January 2nd, 2012


infinitely undesirable

random brittle dreams, questionable motivations, unforeseen outcomes.

i realized around 1AM that i'd decided in my heart of hearts that i need to move to rockford, to be closer to my family, to be closer to dear friends out here, to be closer to my niece as she grows

by 2:30 i'd talked myself out of it

it's not necessarily a

well i mean it's an idea, you see, and there are both healthy and unhealthy facets to it. on the one hand, things in baltimore are technically where they were for me three years ago and i'm making myself sick watching everyone else's milestones pass me by. i'm sinking deeper and deeper into neurosis and stagnation. on the other hand, there's a distinct possibility that i am turning myself into a pillar of salt even as i type this. i'm so desperate for this situation to evolve a little in a positive direction i could very well be getting impulsive and stupid.

two hours later i can't say where i am, who, what, quezacotl whispers: time is short, the great destroyer is waiting. i look at floorplans and reference shots. i can't get this time back i can't get back the time i've lost with my nephew my mother my friends. i don't know. i couldn't say.

now 4, listening to fleet foxes in my niece's bedroom that used to be my bedroom: let us review, how strange to see the colors and textures i put into this space years and years ago carelessly scraped out and redressed with my sister's childlike sensibilities, the latchhook hen beneath the praying child cross beneath that dreamcatcher i knew i left somewhere; the feather blessing i wrapped and hung off the doorframe six years ago still hanging off the doorframe; the plastic drawer chest stuffed with wipes and footie pajamas underlining it all. let us review how strange it is to sleep in a baby's room that does not have the baby sleeping in it, to wake up next to a crib at the baby's cry in the next room. to return now and listen to this album i want to curl up in and pull over me like sleep furs, that expanse of voices marking a perfectly secure circumference, what would have been here if i hadn't left. it's like dropping a stitch, skipping a beat, the structure will collapse itself any moment now

she's a dear, she's a sweetheart, she's my niece. when she sees your feet coming down the stairs she'll call out 'hi' until you respond back in kind; once you do she delights: 'happy!' and waves her arms, trembles with delight, laughs out loud with the joy of having you in the room with her again. i arrange her cheerios into a circle on her highchair tray and she can't believe the miracle of it, it's like nothing she's ever seen; when she knocks the circle out of order slightly with her enthusiasm, she looks at me in slight distress until i put it right again. she rewards me by lowering her face and lifting her eyes with a giggle: a confidence between us, this ring of oats. magic in its most rolled and roasted form.

at the restaurant my aunt sees the sanskrit ring i've worn on my right pointer finger since my last year of college and asks if ben gave it to me. no, i tell her, i've had it for years, and anyway the energy behind it is supposed to relate more to my commitment to spirit, that unearthly marriage. whatever the case she presents me back with my hand and says, well you've got to tell him. by next christmas. he needs to give you a ring. she's going to pray to god for it. i don't know i couldn't say. what am i doing here? what am i not doing there? what the hell is it that i think i'm doing with the time i have left on the planet? do i really want to spend it giving someone i love horrible ultimatums about marriage? does it really matter to me, that much?

and i love him so much and i want to be with him so much and i've wanted to be with him and in so many ways i've chosen him and that's the path i've chosen and yet. here i am at my parent's house. and i miss so much and i'm missing so much and it creates this horrible grating, this feedback loop, i realize how lonely i am and how empty i've been feeling and i am so burned out with placelessness, with waiting, with not really understanding why i am where i am. and i can't ask for what i want, because i don't really know what that is. or i'm too afraid of the answer to ask, or i'm that much more afraid that there isn't so much an answer as there is more waiting. no answer, no growth, just entropy and, eventually, death.

quezacotl quezacotl

new jobs and engagements and due dates pile up on my facebook feed. i wait, as ever, for the killing blow. any day now, about. people complain about 2011 or they complain about people complaining about 2011. facebook makes my heart sick, it's this funhouse mirror world of manipulation and distortion, intentional and otherwise. everybody's beautiful and perfect. is it real? on the level i'm seeing, it is. it may as well be, as far as i'm concerned. i could not be so beautiful or so perfect, at least i don't think i could be. i cannot even pretend. maybe it's better that way. sleight of hand or slight of hand. i couldn't say. facebook makes my heart sick, there's no ghost in the shell.

i keep going back, all the same.