe to sit in the sun, on a gorgeous Greek island, and enjoy the view.

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Filed under Aegean, Alone, Break Ups, Challenge, Cleansed, Comedy, Conversation, creative, Greece, Greek, Humour, Lesbian, Loneliness, Loss, Memory, Message, Poem, poetry, Prose, Relationships, travel, writing

Feeling less alone, (on the nature of depression and butterflies)

Today I learned that the deep depression on the inner center of a human skull resembles a butterfly. Peering within, it’s as though at some time, this transitory beauty was meant to forever imprint upon us the delicate nature of a fleeting journey. Only if the skull is cremated or destroyed, does the memory of that gentle flower-seeker disappear. Within the hemisphere, the pituitary signaler of hormones, transmits chemicals to her butterfly mate, who lives innate in our throats, where the ability to speak, from time maternal, depends upon the migration of the one butterfly, straying south, and the other staying north, for without their separation, the vital energy it takes to live would cease. Such sacrificial love in nature creates brilliancy, but what’s more, it is the lack of electrical current that defines depression, as inhibitory. If this myopic view excludes further truth, it may one day be discovered that the real origin of our cranial pain, and mental suffering are related to this separation, to this lack of excitation within the neuronal center. It’s not the fact that there is a lack of stimulation, it is instead a lack of attention, a lack of response. “Soak me in serotonin, and watch me cry,” sings the butterfly. “No,” cries the other butterfly, “you are mistaken, I am that shadow, existing within the grey area, where the cloud formation never dissipates, do not think I can dissolve into elation. I journeyed once, more than a day, which in my time was forever, and I knew feeling and taste as vividly as each step one takes. Although I live in the echo from phonemes breaking, my real truth lies in the upper regions, where words form in synaptic response to thought, dark, enduring thought, which keeps my soul from dying, much like your heart beat keeps your body from flying. Through resonance and dissonance I am cocooned inside of you, always.”

The nurse sits with the patient as they discuss the power of non-verbal communication, ie; touch. “When you hold my hand,” she tells her, “I know you are there, it’s like a flower growing in my spine, I can feel it, I can sense it growing there, and though I know it will die once you let go, it helps me to feel less alone, it’s like a thousand astrocytes lighting up the dark sky inside of me.”

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Filed under Borderline, Butterfly, Conversation, creative, Death, Depression, Distance, Drowning, Identity, inspirational, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Medical, Memory, Message, Mortality, Nostalgia, Pain, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Science, Self, Shadow, Sorrow, Soul, travel, Uncategorized, writing

Violation

A voice is an echo on the shores of a river, cry of the loon. It is a new moon, a full moon, followed by the long snows moon. Ice encapsulates our memories as we tread the surface of a deep forgetting. To remember is to drown. My heart lives in this perpetual spring, melting into currents that violate the very rhythm of this cold season.

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Filed under Ice, Identity, Introversion, Journey, Life, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Memory, Mortality, North, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Seasons, Silence, Snow, Solitude, Soul, travel, Winter, writing

Eternity

Can the lizard crawling out from the wall, refuged in coolness be a transformation of the stone, from which it emerges? Is it possible my heart surges with the voltage to ignite a storm, but not the velocity required to light up a city? With enough electricity it could black out the entirety of our world. Lightning crash of black over vision of future. Apocalypse of heart under glare of sun flare. Or is it merely stillness through a crack, where the perception of feeling jolts us back to the presence of this power, thunderclaps through scorched synapses, fusing where the heart clenches, heavy like the fist of Poseidon? Take the heart out of the equation and there is only the still and cool observation of things that emerge and return, seeking asylum from the vagaries of these moods, the inhale and exhale of cyclic energy repressed in the psyche. What does it mean to miss me? What transformation occurs between head and heart when I hear the succour of your voice in child-like tones, asking if I miss you? What does it mean to miss someone who has curled in the alcove of your most ardent organ? What of the restless reptilian that molted through the heart’s eruption and shapeshifted into the skin of a cold blooded amphibian crawling out from the wall on the balcony, overlooking Eden? Would you know to avoid the temptation, else would all the world turn black again? Would the obsidian shores of Santorini crystalize under the sun, whose bright rays lay buried beneath the blistered basalt of a solidified flow? We might never know more than what draws tide to shore, what causes spark to ignite, what kills the light of our universe, yet the mystery of that most vital organ, remains as arcane as the flint of our gaze through a crack in the wall of eternity.

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Filed under creative, Distance, dreams, Earth, Emotions, Greece, Greek, introspective, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Memory, Poem, poetry, Prose, Relationships, Self, writing

Without You

The whir of the air-conditoner,
the taste of cigarette smoke,
tea, honey, milk,
a warm inner glow, a cool exterior.

The lights from the building
across the way,
myself alone this way.

A book in hand,
opened to a world
that only exists
in my mind,
like you and I,
and our
verbose love.

What about silence
and the body,
with it’s vast vocabulary
of expressions
and meanings
that come as real
and true as this
moment, now
without you?

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Filed under Alone, Coffee & Tea, Crave, Desire, Emotions, Life, Longing, Love, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Self, Silence, Solitude, Soul, Technology, Truth