holding the candy house together within our hands
i pick nervously at the skin on my knuckles. the weather has been so cold and dry that my skin literally cracked open and began oozing blood. it itches, its quite disgusting. i shouldnt be so nervous. noyvous. my heart has been my guiding factor lately. i do everything on whim and out of immediacy and urgency. i'm not panning out the possibilities in advance. im merely enjoying the time i have, and what i get to do with it. i dont feel organized. life is partially scattered across responsibilities. i quit my job. Friday the 11th of December was my final day at work.
i didnt approve this decision with anyone. i do not have a fallback option for paying bills and rent. i do not have another job lined up to jump onto. i'm stranded between arenas of life, attempting to transition myself more wholly into a better life. ive been spending a lot of time with Faryn, sleeping at her apartment every night for the last week. slowly ive been moving my belongings over to her apartment, making myself more at home. i'm not drawing enough, and i dont feel comfortable drawing here yet. its too loud, there's not enough isolation. its hard to describe the ideal conditions for drawing. i dont need to be alone, but at the same time i cant operate with people around me who are offtopic to the creative process.
it is raining. it hasn't snowed. the slow trickle of wet white noise is comforting. this sort of weather, to me, is like smelling a delicious dinner cooking in an oven but not being able to eat it. i want to use this weather to my own creative ends. the weather is ideal for me to lament and get lost in thought. i need to be distant to draw. i need to be distant from joe and his problems. i need to focus of subtle things, a finesse of aesthetics that is hard to dive into when your head is full of unwieldy personal problems. so many tasks are consuming my brain with worry and anticipation. i feel guilt and it makes my breathing go shallow and my heart to quicken in pace.
we've been doing mundane tasks together, and this is vastly attractive to me. grocery shopping, doing recycling, making the bed, waiting for buses, and so on. its these aspects of a relationship that i seem to value so genuinely and deeply. there is a comfort in normalcy. routine is stable. i dont want just complacent tedium, but i enjoy that its not a drag for me to undertake menial tasks with her, and that i am content with just being with her and not needing to have wild adventures to enjoy her company.
i used a dull pocketknife and carved her name into my chest. backwards so that i can read it correctly when i look at myself in the mirror. i kicked through her roommate's door and lifted her off the floor and carried her back to her room and put her upon the bed. i hate the fact that every male in her life is, to one degree or another, obsessed with her and wanting to sleep with her. we argue for hours flinging hurt filled words at each other we build ourselves up, we break ourselves down, we try to build each other up, and we try to break each other down. i read a series of conversations between us aloud. IM chats from 2008 a full year ago. we embrace, we kiss, we push each other apart, we entangle. eventually we fall asleep.
morning brings us a pleasant sunbeam glancing across the room. we kiss and smile under a fort of blankets. we tumble out of bed and dig violently through piles of clothes for things to wear. my sister and her boyfriend come over to abduct us. we tag along in the backseats as we scream across rainy roads in west portland. Faryn sits on the sidewalk ouside of AT&T as new phones are procured. i now have communication again. Nausea slowly wears off but not after some intensity for her. we sit in my sister's apartment on the couch and sip on orange juice.they go off for a run in the rain and we take a walk across a jewish neighborhood to a convenience store. when we get back Faryn and i sit at the table and build a gingerbread house and coat it with candy and gobs of frosting. we play board games until a spicy soup is consumed for dinner. more board games and mulled wine. we sit on the balcony and charm each other with how delightful the day has been, and how fortunate we are for the good company of happy people. we make our departure and wait for the bus to take us back to the apartment. we hold hands and the slow rumble of the bus nearly puts me to sleep. after a few hours back at the apartment, she reads me journal entries from early 2009. we discuss awkward mannerisms and how i am offputting. we hunt for smokes, but fail to find any other than half used remnants in ash trays. what is real? where does dramatics and reality cross over? i peel off her clothes as she lays motionless on the bed nearly asleep.
the next morning starts rather passionately and with giddy enthusiasm until the realization that cigarettes still cannot be found. we drive to cedar hills and sit in the parking lot discussing outgoing personality regarding possessive aspects of a relationship, dr laura's evil voice, and bubblegum ice cream. i'm still too timid and polite around her and her friends. im still quiet and shy. i ask her if i can walk across the parking lot to purchase a sandwich, and she gives me a dirty look because i even thought to ask instead of just acting on my own accord. i dont have my own life, i'm not extending my art. i buy her smokes and a bottle of gin, since in my dramatic act i poured half a bottle down the sink drain. i detest alcohol. i hate when people do not use it properly. its such a pain in the ass, its so gross and uncomfortable, yet its supposed to make you more comfortable. i hate the taste and demand it requires for me to drink and keep it down.
we all wan tot love and be loved. and on paper that line sounds so simple. it doesnt take into account the frustrations and complexities of character, it doesnt factor in anyone other than the lovers.
how is life? i'm trying to carve out my own piece of happiness into my heart. to make my time more important, make my efforts and endeavors more substantial. we'll be okay. we'll be fucking better than okay.
i must go out into the night and get some air in my lungs.
-joe
i didnt approve this decision with anyone. i do not have a fallback option for paying bills and rent. i do not have another job lined up to jump onto. i'm stranded between arenas of life, attempting to transition myself more wholly into a better life. ive been spending a lot of time with Faryn, sleeping at her apartment every night for the last week. slowly ive been moving my belongings over to her apartment, making myself more at home. i'm not drawing enough, and i dont feel comfortable drawing here yet. its too loud, there's not enough isolation. its hard to describe the ideal conditions for drawing. i dont need to be alone, but at the same time i cant operate with people around me who are offtopic to the creative process.
it is raining. it hasn't snowed. the slow trickle of wet white noise is comforting. this sort of weather, to me, is like smelling a delicious dinner cooking in an oven but not being able to eat it. i want to use this weather to my own creative ends. the weather is ideal for me to lament and get lost in thought. i need to be distant to draw. i need to be distant from joe and his problems. i need to focus of subtle things, a finesse of aesthetics that is hard to dive into when your head is full of unwieldy personal problems. so many tasks are consuming my brain with worry and anticipation. i feel guilt and it makes my breathing go shallow and my heart to quicken in pace.
we've been doing mundane tasks together, and this is vastly attractive to me. grocery shopping, doing recycling, making the bed, waiting for buses, and so on. its these aspects of a relationship that i seem to value so genuinely and deeply. there is a comfort in normalcy. routine is stable. i dont want just complacent tedium, but i enjoy that its not a drag for me to undertake menial tasks with her, and that i am content with just being with her and not needing to have wild adventures to enjoy her company.
i used a dull pocketknife and carved her name into my chest. backwards so that i can read it correctly when i look at myself in the mirror. i kicked through her roommate's door and lifted her off the floor and carried her back to her room and put her upon the bed. i hate the fact that every male in her life is, to one degree or another, obsessed with her and wanting to sleep with her. we argue for hours flinging hurt filled words at each other we build ourselves up, we break ourselves down, we try to build each other up, and we try to break each other down. i read a series of conversations between us aloud. IM chats from 2008 a full year ago. we embrace, we kiss, we push each other apart, we entangle. eventually we fall asleep.
morning brings us a pleasant sunbeam glancing across the room. we kiss and smile under a fort of blankets. we tumble out of bed and dig violently through piles of clothes for things to wear. my sister and her boyfriend come over to abduct us. we tag along in the backseats as we scream across rainy roads in west portland. Faryn sits on the sidewalk ouside of AT&T as new phones are procured. i now have communication again. Nausea slowly wears off but not after some intensity for her. we sit in my sister's apartment on the couch and sip on orange juice.they go off for a run in the rain and we take a walk across a jewish neighborhood to a convenience store. when we get back Faryn and i sit at the table and build a gingerbread house and coat it with candy and gobs of frosting. we play board games until a spicy soup is consumed for dinner. more board games and mulled wine. we sit on the balcony and charm each other with how delightful the day has been, and how fortunate we are for the good company of happy people. we make our departure and wait for the bus to take us back to the apartment. we hold hands and the slow rumble of the bus nearly puts me to sleep. after a few hours back at the apartment, she reads me journal entries from early 2009. we discuss awkward mannerisms and how i am offputting. we hunt for smokes, but fail to find any other than half used remnants in ash trays. what is real? where does dramatics and reality cross over? i peel off her clothes as she lays motionless on the bed nearly asleep.
the next morning starts rather passionately and with giddy enthusiasm until the realization that cigarettes still cannot be found. we drive to cedar hills and sit in the parking lot discussing outgoing personality regarding possessive aspects of a relationship, dr laura's evil voice, and bubblegum ice cream. i'm still too timid and polite around her and her friends. im still quiet and shy. i ask her if i can walk across the parking lot to purchase a sandwich, and she gives me a dirty look because i even thought to ask instead of just acting on my own accord. i dont have my own life, i'm not extending my art. i buy her smokes and a bottle of gin, since in my dramatic act i poured half a bottle down the sink drain. i detest alcohol. i hate when people do not use it properly. its such a pain in the ass, its so gross and uncomfortable, yet its supposed to make you more comfortable. i hate the taste and demand it requires for me to drink and keep it down.
we all wan tot love and be loved. and on paper that line sounds so simple. it doesnt take into account the frustrations and complexities of character, it doesnt factor in anyone other than the lovers.
how is life? i'm trying to carve out my own piece of happiness into my heart. to make my time more important, make my efforts and endeavors more substantial. we'll be okay. we'll be fucking better than okay.
i must go out into the night and get some air in my lungs.
-joe