27.7.11

furrow [part 2 maybe]

i have no idea what i am doing here. my eyes touch over things and quickly pass on.
i step back even a foot and think shit what the fuck is going on, i must be crazy.
but we're standing face to face promising each other that this isn't what it look like, hands up palms out trying to prove our sincerity while still hiding behind sarcasm and defense mechanisms. the question hangs heavy: what are we? and i don't have an answer, i would prefer we were nothing. simple flesh and blood beings in a state of existence, in close proximity.
hah. right.
anxiety, paranoia, all the wonderful emotions that wreck you when you have something bright in your eyes rolls over me in waves.
all i want in this world is something that i can have, just for a moment, that wont crash and burn explode in flames die in my arms.
i want to keep something when it feels like everything has slipped away.
lately i'm walking head up again, engaging people at work, laughing and dyeing my hair.
but its all a wonderful show, a type of game i've created, to see how much i can forget by focusing on this smile i've been putting out. smile stephanie, big. the people at work tell me i'm happy, calm, nice. inside i'm raging sometimes, crying all the time, wondering why i get out of bed at all. the depression lingers but is made sweeter and a touch delightful by the secrecy and intimacy.
no ones wants to know the other me, not anymore. i've run out of time for sugar coating and gentle whispers.
back to this though.
i'm tired of men. so tired. the interaction- burning passion in the beginning, tearing at each other, needing and seeking and warm only for it all to turn to turn cold in time. nothing like the smoldering growing love and friendship i read about in books, see in movies. i'm so tired. i've already been robbed of my womanly abilities, the rest seems ridiculous now.
i'm so bitter. lost.
so what am i doing here?
i want him to stay arms length, just far enough to hear me talk. just close enough to smell my hair and skin and want me. i need him to want me. as much as i don't want him to love me, i want him to still want me.
it doesn't make sense i know.
but its not one sided.
all his hurt i want to feed on it, i want his stories to come to my ears too, i want to keep him to myself.
it is nothing short of ridiculous.


i have to stop thinking about it and just go with it.
it never works. but the few delicious moments it does seem worth it.
touch now, fall apart later. i have been through it enough to know ill survive at least.


sigh. unfinished thoughts.

15.7.11

dream

one of the best ive ever felt... colors were mostly browns and copper.

im in a large open building. it resembles and old mall, shaped in a star almost with tall ceilings and small doors leading to other rooms stemming from the large halls. im walking alone, and trying to find someone. im coming to a busy corner of the building, i see people milling around one of the doors. i look inside and see what appears to be a tiny museum, small items in cases of glass sit on white pedestals and people sit in chairs watching a large screen at the back of the room. i walk past this room and go further down the large hall, which is getting darker. now i have people beside me, walking near me. they feel familiar ans safe, so i never look back. we come to a door at the very end of the hallway and it is partially boarded up. slipping past the boards we enter a cool, darkish, large room. it is covered in cobwebs, but scattered all over are statues and figures, carved from stone or set in brass and copper. they are breathtaking, reminiscent of spanish and italian masters, i gasp and try not to touch them. the people i bring in are talking fast, weve just made a discovery, and it feels so good
[blank]
in and out i come back in and im sitting in a circle next to a man who seems to be a cowboy. hes dusty and strong, mustached and wearing boots and good leather. he smells amazing, like a man. we are sitting indian style in the center of a museum style lit room. low and soft. people are all around us, sitting or standing, some are drinking or smoking, talking. in front of this man and me there is a copper antique cup, sitting on a bed of brass beads in a bowl. its old and i feel pulled to it. scattered around near the others feet and legs are other antique pieces, but these are tarnished horribly with white and blue sludge. its weird. a man comes up and tries to touch the cup in front of us. i lean over and whisper to my cowboy "its their skin, their oils, they are ruining our things"... so the cowboy pulls his gun and start shooting everyone in the room. i try to yell and tell them to run, but none of them do.
[blank]
standing in front of an older empty house. from the street it looks sad, yellow and white. im with turkey and im not sure where he came from. we go into the house and start looking through all the rooms. hes standing very close to me and im just talking, asking him questions and telling him i have missed him in my life so much. im in a closet reaching up to the top shelf and pulling down boxes full of comforting things that belong to other people. boxes of yarn, sweaters, vases and tiny vials. they all smell slightly musky sweet. turkey takes my hand and i never look at him. i walk into the closet and push aside the hanging clothes and find myself in a small bedroom of sorts, with thick beige carpeting and no furniture. the room is dark and only lit by a small high window near the ceiling of the this tiny place. there is a white board nailed to the lower part of the back wall and something is written on it, but i cant read it. there is a hole in the center of the white board. it makes me nervous. turkey is telling me we need to find some coloring books. i agree.
[blank]

waking up is harder and harder.