Wednesday, July 27, 2016

stringing or dreaming

i wept.

i clicked and laid still on my couch. i remember thinking that i'd stick to the cushions if i don't move any sooner. i didn't move any sooner. i thought about baseball gloves and sitting in the backseat. sitting right at the center. sitting bitch seat. bush seat. it was my seat. 

"and i never feel somewhere, don't you know?" 

i think i was in between realizing that i have a constant fight with this addiction to sadness versus reminiscing about something sad. i can't tell which found a grip onto me. 

goosebumps on fleshy, unshaven legs. maybe my arms too but i felt it more on my legs and the back of my neck. or moreso the back of my throat. like i was rolling. i figured, damn this is good. i figured less when it took me elsewhere, idly. 

it dropped. 

or moreso trickled.

i could get trapped here, i thought. 

goosebumpy flesh of unshaven legs sticking on the cushions due to failure of moving any sooner. it kept dropping. silently. caught like a lurch in my pipes. there might've been somebody else in the living room with me. or i might've been alone. but i was hiding it. like my thoughts sucking microphones, and i didn't want them to know it made me sad. 

if i get trapped here, i thought, i won't be able to look at her right. we had plans to sit under our tree and take naps, like we had been all summer. but there i was, goosefleshed and sinking into the sads. PHYSICALLY...i had to physically eject myself from the silence of listening to the end of it. PHYSICALLY remove myself from the memories that will remain mine with, however, a sadness that was not mine. i was just in between fighting my addiction to the sads. fuck, DO I love the sads. but i can't choose the sads over anna. i can choose anna and i'll choose anna every time. every single time, twice over. 

i clicked off and shifted around the couch pillows and cushion seat. i watched squirrel trap. i had a laugh. i thought about anna. i thought about how she'll be outside picking me up in half an hour. i thought about how i'll tell her about the sads. how i wept because of this part of the song. and another part of the song. and how the lyrics say "i never had keep you stringing along" but it sounds like he's saying "...dreaming along" instead. i pet my dogs. i checked the time. 

i moved soon enough. put on worn socks. put on pants. packed my backpack. she called and was outside. i sat beside her in her hot car. shotgun. shotty no swoops. NO SWOOPS infinity. it was my seat in Big Red. i kissed her. she drove. she parked. we laid out our blankets under our tree on top of our hill. we talked and kissed and wished we didn't forget the pillows. i told her about the weeping. about the sadness. about the lyrics. she looked at me with the exact look i knew she'd give me. she kissed me and we listened to the song again together. she picked out the words that she thought would have a grip onto me. she picked the right words. 

nothing dropped.

nothing trickled. 

i didn't get trapped anywhere. 

the goosebumps came back when the cold gusts of dusk rolled in. we had Big Red the Blanket. she told me all the things she loved about me. she said my heart was big. 

i chose anna. 
i'll choose anna every time. 
every single time,
twice over. 

Sunday, July 24, 2016


I didn't realize I'd been writing my wedding vow ever since.

Saturday, July 23, 2016

On the dashboard


I can be a really shitty person sometimes. I don't mean to suck you dry.

I don't mean to suck you dry.

I'd be in a damn ditch if your hand didn't constantly fish for mine while they're balled in tight fists.

Wednesday, July 6, 2016

yung boy

jerome david

every time i come across the term "guilty pleasure," i end up thinking about reality television circa 2006 and jd salinger. 

i find myself craving to watch laguna beach or the hills, or anything of the like. i always search for it on netflix or hulu or even amazon prime. i don't know why, it's comforting to watch for me. 

whenever i need my words to manifest, i think about salinger. or re-read salinger. i take myself back to when i first read him. how i hated reading him. how irritated ctchr n th ry made me. but then i remember when i ran into him one day. blindsided and disconcerted. then i binged on him. i immersed myself in the entirety of his bibliography. 

i'm cleaning out my bedroom again. this always happens when i find myself unemployed after my 6 month itches. and the itch always comes, like fucking clockwork. the longest i stay employed for was working with matthew and justin. and that's only because i fell in love with the boys. they were my best friends. i don't know where i'll be next... but my closet is emptier than ever and my notebooks are stacked inside a box. i'm looking to a stack a new one. this past year, however, has been the most quiet my stack has ever been. closet emptier, contacts even shorter. 

standing desks are kind of great. maybe it's because my bloodflow is better and maybe my circulation has been shit when i'm immovable. but i'm standing now as i type, and i've never felt better. my teeth and tongue thick with coffee and sugar. i've skipped the past two meals. the wind is blowing down my blinds and my pups keep looking up at me asking for a treat. i have lightened my load. 

ARCHIVE, FUCKERS (for Ace-like purposes)