(she said) I'LL PUT HIM ON THE WEDDING LIST
i'm in a pit. depression, disillusionment, disorientation. there are too many layers to human interaction for me to decipher. last night i went to gary's after work, and he spoke of a healing he'd received in central park last november. we spoke of sandy&zack, and papricoffee. -- i once drank a mug full of a paprika infusion because it was coffee-made-in-the-dark, and at that time tasted quite similar, being yet unfamiliar with the nature of coffee.
i wept (as i'm sure all of you have) for the loss of. everything? i want to remove expectations from my dealings with others, even with god. things that i want need i can get, but they are so tangled up in what i perceive others to want of me, of life in general. nine dogs on a farm, indeed, but then what? i've got everything i ever wanted, and it has never been enough.
"you're in a prison of your own making," i want to say to him/her/you. "but you already know that. and you know the steps out, i've heard you recite them quietly to yourself. why won't you move through fear?" i am beginning to agree with the distaste for unsolicited advice; it never seems to work. i shake my head at others' inaction, in their use of punctuation for chrissake, and i should stop. lift my head, and look inward. then FORWARD.
"what if that was all i'll ever get - if i don't ever get that again?" crying, shaking at the thought of halcyon first love. memory is deceptive. all i have to do is looked at the scribbles i made at that time to see that it wasn't the blissful sweet stone-age i recall.
"i can have epiphany and revelation, one after the other, but they are not the end! a few months later, i'm inevitably back here." not the Here that you people speak of, but a dark dumb place full of pants whose thigh-chafing make me anxious, doubt and denial. i'd love to be your friend, but neither of us can know if what i am offering is the real deal. that salvia trip WAS a religious experience, but all it takes is gary going on about the beauty of the Deceiver, whose power is second only to god, and the import of light is soluble. "go with god, go into the sun" OKAY jonathan, now what? well, look to yourself for answers, you silly goose. don't just chronicle all the derangement that comes with inactivity.
"i will experience that which is meaningful to me, and i release others to experience that which is meaningful to them."
the little i've read of the bible comes down to this, at least in dark times: don't look back unless you want to turn into salt, and that's easy enough to take literally when you can barely get off of your friend's ottoman.
i saw juno. it was fantastic and we cried, pseudo-dad and not-quite-teenaged daughter. at one point i was annoyed with her manner of talking to everyone, her strange dramatics and OH MY look inward, there is a past construct with the name drey, and don't be mad at her for being irritating.
i wept (as i'm sure all of you have) for the loss of. everything? i want to remove expectations from my dealings with others, even with god. things that i want need i can get, but they are so tangled up in what i perceive others to want of me, of life in general. nine dogs on a farm, indeed, but then what? i've got everything i ever wanted, and it has never been enough.
"you're in a prison of your own making," i want to say to him/her/you. "but you already know that. and you know the steps out, i've heard you recite them quietly to yourself. why won't you move through fear?" i am beginning to agree with the distaste for unsolicited advice; it never seems to work. i shake my head at others' inaction, in their use of punctuation for chrissake, and i should stop. lift my head, and look inward. then FORWARD.
"what if that was all i'll ever get - if i don't ever get that again?" crying, shaking at the thought of halcyon first love. memory is deceptive. all i have to do is looked at the scribbles i made at that time to see that it wasn't the blissful sweet stone-age i recall.
"i can have epiphany and revelation, one after the other, but they are not the end! a few months later, i'm inevitably back here." not the Here that you people speak of, but a dark dumb place full of pants whose thigh-chafing make me anxious, doubt and denial. i'd love to be your friend, but neither of us can know if what i am offering is the real deal. that salvia trip WAS a religious experience, but all it takes is gary going on about the beauty of the Deceiver, whose power is second only to god, and the import of light is soluble. "go with god, go into the sun" OKAY jonathan, now what? well, look to yourself for answers, you silly goose. don't just chronicle all the derangement that comes with inactivity.
"i will experience that which is meaningful to me, and i release others to experience that which is meaningful to them."
the little i've read of the bible comes down to this, at least in dark times: don't look back unless you want to turn into salt, and that's easy enough to take literally when you can barely get off of your friend's ottoman.
i saw juno. it was fantastic and we cried, pseudo-dad and not-quite-teenaged daughter. at one point i was annoyed with her manner of talking to everyone, her strange dramatics and OH MY look inward, there is a past construct with the name drey, and don't be mad at her for being irritating.