concerned about: how to make self feel better?
being here means feeling quite alone. running from here to there. without time, without anyone.
check out books from the library. monitor the daylight through the window, typical on a sunday. have brunch at blackadder. wash bedding. remember how a shower makes a new start to the day possible. read moon palace again. clean the space im in. donate the clothes i dont wear. grocery shopping. go for a run. small movements in big places. listen to sounds. smoke some, have tea.
dont think about how you prefer the person you were before, at a different time, on a different day, in a different phase. remember how interests and hobbies change. stretches. burn candles. dont look at old photos until they dont hurt anymore. take a warm drive, scream a warm song. write more concisely. dig more music without words, life soundtracks. take out the garbage. literally and figuratively. sit by the water. sit in the sun. sit in the sun by some water. sit in the shade. find out what makes you grow. study language, study literature. cook something healthy.
smell clean air, open the windows, watch the curtains dance. put your hand out, please the neurotic tend\encies, be partially inside and out. stick your feet out. light a spliff. dont focus on the distance. focus on the feeling that is very here and present despite the distance.
listen to the sounds of the outside and wonder who else hears it. feel the smoke enter, exit, filter, fly. think about dying your hair a lot of the time when really you're actually quite satisfied. see the purples, aquas, dark blues of the lights below. fall in love with characters in books. dont wonder about the future. onedayatatime. connect the shapes. sort the copies. cradle the soap box. shuffle the card deck. cut the simpleton. swat the cornfield. clarifying the sunshine. string out the crowd. wondering about vegetable gardening.
25 March 2014
STILL
lonely for accepting the broken bits
lonely for being too drunk to finish a lucky strike
lonely for complimentary breakfast
lonely for strange beds
lonely for forks and knives
lonely for holding
lonely for broken shoes
lonely for ripped tights and painted faces
lonely for the morning
lonely for southern kindness
lonely for castillo de gredos, boxed, warm
lonely for sunless months
lonely for closed aquariums
lonely for västerbron
lonely for anything gentle
lonely for streets filled with people
lonely for wondering if we've lost it
lonely for eating the flowers
lonely for naps in cafe string
lonely for nights spent on public transport
lonely for marshmallow battles
lonely for a genuine connections
lonely for the car ride to colonia jardín
lonely for tapas and mahou
lonely for overpriced clubs and taking the first train home
lonely for reading and iced coffee
lonely for las resacas en el retiro a la sombra
lonely for unpredictability
lonely for björnkulla
lonely for the people who i found a home in
lonely for closure.
lonely for being too drunk to finish a lucky strike
lonely for complimentary breakfast
lonely for strange beds
lonely for forks and knives
lonely for holding
lonely for broken shoes
lonely for ripped tights and painted faces
lonely for the morning
lonely for southern kindness
lonely for castillo de gredos, boxed, warm
lonely for sunless months
lonely for closed aquariums
lonely for västerbron
lonely for anything gentle
lonely for streets filled with people
lonely for wondering if we've lost it
lonely for eating the flowers
lonely for naps in cafe string
lonely for nights spent on public transport
lonely for marshmallow battles
lonely for a genuine connections
lonely for the car ride to colonia jardín
lonely for tapas and mahou
lonely for overpriced clubs and taking the first train home
lonely for reading and iced coffee
lonely for las resacas en el retiro a la sombra
lonely for unpredictability
lonely for björnkulla
lonely for the people who i found a home in
lonely for closure.
21 March 2014
IT'S GOOD TO SIT WITH PEOPLE
It's good to sit with people
who are up so late
your other homes wash away
and other meals you left
unfinished on the plate
it's just coffee
and a piano player's cigarette
and Tim Hardin's song
and the song in your head
that always makes you wait
I'm thinking of you
little Frederique
with your white white ski
and your stories of wealth
in Normandy
I don't think I ever told you
that I wanted to save the world
watching television
while we made love
ordering Greek wine and olives for you
while my friend scattered
dollar bills over the head
of the belly dancer
under the clarinettes of Eigth Avenue
listening to your plans
for an exclusive pet shop in Paris
Your mother telephoned me
She said I was too old for you
and I agreed
but you came to my room
one morning after a long time
because you said you loved me
From time to time I meet men
who said they gave you money
and some girls have said
that you weren't really a model
Don't they know what it means
to be lonely
lonely for boiled eggs in silver cups
lonely for a large dog
who obeys your voice
lonely for rain in Normandy
seen through leaded windows
lonely for a fast car
lonely for restaurant asparagus
lonely for a simple prince
and an explorer
I'm sure they know
but we are all creatures of envy
we need our stone fingernails
on anothers beauty
we demand the hidden love
of everyone we meet
the hidden love not the daily love
Your breasts are beautiful
warm porcelain taste
or worship and greed
Your eyes come to me
under the perfect spikes
of imperishable eye-lashes
Your mouth living
on French words
and the soft ashes of your make-up
Only with you
I did not imitate myself
Only with you
I asked for nothing
your long long fingers
deciphering your hair
your lace blouse
borrowed from a photographer
the bathroom light
flashing on your new red fingernails
your tall legs at attention
as I watched you from my bed
while you brush dew
from the mirror
to work behind the enemy lines
of your masterpiece
Come to me if you grow old
Come to me if you need coffee.
- LEONARD COHEN
who are up so late
your other homes wash away
and other meals you left
unfinished on the plate
it's just coffee
and a piano player's cigarette
and Tim Hardin's song
and the song in your head
that always makes you wait
I'm thinking of you
little Frederique
with your white white ski
and your stories of wealth
in Normandy
I don't think I ever told you
that I wanted to save the world
watching television
while we made love
ordering Greek wine and olives for you
while my friend scattered
dollar bills over the head
of the belly dancer
under the clarinettes of Eigth Avenue
listening to your plans
for an exclusive pet shop in Paris
Your mother telephoned me
She said I was too old for you
and I agreed
but you came to my room
one morning after a long time
because you said you loved me
From time to time I meet men
who said they gave you money
and some girls have said
that you weren't really a model
Don't they know what it means
to be lonely
lonely for boiled eggs in silver cups
lonely for a large dog
who obeys your voice
lonely for rain in Normandy
seen through leaded windows
lonely for a fast car
lonely for restaurant asparagus
lonely for a simple prince
and an explorer
I'm sure they know
but we are all creatures of envy
we need our stone fingernails
on anothers beauty
we demand the hidden love
of everyone we meet
the hidden love not the daily love
Your breasts are beautiful
warm porcelain taste
or worship and greed
Your eyes come to me
under the perfect spikes
of imperishable eye-lashes
Your mouth living
on French words
and the soft ashes of your make-up
Only with you
I did not imitate myself
Only with you
I asked for nothing
your long long fingers
deciphering your hair
your lace blouse
borrowed from a photographer
the bathroom light
flashing on your new red fingernails
your tall legs at attention
as I watched you from my bed
while you brush dew
from the mirror
to work behind the enemy lines
of your masterpiece
Come to me if you grow old
Come to me if you need coffee.
- LEONARD COHEN
18 March 2014
I FEEL ONE LESS HEAVY
"My french was neither good nor bad. I had enough to understand what people said to me, but speaking was difficult, and there were times when no words came to my lips, when I struggled to say even the simplest things. There was a certain pleasure in this, I believe--to experience language as a collection of sounds, to be forced to the surface of words where meanings vanish--but it was also quite wearing, and it had the effect of shutting my up in my thoughts. In order to understand what people were saying, I had to translate everything silently into English, which meant that even when I understood, I was understanding at one remove--doing twice the work and getting half the result. Nuances, subliminal associations, undercurrents--all these things were lost on me. In the end, it would probably not be wrong to say that everything was lost on me."
The New York Trilogy, Paul Auster pg 338
The New York Trilogy, Paul Auster pg 338
12 March 2014
VOID OF ALL WORTHWHILE
somehow well, even after all this time
goodbye from the steady, slow phase
the cause of nystagmus symptoms lurching about within my heart
i find it hard to swallow the never knowing, the undone, the unkempt affection
and wondering, just how deeply did i become a part of you? because i can't feel your bones anymore
"nobody ever takes my eyes off of you. entranced, i make myself look away."
can we schwabach a portrait of our feelings because i can't feel the world vibrate anymore.
my blood requires some tactile responses and once i've placed you on a pedestal, you are too far out of reach. i am afraid i am not growing by masking my emotions. get out of me, please.
goodbye from the steady, slow phase
the cause of nystagmus symptoms lurching about within my heart
i find it hard to swallow the never knowing, the undone, the unkempt affection
and wondering, just how deeply did i become a part of you? because i can't feel your bones anymore
"nobody ever takes my eyes off of you. entranced, i make myself look away."
can we schwabach a portrait of our feelings because i can't feel the world vibrate anymore.
my blood requires some tactile responses and once i've placed you on a pedestal, you are too far out of reach. i am afraid i am not growing by masking my emotions. get out of me, please.
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