Losing

For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me - Job 3:25

One dark night...

It was like a Dave Matthews song...something that no matter how many times you listen to, you cant really be sure of the lyrics or the exact beat but still obsessively want to hear over and over again, hoping one day you get them right...

It was like standing on the beach with the waves washing over your feet and you sink little by little, almost falling... no...just the feeling of losing your ground... (which you actually have)...yet you remain standing.You just keep waiting for the next wave hoping you won't drown (but you don't care if you do anyway).

I kept hearing 'Crash into Me'. Over and over. It just wouldn't stop.

When you have that perfect moment, it erases all other moments that came before, wipes out memories that you previously held close.

And now I don't know if that is good or bad. Most probably bad. Because now that I'm left with just one good memory, there is an intense fear of losing it and being left bereft forever.

Perhaps it's best, like everything else, to lock this up and throw away the key. God knows I've had enough practice. All this might just be a dream, a mirage. This is just something that happens from staying too long in the empty quarter. Time to cross it before more hallucinations.

The American Dream

...is a bloody fucking nightmare from which you never really wake up. You spend the "good years" doing everything to stay here, as a student, then finding a job both not worth the time you put into it, and well below what you are actually qualified for, work insane hours cuz of some warped sense of obligation...ooh for your "good luck" that someone actually was willing to sponsor you. Then when you've had it, bargain with the same devils just so you can stay. And for what?? To be let down. The great dream? This is no dream.

But you can't go back. Correction. You don't want to go back. Because there is nothing for you where you came from. Not that you have something here. Nothing here. Nothing there. But the nothing there is compounded by a lack of life, freedom and security.

Is there more life, freedom and security here? Yes. Well, at least in the city. Now if the comparison were between a one-horse town (or NJ or American suburbia) and back there, I'd choose back there. Or would I? That is something I don't know anymore. At this instant, I want to stay here.

Any other place? Sure, but I'm too old to start over. And too young to be this tired.

It's all for naught.

There's just no time left.

i've not been feeling anything lately
words take forever to appear on strange sheets
i can't seem to dream anymore
but that means no nightmares too
ain't that just fine?
it's all good.

Space and distance

The journey began a long time ago. It didn't seem like it then, it just seemed what she thought was like being inside the eye of a whirlwind, living inside it, surrounded by a wall of opposing forces that cancelled out. As long as she stayed inside, it was safe.

Time passed, and she figured it would be okay to venture out. By then the storm had moved across the sea and settled in a new place. When she looked out, it wasn't the desert of her memory. There were no empty spaces, but a dense population with varying degrees of white noise. And the damage in the storm's wake, was irreparable.


The desert was a holy place. It purified souls under orange skies and blazing heat. It killed thoughts that fogged the mind. Of course it did not seem that way then. A place is never the way it is in your head after time and space has passed. Then, it was hot; and the burning sand kept you on your feet running running towards the shimmering water that disappeared in the horizon.

And the fire consumed all that did not deserve to exist.
The desert is a holy place.
The desert is an empty place that allows you to fill it with any landscape you need at the time.

Where she came to, she had trouble breathing. Wet, humid air, filled with something that charged her skin, and made the surroundings smell of burned flesh. Is this what it's supposed to be like outside?

Then came other storms. Every time she set out on a new direction, different angels answered with their trumpets. Sometimes at cross purposes. Some drew her into the doldrums, some swallowed her whole and spit her out on nameless minor breezes.

And now the wind has carried her here. It left her bereft and alone, stationary. She is now in a different kind of desert. There is nothing holy here, just an emptiness that keeps reappearing like a clean canvas no matter what picture she paints in it.

Should she be thankful for the rest? Or had she died and didn't realize it?

Perceptions

If you look too closely at something, you will most probably lose faith. And trust. Faith in the object you look at, trust in your sight. Things look much better from a distance, behind a camera, through veils.

When you are in the scene, you are in it... there is no perspective other than the one single view you get when looking at it from one direction. And things are never pretty enough to stare at from one point up close. Also get too close to something, you can't really breathe. Then comes the lightheadedness, and incoherent thoughts.

So you need to move a little farther away. A lot further away and the thing you're looking at disappears. But if you were already too close, then disappearing is what you may need to do, a different scene is perhaps for the best.

Then maybe in the future, there is the possibility of a fond memory with the loss of proximity.

There is also the fear of an empty space, or a replacement when you return. And when you return, you may find that there is no longer a place for you in the space that you once loved.

You have moved too far away for far too long.

Moments of weakness

1. The hour before it starts raining.
2. When it rains.
3. After it rains.
4. When the sun rises.
5. 6pm and 3am.
6. The leftover times.
7. Always.

The terror of memories

Sound. Smell. Sight. Touch. The fusion of all senses at a single point in time and space assaults the brain. You suppress this with all your might that it dissociates and shatters into pieces. These shards pierce you at unexpected times, latches on to current sights and sounds; diminishing, enhancing, and sometimes distorting the joys and losses of the present. This makes all memories and realities suspect.

Did it ever really happen?
Is this happening now?
Is anything happening at all?
Am I really here or out of my body seeing me then or now?
Is this a dream?
What if my mind is playing tricks on me?

The only thing that is real is physical pain and scars from accidents, falls, burns. So you seek these instead of creating new memories, feeling anything. You don't have words for feelings anyway. And sometimes you run towards the things that hurt you. And the things that hurt you most are the ones that have no words.

No words. Translate the feeling into images. Colors. The shades of red, orange, blue, yellow. You run towards this as you run away from the same. Some kind of cruel enslavement. But to have some semblance of victory over what torments us, we need a stronger, better version of the same weapon that attacks you. Bringing a knife to a gunfight? That only works in the movies. Not in this dimension.

Yet you wonder ... what use of having this Lazarus soul, to walk out of the grave bound and gagged and have no one to free you from memories of your dying?

Things die

It's been a long cold winter. Too long. Too dark. And things have fallen apart, got broken, lost. Words are not enough anymore. There are no words anymore.

The dark side is not a stranger, it is now the escaped shadow running fugitive through pathways in the head.  This is war. And to win the many battles requires a long-term strategy. Which requires clarity of thought. Which is now an impossibility.

But as someone said, a probable impossibility is preferable to an improbable possibility. Hope. No matter how dark it all seems. For hope to escape the box, every other pestilence needs to have their run.

I don't know.

Day 1 2013

Lost my credit card and my head.
Broke a shot glass and my heart.
Cut ties with people I loved and my hands.
Fell down, gave in, and gave up.

The price of misguided love -
Pieces of scattered silver and a death.
Quite a mess really and nothing I can do about it.

A beginning I couldn't miss even if I tried.

Goodbye

The road is too far to the light
There are no bridges to cross
I need a boat
Row me to the other side

Where I'm to go
You cannot follow
Where you are
I cannot come

Mountains won't stand to save
From the monsters returning
In the spaces between dreams
Bursting into roaring waves

Where I'm to go
You cannot follow
Where you are
I will not come

And when the night feels heavy
See the empty boat under
Keep me in mind
And take another on your journey

Making it Count

Sometimes we do. Make love like there's no tomorrow; 'cuz there is no tomorrow. Be kind and ignore the past years 'cuz we plan to leave. Sometimes.

And sometimes we hate like we never have 'cuz that is far more easy. For us. But mostly, it is for them. Cuz even if you don't want to let go, it is easier if the other person has given up on us.

Letting go is easier than putting the effort to make things right. Because no matter how we try, it will never be enough.

And who in their right minds and logic would not want to take the easy path? 

Rules

Stay silent.
Don't state your opinions, thoughts. Keep yourself to yourself.
Don't dwell on words. They mean nothing, they come to life to kill you only if you think about them.
So don't think.

Use your rage to get the things you want.
Hold your breath - it helps when you're close to tears.
Never leave a city you love to escape a darkness that follows you. The darkness will catch up with you in a strange place.
So don't leave.

If something feels wrong, it is wrong no matter what anyone says.
What anyone says does not matter.
When it does matter, and you make a change, it still doesn't matter. To anyone.
So don't waste your time.

Your dreams will die.
Your nightmares will awake.
You will lose time.
And will soon slip away.

Hurricane Sandy - A Tale of Two Cities

October 29th, 7.30pm: Lights out. This is MacDougal Street, West 3rd, home to (perhaps) affluent NYU students, musicians, artists, crazy and regular folk, in shoebox-size apartments, paying 2500+ dollars in rent, and sharing space with mice, and who knows what else. Not heaven, not hell, but definitely in the middle of things all year round. This night, we were plunged into eerie darkness, and SILENCE...except for the raging wind.

Two blocks west, the Hudson had breached its banks and my beloved pier was flooded all the way to West Street. With the lights, went the internet and phone service. No matter. Yet.

And then you see the Empire State Building  - all lit up (picture later). Now on a regular night, this structure is beautiful (though sometimes I wish they'd light it different on four sides so I know which direction I need to walk). Tonight, all I could think was 'seriously? They have lights?? I need a realllllllly long cable and tap that power'. (I HATE the dark, one reason I live in the village).

Anyway, since I don't have a long cable, and since it was only now about 10pm (when the village buzzes on a regular night), I went for a walk around the block with a neighbor. Aah, the NYU dorms and Law School libraries have lights, bright lights. After bitching about it (since we're not particularly fond of NYU for ruining our neighborhood), we concede that if you are a student and shelling out a lot of dough in tuition, might as well provide lights. But heck, you can only be generous about things like this for 10 minutes, try living in the dark for 5 nights.

October 30th, 8am: Man, it is cold as hell, and damp as a swamp. And since I don't have gas, there is no point having 2 containers of instant and ground coffee. So, I venture out. And see 2 people with wow! store bought coffee cups. They tell me the deli on Bleecker and Sullivan is serving hot coffee. Boy was it crowded... I have never seen NYers so grateful for a cuppa. I had 3 people thank and bless me on my way back when I told them where to get it.

Now living on chocolate chip cookies can only go so far... as far as a day before you feel sick. So I decided to walk uptown. Now this is where it gets interesting. No traffic lights up to 40th Street on the east side, no phone service and lights up to 30th Street on the west. Ditto for phone service. And  life goes on as normal above 35th Street. Shops are open (get hot hot coffee), ATMs work (run and get cash), all normal. Ok, good for them. This charitable feeling lasted all of one day. Seriously, these are two New Yorks - the ones with everything, where nothing has changed other than some transportation issue, and the other side - the dark New York, where you have to walk for miles to get a decent (tepid) cup of coffee, and phone service. After sunset, my neighbors on the block sat on the stoop and exchanged vital information - hot coffee and breakfast on Bleecker and Sullivan (you need to be up by 8.30am, else they run out), T-mobile service available on the pier near Hudson, or above 14th Street, 6th Av, Sprint service available north of Washington Square Park, AT&T service - just in front of my stoop (at least the cop on the beat told me he got service if he stands still in front of my stoop).

Day 3 and 4 - this is getting old. I would do anything for hot spicy food, but don't want to trek all the way up and eat, cuz by the time i trek back down I'm hungry again. And no I will not take a cab, I walk faster. And never trust a NYer who would rather take a cab than walk, or take a subway.

As for internet, NYU allowed the public to charge their phones and laptops (thanks very much), but wouldn't allow them to access the Internet through their network unless you have an (NYU) ID (asses). There are 3 ways of getting around this: 1. Look young enough and walk with a purpose past the security guard (avoid eye contact). 2. If they still ask for ID, say please and smile, and tell them you just need to, your life depends on it. and 3. Know someone who works there or studies there.

Or you can always give up and say to hell with work, but of course that is not an option.

Lessons learned:
1. Too much chocolate (and chips) make you sick - especially if you have to have it cuz there's no other option.
2. Always withdraw cash before a storm.
3. Stock up on candles, alcohol (one is never enough).
4. Reading while holding a candle in your hand is not a good idea. Wax spillage is unsightly, and a pain to get out of clothes and floor.
5. Coffee, pizza and hummus is the solution to all problems for NYers. And for some, peanut butter.
6. Battery-operated radios have the power to save lives, or your sanity.
7. Oh, and soap doesn't lather much in ice cold water. And it is the worst thing about all this - cold cold showers.

Now that the storm has passed, I am grateful that nothing serious happened where I live, save for some fallen trees. Oh I am especially grateful for the cops on the beat - their red and blue flashing lights provided me with my much needed night light to sleep in snatches. To my neighbors and roomie for Ramen noodles, entertainment, and company in the dark. And thank you Mike Francesca of WFAN for a great talk show and putting all things (not just sports) in perspective.

Once upon a time...

Most stories begin in dark, stormy nights. A cliche. The truth is it starts way before that. We just tend to be aware of the dark, stormy nights, when wicked deeds are done, when the masked man kills his hapless victims, the girl runs away, the 'unsuspecting' boyfriend finds his girl in bed with another. But all that is just the now. It's the events before that make a story. And what happens after. The present is just drama, it doesn't make sense, it never does. Fairy-tales never make sense (towards the end anyway). There IS no 'tale' in a sentence "And they lived happily ever after.", more so, the words "lived", "happily", "after". How did they "live"? Happily. How did they live "happily"? How did they make it happily to "after"? What in the world is "after"?

Too many questions there. But does it matter? It is true, that the incomplete story, the ones with all the questions, the gaps and all that unresolved desire, non-action, and so on, make a hard-sell. Ask the Brothers Grimm. Or consider Scheherazade spinning a yarn the best way she knows how, just enough to pique the interest, to extend her life for another day. A good story is one that we tell as if our lives depend on it. Because it does.

Reality, our daily lives are stories, most of the time, bad ones. It is either too mundane and hardly worth killing a tree for, or so full of drama that would make Shakespeare blush to the roots of his bald head. But it is the possibilities of what could've happened that makes a good story. If I had gone for my walk, what would have been the day like, how would it have ended, what would I have begun (instead of sitting here writing on this blank page)? The alternate realities that make up the fabric of our lies that are our stories. More fun. More happiness. More sadness. Suicide. Murder. Lust. More feeling.

If Judas hadn't killed himself, he could've written a book with a zillion possibilities - what if he hadn't betrayed his mentor, had not taken the twenty pieces of silver, what if he invested it instead of throwing it away, what if he planned a rescue mission,...what if he hadn't crossed paths with Jesus after all? Different endings. They all may not be a good read, but there are stories in there.

We all dream of the path not taken, some more often than others. The kind of stories we dream or have night terrors over depends on the kind of things we think are missing in our lives. The search, the quest, the need for horror, mystery, light and darkness. Everything and nothing. What we are doing is trying to look at the unknown. And like children, beg for more "And then what happens?" Because something has to happen, even if it is just the skies turning from white hot to orange. It always is the best of times, and the worst of times.

And whatever be the plot of the stories we write, there are always happy endings. All we need to know is when to finish the story.

A Peculiar Music

'No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief.'

...

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall 

Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap

May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small

Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,

Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all

Life death does end and each day dies with sleep. 


- Gerard Manley Hopkins

Waiting for the end of...

April. It IS the cruelest month. And this time it has spilled over to the rest of the year. 2012 has been a period of lows, with the occasional slivers of hope. Which of course makes it worse.

There were resolutions. Walk more, eat less, reveal nothing, the usual. I stick with it for 20 days, then break down. I start over. Again and again. But never get anywhere. I haven't gotten anywhere.

There's this vicious cycle of thoughts that I try to ignore with the logical:
I have a dead-end job. (At least I have a job in this economy). But I do know people with better jobs/ who do what they love. (I also know people struggling without steady jobs).

I don't have my own space to live. (At least I live in the most dysfunctional street of NYC for relatively cheap). I sleep on a couch and have to share the bathroom. I don't sleep and when I do, random people ring the buzzer at 2am to use the bathroom. I share my room with a mouse or it could be three mice. They always seem to be hungry. (Exterminators can't do much with bugs and mice). I hate mice, they eat my food and chew on my socks. I should get a cat. Oh I hate them more.

I get into useless fights over silly things. I'm a vapid narcissist and am delusional and get paranoid over imagined affronts to my sense of control. That's already four abnormal behaviors as explained in the psych book I'm currently editing. (And I don't have control over anything).

My sense of adventure is sleeping along with my quest for greatness. (My adventures are limited to getting lost somewhere between the Bowery and Delancey street).

Boredom sets in too quickly. (But I don't do anything about it). I crib about hearing the same old songs over and over. (But I don't change the radio station to listen to something different). I willfully destroy everything that is important to me so I can feel something, anything other than boredom. I won't talk about the casualties. Because I am a vapid narcissist.

And then there are always the things one doesn't talk about.

I am in way over my head. Cuz it is hell inside my head.

WIP

And so it is
Just like you said it would be
Life goes easy on me
Most of the time
And so it is...

The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her sky...
- The Blower's Daughter, Damien Rice


maybe it is not so easy
maybe it is not that hard
but my guitar sleeps in the corner
and i wake up with your taste
in my mouth

don't melt into this cloudy dawn
don't come so close and burn
as i reach out to touch you across
all the spaces you left behind
in my bed

it is not meant to be so hard
not meant to be easy
but we keep circling around
without song but in sight
of each other

my guitar sleeps
and all we trust is the silence
between us as the world
eggs us on to charge
and kill on contact

-- for T

You can go your own way...

There are moments that define our lives. Singular seconds of time that make us who we are. These are the seconds that seem like time has frozen; or gone by so fast it is frozen, like the spinning earth  you can't feel but obviously know. These are moments that no matter what you do, you can't erase them from your head. The first tooth you pulled out on your own and you realized your threshold of pain, the time you punched someone for no good reason, the time you didn't fight back when you had all the reasons, the things you survived only 'cuz you held your breath... these are moments when realizations occurred in the spaces of your choices: that you were an expert in open silence and internal screams, and pretty good at jigsaw puzzles and breaking mirrors. Bloody good really, that you could hide rage and fear in silence. A skill you thought would hold you up after the lights go out...
Aaah the pride...

Behold the Lord will carry thee away with a mighty captivity, and will surely cover thee.
He will surely violently turn and toss thee like a ball into a large country: there shalt thou die, and there the chariots of thy glory shall be the shame of thy lord's house.

And so comes a time when you decide to give yourself a break. A weakening by refusing to believe in your acquired strengths. You take the stairs whenever possible, and get in an elevator only if there are 3 people or less. You refuse to hit someone even if every fiber in your body screams it. You avoid by absence. It gets easier with time, and it helps that you stand so still no one notices you're around or not. This is good. Really. And defining moments of different sorts now happen. When it all comes together in chaos. You begin to believe anything is possible. After all you've changed despite swearing you never would.
Again the pride...

Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed...

Right.

And so we go back.

But can a butterfly metamorphose back to a caterpillar 'cuz it fears flying?

Wanting something really bad results in not getting it.
Not wanting something can go both ways.

And some other random thoughts:

• An addiction sometimes aids living.
• Sleep is an unreliable ally.
• LPs on Edison phonograph and radio on the Victor victrola is how music should sound, how it was meant to sound.
• If you were really smart you'd learn from others' mistakes instead of making them. How many different ways do you have to learn the definition of pain??
• Absolution should never be asked for since it will never be given.
• More things can be hidden in writing than can be revealed.
• There is no need for a lighthouse if there are no ships passing through.

You will never be able to go back, return to where you have been. You may never reach the end of the road you have chosen. When you come to a fork, just take it.

And enjoy the view.

Letting Go

There is a limit to paying for mistakes that you can't remember except for the other person's anger and disappointment. And when generalizations extending from that anger is the norm, and they are convinced that every action of yours is only a reflection of your past mistakes, it is time to break ties. Because there is no point trying to prove otherwise, in fact it doesn't matter to them at all.

They are happy in their beliefs and the 'fact' that they're right. Why should you always be the one to make allowances for these people and try to see their point of view?

There comes a time when you have to give up the hope that things will be alright. There is no such thing. It is better to just leave these people, be it friends or family, and remember that your life will be better for it. Because if you need people, you'll only end up resenting them for it anyway. Because they're above it all and don't need you.

Your life is diminished if you don't have a person you care about. But it is far worse when you know that your life doesn't make a difference to another person. When that happens it is time to let go. Letting go is easy. Moving on is easy too... once you've left the encumbrances. All it takes is to awaken the rage that once made you immune to every blow you were dealt with. Forget the people who made you weak by fooling you into believing that they cared and then hung you out to dry. And remember never to trust anything or anyone.

We have to keep moving on.