Adventures in Twilight

So.

I will admit that I've told the story of how I came to read the Twilight series, so many times that even I have believed that it's true. In fact, I didn't even realize that it was a lie until last night, as I was walking away from the theatre, having finally seen the last installment of the film adaptation. Truth is - we gulity pleasured our way through that series together. I remember finding it at the corner of your bed, immediately launching into almost merciless teasing, and being walloped over the head with a pillow several times until I finally agreed to read the first chapter at least....

I will admit that walking away from the movie without you on my arm, felt a little like being unfaithful - and I still don't know what to do about that. These days you are like a splinter in my mind that there aren't tweezers strong enough to extract.
--

*sigh*

I'm sitting at my friends's house, staring at a picture of a boat on a dock in a town that looks rather New Englandy, and I'm really wishing that I painted. I feel like I could knock out some pretty angsty post-modern abstract expressionist something or other with a black stripe and a lot of swirls or something.

Peace Be

Adventures in Decision Making

So.

I want to tell the world about some of the new things that may (or may not) be coming down the pipe for me in the near future, but it would be unwise to do so.
But.

I will say that I have made a decision to walk away from something that has been a pretty huge part of my life the last few years, and just the act of making that decision has lifted a huge weight from my shoulders. I'll let you know more when I can.

In other news:
I haven't posted a po-em in for-e-ver (you've seen The Sandlot right?) and so here's something I wrote awhile back. I wish I could explain the space I was in when I wrote it...but I'm not even sure that I remember. Wherever that was - I'm glad not to be there anymore.

Peace Be
---

sometimes
being a poet means searching the sky for the right shade of blue
to call your eyes when the open each morning
other days it means saying goodbye
today
my pen taught me the difference between not saying yes
and saying no
is as boundless as the space between attempted
and suicide
here is the truth
poetry is the only worthwhile distraction
from the violence trying to weave a kind of music in my throat
what sounds like a lullaby
is a symphony of sadness
i would sing it to you
if only i could make out the words

Adventures in Happy Endings

So.

A couple days ago I watched happythankyoumoreplease, which is a pretty decent flick that captures that sort of...snapshot of a moment when you realize you're an adult. And it's set in New York. And there's a woman with alopecia universalis. And a small negro. Which is always nice.

As usual, I ignore the larger themes of the movie and focus on the most obscure points in the plot to inform what I believe to be true about the world. In this case - the concept of the one-night stand.

I think that one-night stands are interesting...because they never tend to be as "one-night" as people would suppose. At least not here in your smaller cities or university campuses. I think we've all had that awkward moment where you run across "that guy from last week with the insert-identifying-traits-here"...and wondered how we could have been so naive to think that we could actually never see that person again. I mean never? Really? Especially now in the world of social networking and constant communication - I run into Kanye West's one night stands, my mother's ex boyfriend's one night stands, your one night stands...and yes, that guy from last week with the purply birthmark.

What's even more interesting, is that deep down, I don't know that anyone truly believes in the "one-nightedness" of the one-night stand. We secretly believe that "one-night" will turn into "first-date" will turn into "first anniversary" will become "happily-ever-after".

Which of course got me thinking about what "h-e-a" even means. Of course we're socialized to believe that it means a wedding and children and a marriage that lasts until someone dies...but is that really the only picture of a successful relationship? Can't a successful relationship also be one that only lasts for a few years...if at the end of that time, both people can make the healthy decision to separate from each other? If we accept that friendships grow and change, why can't we accept that in a romantic relationship, there may come a point where the couple (or "grouple" if you dig the polyamorous vibe) should separate? Why does it always have to be some tragic heartbreak that ends a relationship? Some grand event that takes what you thought might add up the greatest years of your life and shadow them with pain, distrust, and a whole host of other emotions that require vodka and cheesecake to set straight? I tend more towards the thinking that if we trust ourselves to see the right moment to enter a relationship, we should also trust ourselves to find the right space to exit.

Just watch the movie. It's worth the 100 minutes.

Peace Be

Adventures in Sulking

so.

today was the first day since "the incident" my first year, that i was legitimately concerned that i was going to lose my job. i spent much of the morning searching the faculty handbooks, looking through the civility policies, professional standards, the whole nine - trying to piece together a reasonable explanation for when i was called to the carpet this morning.

but the more i searched, the more i pieced....the less worried i became about the outcome of this meeting. i mean, i have said "i don't care" before - but i really did not care whether or not today was my last day inside of that school buidling. i tried to drum up some concern about the nothing that is in my bank account, and parlay that into some desire to fight for this job...but it would not happen.

and then i tried to garner the testicular fortitude to turn in my 30 days and peace out, but i couldn't do that either. i have sense enough to know that too much purposelessness in my days will be the thing that finally makes me jump off a bridge or something, and so i can't quit my job until i have some sort of direction. that, however, requires some knowledge of what it is i want to do with myself, and i don't have it. i couldn't even convince myself that i really wanted to pursue writing in any way that could stave off homelessness.

i'm 26. i'm unhappy. i'm lonley. i hate my job. and i have no goals.
the following comes to mind:

Peace Be

Adventures in Emotional Productivity

So.

I've spent quite some time between 2006 and now, developing a systems for myself to fall back on when things are starting to become intense emotionally. Those of you have been around for any length of time have seen the evolution of those systems into kind of a two-step guide to handling all emotionally volatile situations:

1. Remind yourself, "how something feels is not necessarily how it actually is"
2. Only respond to how it is; never respond to how it feels,

and it occurred to me today that this "checklist", while at a very surface level seems effective, may be not be the kind of "be all, end all" that I thought it might. I mean, you'd have to consider first of all that usually I start thinking about personal productivity during states of hypomania - those two or three months when you find me cranking out po-ems, and thinking about expanding my writing to other genres, and cleaning regularly, and all these other things that seem to be on this "path towards health". I was thinking the other day about the conversation Nash has with his doctor in A Beautiful Mind, where the doctor refutes Nash's claim that he apply his own mental strength to his illness, because his mind is where the problem is. Beyond that, I've come to this place where I'm ultimately dismissive of every emotion that I have, but that can't be valid either... because this illness that I only admit occasionally to having is about...severity and duration of emotion, not about the emotions themselves. And finally, I've gotten in this really bad habit of only expressing the emotion that I know I'm supposed to have, and not being honest about any of the other things going on with me...and repression leads to depression and bla bla bla...

I do not know what the solution here is. 

I keep wrestling with this idea of God's promise to provide peace and joy and what not to his children and then this notion that I'm somehow unable to feel that joy 70% of the time because of some chemical imbalance that needs to be corrected with pills. It just seems...antithetical to who and what God is. Except on this whole different level which I can also appreciate theologically it's not...because I don't expect for him to supernaturally cure the rest of the illnesses in the world or end hunger or all of that. Mm.

My baby sister asked me once why I'd been so willing to smoke or drink or whatever else in order to "feel better" but was so opposed to going the prescribed antidepressant route...and I just think it's dangerous to cross this threshold from taking something every now and again to feel better to taking something consistently to feel normal.

In short - I feel very much like an exposed nerve ending - feeling too much and not knowing how to deal with it.

Peace Be

Adventures in Mysticism

so.

i've got someone new poking around in my brain, trying to help me make more sense of myself. she's got an actual couch in the office, which we know i'm not a huge fan of, but i tried not to judge her immediately - even though it was floral and kinda uncomfortable (and not uncomfortable in that psychosomatic way...but actually lumpy and unsupportive).

the whole experience of it felt sort of...inauthentic on several levels. to begin - the first session with someone knew is more "vitals" and "history" than anything else, and beyond that, there's an acute awareness on both sides of the conversation that i'd rather not be participating in the whole... "i'm crazy; talking about it will help" enterprise.

however.
she keeps hershey kisses instead of peppermints;
she's mildly hilarious;
and she shut up long enough for me to think.
so she gets another visit.

homework for visit number two - write a poem about God.
any thoughts on how to pull that off?

peace be

Adventures in Darwinian Thought

So.

I spent much of my yesterday sulking, pseudo-cleaning, and watching po-e-try videos on YouTube. Normally, I would share with you the names of the po-ets that I was watching, especially since one of them inspired the po-em I'm going to share with you in a few moments....but a more careful review of the content of the po-em made me see that this may not be the best course of action.

I don't know...maybe if you ask me politely I'll tell you who inspired it. As of yet no title...but I'm sure one will come. Enjoy.

---

I wonder if the people that look like monkeys know that they look like monkeys
I wonder if it keeps them up at night
wrestling with theories of evolution
Like, "How could I have been formed from the dust with ears and cheekbones like these?"
I wonder if they eat bananas in public
If I looked like a monkey,
I would not eat bananas in public
Kids can be cruel enough without handing them free ammunition
A Korean boy in my first grade class looked exactly like a monkey
One playtime another boy told him, "My dad said you could be a nigger"
Then they both laughed while Ms. Quewen  got really, really upset
The next morning
Our character word for the week morphed from "honesty" to "tolerance"
I'd probably stay away from berries too
And throwing feces at people
which is probably a good idea even if you don't look like a monkey
but even more so if you do
same as spending a lot of time in trees

I wonder if the people that look like monkeys are sad that they look like monkeys
or excited to so succinctly display the commonalities of our DNA
Like "I represent the missing evidence in all of Darwin's research
If he had had Facebook
He'd have been glad to be my friend"
I wonder if Darwin had any friends
And if they all looked like monkeys
If I looked like a monkey
I would not be Darwin's friend
He seems like the kind of guy that would try to bring bananas to all of his picnics

Adventures in Silence

"Confession is always weakness. The grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence" ~ Dorothy Dix

So.

I feel strangley absent after giving you people (all...what? 6 of you) something to read every day or so for the past month....nevertheless....I've got nothing to say....about anything.

Um....Osama's dead.
Gas prices are still up.
Character of Americans has been revealed to be type shady as they celebrated the death of another human being.
For some reason people equate the death of Osama with an end to the "war on terror"....which will give government a temporary window to go completely apeshit while we dance in the streets.
Been very sad lately.
Don't really have the words to say why.
Rather...have the words....don't see the point in using them.
Nothing new about that.
Tired of wanting a life I know I'm not going to get.

Peace Be

Adventures in 2/30

If you love something let it go

That smoking habit
An abusive father
Three near angels
A bottle of Valium
Every city I've ever called home

If it comes back, it is yours forever

The sunset on the Savannah River like a battle hymn in 3/4 time
The welcome home hug of a little brother
A first kiss in the rain

If it does not come, it wasn't meant to be

You, always you

Adventures in Coerced Blogging

So.

We find ourselves in a dilemma.

I haven't posted anything in almost a month...which...in certain circles is unacceptable. I find myself, however with nothing to say. I don't know...I'm just bored with the particular state I'm in. It's like come on - we get it...sad, frustrated, scared, lonely - update us when you have something we don't know.

But.

In the spirit of sharing....here's a po-em that I started awhile back...still not quite finished I think....but I'm done with it for awhile. So. Enjoy.
---
1.
it's another day in and the general consensus is that i am made up of walls
the bedroom i never leave
in apartment no one comes to
near a phone no one calls
because there are never words
when another voice beckons
"i see that you are breaking
come clean"

2.
my name
has always been jericho

3.
a wall is never easy to the crumble
all a wall will ever do is beg you let it stand

4.
"i love you"
is a trumpet to the heart wall
it's noise like a shatter of glass against brick
its weight
heavy in the center of my breastbone
press harder
you can already feel the break

5.
did they not know
this nation was coming
with a God so bad-ass he'd shake their city with a sound?
did they not know
their only fight was another wall of silence?
did they not know
you cannot let a people change you with their noise?

6.
i do not know how to tell you i am hurting
or why
how much
how to make it go away
these days
i know how to break
rebuild
break again
turn heart muscle back into stone
press those stones back into bricks
pile those bricks back into walls
i know how to keep you away

7.
exhale
the breath will not break you
its the trumpet
that knows how to bring a house down

8.
i can hear you from the inside of my heart wall
i hear you
come clean
come clean

---
Peace Be

Adventures in Being Held Hostage

Things that are fun at 3 in the morning:

• Watching infomercials
• Eating leftovers
• Thinking of all the things you could be doing....but won't do because you refuse to leave the bed
• Calling homies on the west coast that you know are up at midnight
• Calling homies on the east coast that you know are not up at 3am
• Waking people (or a nearby person) up in other ways
• Going back to sleep

Things that are not fun:

• Being locked in what suddenly feels like a very strange place
• Remembering that it would be rude to jimmy your friend's door
• Having a panic attack
• Trying not to scream

I am tired.

That is all.

Peace Be

Adventures in....Bla

So. I've spent the past hour or so trying to write a version of this that doesn't seem pathetic, but I got nothing.

Suffice to say that today was a bad day, and I'm not doing a good job of separating what something is, from the way that it feels. And I'm usually better at that, because I know I'm not supposed to trust how I feel.

I....think I tried to do too much. I... would like to disappear for a few days and get my head back together.

Peace Be

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Adventures in Po-e-try

this is a psalm for the words that won't come
especially on nights they are needed the most
for the gut wrench of silence in a musical throat
to the poem that will not be written
i miss you
like a girl misses her father
the first time she sees he might not be god
how i would you were not so breakable
how i wish you would find your way home


Peace Be

Adventures in Insomnia

So.

Every personal blog that I follow is doing some type of....New Year - New Me posting here at the beginning of 2011, and in some regards I feel compelled to do the same thing (case in point - I taught all my classes today and yesterday), but for the most part I find all of this New Year's Propaganda a little disingenuous. What about January 1st makes you a different person than you were on December 31st? And if you can become this completely new and improved version of yourself all of a sudden....why didn't you do that last week? Can we also start making...Ides of March resolutions? Because that would make as much sense. Mm.

Also. I'm back to not sleeping properly....which is...fine. A little nervous about the excessive forgetfulness. And the losing everything. And the random crying. And the having to talk really slowly so the stuttering thing doesn't happen. But other than that....things are great. Haven't smoked anything in two weeks....which is good....and I ate two meals yesterday. This is progress. I'm excelling.


Peace Be

Adventures in Hypothetics

So.

Maybe something happens. Or nothing happens. But you wake up one morning and realize that the floor has dropped from beneath you, and you're falling again. Maybe you ignore it. Try to drown it. Try to carve it from your skin. Maybe you consider walking away. At some point, someone will tell you that you might need some help, and so maybe you go see someone. Just like last time. And the time before that. And the time before that, and so on for the past six years, and maybe they prescribe a magic bullet to take all of your pain away. And maybe you take it. Until you you realize you don't like how it makes you feel. Or you don't take it, because you remember you don't like how it makes you feel. And then you wait. Wonder what rock bottom will look like this year. Wonder how long you'll have to stay there. Whether or not you'll survive.

I'm tired of being in my head all the time. I would like a break. And some chicken. (I'm hungry).

Peace Be

Adventures in Poetry

So.

I wrote two versions of this piece a while ago - one while I was still in Hampton, and another last...March, I think. The second version maintains a bit of the beginning but changes near the end to be some tragic angsty thing about being a teenager and suicide and never giving up and bla bla bla bla....

Anyway.

Driving to work this morning, felt the sudden urge to revisit the original and do some editing (content not form). Not at all pretending that the poem is good (it has some awesome moments here and there)....but it is the most honest thing i've written in a while, so. Enjoy.
---

the hardest thing i've ever done is missed them both at the same time
the heavy of my secret
pressed to the skull with nowhere to go but inward
i still dream of us
an entire family
growing old on some beach though none of us swim
the children making sandcastles with smooth stones and seashells
their laughter riding out with the waves
and there is no front porch
or rocking chair
or heavy branched willow
but something in the sunset still smells like Savannah
i grew up enough Georgia to cook like my mother
and here
i would always be home
not so much wayward traveller with a handful of nickels and a story to honor the homeless
here's my confession
testimony
sacrifice and atonement
a tear and an alter to begin the burnt offering
tell Elijah to call on his God
if this type of heartbreak isn't stigmata enough for a valley to cling to its savior
then i don't believe these bones will live
although they've seen too much to die
call that a rock
or a hard place
or one of those things
just call it by name
and then call me
i'm a master at just in time
going all in with this last chance
i tell you my poker face is relentless
i've learned to glow bluff to bones with God
learned to carry the weight of this world on my words
i know how easy the promise is made
i can tell you the cost of forgiveness
studied well what it means to pay
to shuffle close
to butterfly tiptoe through darkness until you're nose to nose with a mirrored reflection of what you've run away from
here we are
a fiction novel at best
at worst nightmares again
and no poem
will ever know what it meant to say goodbye to your children
she
would be nine years old by now
he'd be learning to write his name
they'd both love their brother like David loved God
and we
would be something like a fairy tale
not this horror story and biohazard hammering beats in the pit of my belly
threatning always to find release in the speakerbox of silent tears
we'd be a miracle of music
they'd be the center of my spine
in the dream
i'm good at this
in the dream
they're still alive.
---
Peace Be

Adventures in Creeping Out the Neighbors

So.

As is normally the case when I don't quite feel up to going into the house, I was sitting in my car watching YouTube videos. Now normally, I watch the latest Philip DeFranco, check and see if Kid Fury has said anything outrageous, maybe see what's going on with Page Meets Stage....and then go inside. But yesterday, I was held deep in the clutches of everything Ken Arkind has posted on the web.

[side note: that's a lot of linkage...don't say i don't fulfill your "bored at work" needs. end note]

In any case, I'm sitting in the car...bursting into raucous laughter...or...you know...sobbing as the case may be (not real life sobbing....small...why can't i be as talented as ken teardrops), when I notice the slow and deliberate circling of a red vehicle. Of course, I immediately start gathering my belongings, because any time a car passes twice with no purpose...something shady is usually in the process of going down, and I didn't want to be present when things went wrong. My intent - to be in the house by the time this car made it around for a third time; however, by the time I looked up from having collected my bag...this dude was definitely parked behind my vehicle, making preperations to exit.

[side note: haven't prayed for real in a minute...you better belive I had some words with Jesus right then. end note]

So. As this guy is making a casual...creepy stroll to the car, I immediately crank up...because if need be, I will ram his little red Honda and flee; I will not be punked in the parking lot of my own apartment complex. But before I took drastic action, he had sped to a light jog and tapped on my window...'twas Tim...the maintenance guy for the complex; he had gotten mad calls about a crazy woman sitting outside my apartment and was coming to investigate....trag.

I have no...insight to add to this tale beyond...I must...do better.

Peace Be

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Adventures in Unloading

So.

In no particular order:

1. A friend of mine asked if my heart still hurt the same amount as it did when we officially separated (again) this past summer. The answer is of course not. It hurts more.
2. Whatever new age thing my neighbor is into now is causing him to wear bright purple head wraps. There also appears to be chanting....it's almost 2011. Who is still chanting?
3. My baby brother is turning 16 on Thursday, and it's dawned on me recently that in the next few years I'll be sending him off to college. I need to readjust my finances...quickly.
4. I hate my voice. It really sucks to have near perfect pitch and a voice box that can only do a fifth of what I want it to.
5. Parents are....infuriating.
6. I'm starting to be the annoying friend - the one who's always sad or has problem or some other annoying thing to deal with - and I was trying so hard not to be that here. It's not their fault I don't have anyone else in this city...anyway. Must think happy thoughts. Be...the happy friend. 
7. I've turned into a smoker. Not a...one or two cigarettes to calm my nerves....but a legit....pack-a-day smoker. My lungs....hate me.

*Deep Breath*

Ok. That's it.

Peace Be

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Adventures in Honesty

So.

Today was definitely a 9, and I'm a little scared. I don't...really know what to do with myself these days except keep on the face, stay busy, keep moving.....Not really sure how long that's gonna last.

Mm.

Stay positive people. This thing will turn around.

Peace Be

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Adventures in Almost-Poetry

So.
As per usual, I have pawned off the beginnings of one of my piddly pieces of poetry onto someone far more talented than myself for completing and correcting. But, as....not...per usual, I really wanted to share with you all (yes...all 6 of you) the first line of said po-em, since it kinda of sums up my mood over the past week or so.

And it goes...

when all of the metaphors have been reduced to the names of lovers who no longer want you
what will you have then
save a notebook full of reasons to stop your scribbling?

I started it....awhile ago...when things were better, but I found it again while flipping through my notebook recently and I was like...."oh. these are the words to express how i'm feeling. perf."

That whole....anywhere-but-here thing is settling in hard, and I really want to leave the Dash...immediately.

Peace Be