Category: Uncategorized

It’s Friday and where are you. I have gotten back in off of this bad evening of flirting with things that are not as lovely, or as real as you. You don’t believe me. I am all evil to you. The center cannot hold. I don’t ask you to live here again. I don’t ask anything. I just wish. Wish that the crook of your hips was mating with mine tonight. That you would push that way. That we could claim things in strange languages to one another.
I would like to awake in the morning and go to Publix and buy cold cuts and make a you a fucking sandwich. That would be a dream, but my Saturday won’t have that. Not any more.
I loved you through those cold cuts. I loved you through my meanness. I am sorry about that. I collected 4 leaf clovers for you. I am here.
I have no other dreams. Just that you will say you love me, let’s try again. I wanted to/ and still want to marry you, G. I have never been so sure in my life.

It is at the end of the day when I tend to get sad if I am going to get sad. It’s odd. I know I used to be such a cranky thing when I got home, I was so stressed, but it is at this time of the day that I miss you the most. Knowing that I am going home to an empty house isn’t always the most appealing thing. Sure, I will go out and see friends and do things, but ultimately I will return to that empty house. I am sitting here listening to moderately sad songs and waiting for the Peach Buzz to be done.
I almost texted you to ask what you were up to, if you were in town, if you wanted to get dinner or see a movie, but alas I knew it wouldn’t happen. I would receive the same answer that I’ve always received: it hasn’t been enough time, it would be too hard. I know, and I guess I agree. I get more and more settled every day, but tonight that part that can only be calmed by you is getting stirred up, no matter how hard I try to keep it in check. I will figure it out though.
I hope you have/had a good weekend. Heck, maybe we will even run into each other.

It was a dream, or was it? Last night or this morning? And we are at an inn, with old-timey rooms, large windows, with window sheers lightly blowing – near the beach.
You spoke and what you spoke was not completely understood or even heard, the gist of which was that you had gone to the beach with the other man. You said it was a mistake. I understood what you said, but not what you meant. What was a mistake? Going to the beach with him? Breaking up with me? Being there at that time?
And then I find myself on the beach with Gates, she’s not pregnant, in a bathing suit and big hat, sunglasses. We lay there silently for a while until I come in to find you.
At first you are not there and then you are, coming out of the shower, I guess, naked: pert and dark nipples, pale breast, tan-lined, showing off your summer tan, a certain glow, a small mound of dark hair between your legs, your belly smooth descending toward that mound, hips pronounced, legs slender and strong. I notice the scar on your knee. I notice no other blemishes. You come to me and press yourself against me in a hug, breast pressed hard between us. We lightly kiss. Then you push away, sit on a chair, and start putting on pantyhose.
I begin to violently sob, and just ask, Why?” over and over again. I ask why we can’t be again, what happened? You finally say that you do not even think of “us” anymore – it’s only when I force you too and you fake it then. Then you say, “turn around,” and I do. You are standing there and the hose have turned to fins. You say, “I love you,” and then float out the window. I run after only to get to the window just in time to see your tail submerge beneath the waves.
Epilogue:
I was a marooned sailor once, who fell in love with a mermaid on the island, and we lived there happily together until the rescue helicopters came and took me away, and she said she couldn’t go. And I saw her getting smaller and smaller in the water just off shore as we rose, until finally she I couldn’t see her anymore.
I live by the ocean and stare at the sea that I cannot bear to go back on. I talk to the water at night. At times I see things I cannot explain. I I still wish that mermaid would swim back to me.
G, I know this is all hokey, but sometimes dreams are that way.
Was playing: Strange Lands by Hudson Bell

A short song loop entry (MP3)

Why do you not pray anymore? Once you sat on the porch before you moved out and forced me to pray with you, I think ostensibly, that you and I would make through all of the moving out and strife, I think we both thought at that time that it would mean “together.” I guess God works in mysterious ways though. I suppose he could still surprise us again.
I feel like I am becoming a novelty here though, just sweet and kind but with no real power in this situation anymore. I hope your new romance is making you steadily more happy. God knows the one with me didn’t have any power to produce happiness for too long. Take care, G. You will be happy.
Was playing: Your Ex-Lover Is Dead by Stars

Yes things happened with me and Jenny, and it just so happens that Liz gets her hair cut at the same place where Jenny gets her hair cut, and Tom does, and I have come clean with Tom about it all, and I am sure he has talked with Liz, and since Liz is a gossip hound (not that I don’t like her, or gossip for that matter) I am sure it made its way back to you. We all make mistakes and this was another of mine, but in some strange way, I think it has ended up helping me. She has become desperate and a little crazy at times as I have steadily extracted myself from the situation. When I have had to deal with that drama, I have realized how you must have felt at times, especially during the period after you moved out when I was so sad and desperate myself. I am trying to be her friend, and she keeps writing these things about me, and I am afraid that we might not be able to be friends at all, at least not right now, which makes me a little sad, but may be the way things have to be.
I have dated and been around others since we split as well. It has been good, with much less drama than the Jenny situation, but with each person it just hasn’t felt right. I have searched my brain for what is off-kilter and the only thing I can come up with is that these women are not you. I realize that is not fair to these women, or to you for that matter, but you are the yardstick by which I measure things right now. There might be someone else who comes in and blows my doors off like you did one day, someone who makes all other yardsticks useless like you did, but that hasn’t happened yet.
I am sure that you wish at times that I would stop pining about you like this. At times, I wish I would too. I have tried everything I, or my therapist, knows how to do, and you still are there.
At the end of every day, I roll over to where you used to sleep beside me. I embrace a pillow, and, yes, I still pray. Tonight I will pray for the heavy heart you mentioned today. I used to pray for God to see a way for you to come back to me, now I just pray that he will show you a path to happiness and light. I pray for other things and people as well, but you are generally the first on the list. I ask Him to lift you up, and sometimes I ask him to fill your sleeping heart with the love that I still have for you. I hope while dreaming you feel it sometimes.

There are too many Toyota 4 Runners of a similar color in this town. Behind the wheel of each could be you. What would you be doing in Buckhead at 2 PM on a Tuesday afternoon? It doesn’t matter, it could still be you. Maybe school got out early and you went to the mall, or to buy a new mattress, or to get a coffee, maybe you are sleepy and lost your way on the way back home. And in the neighborhood, there are at least 24 trucks of a similar age and color as yours, and they drive past the house tormenting me. I try as hard as I can to catch the driver’s face as they pass by. There are too many of these trucks, but only one that is yours. I know yours when it is sitting in your driveway, but outside of that it is hard to tell. There’s no Elvis sticker, the tell-tale sign. The only distinguishing mark, if it still exists, is the Elvis air freshener that hangs from the rearview. Sometimes, I look. I stare hard. Is it you? I will have to try harder. I cannot tell. What does your truck look like? What do you look like anymore? How does your heart feel? And, is the engine running fine? Let us take a ride again one day.

Tonight, during 30 minutes at the Local, both Cat Power’s Islands and Tom Petty’s Alright for Now played on the ipod mix. Little pieces of you are scattered throughout my universe.

Because the elevator arrived before the ten count, and because I scored 150 on one word game dated 21 June 2003, and over 15000 in the next, and more than 6000 on the next, and because the cigarette butt evenly split the heating grate and fell to the ductwork below, and because I caught all of the lights on Dekalb Avenue, with no stops, all the way home, and because I did the crossword in under 10 minutes, and maybe because I am reading Ovid’s Metamporphoses… I am changing and you are coming back… right?

About all I have watched on TV since August has been sports. It allows me to do other things while it is on. I can read write. I occasionally watch PBS and only on rare occasion a movie (I don’t subscribe to Netflix anymore, financial concerns and the lack of an adequate and enjoyable movie-watching partner caused that). At first, I couldn’t bring myself to watch the shows that we used to watch together. I was thankful that you didn’t like sports, because it was something that was just mine, something that I could enjoy more now that you aren’t around. I feel now as if it has been a bit of sports overdose. Today was Super Bowl Sunday and I went over to Scott and Morgan’s to watch it projected onto a large wall in their living room. I am glad the Steelers won, I have always been a passive fan. As with all once-annual events though, it has me measuring out my time. I can’t remember what we did on Super Bowl last year, but I remember one year going over to Julie’s house. It was the year of the infamous nipple slip – two years ago. I remember those times being fun and trying at the same time. I don’t really think either one of us felt like we really fit in there, and because of that feeling we were as one. It felt nice, although now I don’t really know if I should have chosen to cut people up so much. Ultimately I was only calling attention to my own deficiencies.
I guess these once annual events make me think about all that has happened. Where we are now. The joy, the sorrow and the pain. I enjoy my privacy now. I even enjoy my alone time. I enjoy controlling what I am going to do on most nights as well. I still miss you though. I still am so lonely some of the time. As I mentioned in another post, there is still this darkened cavern within me that once was filled with light and warmth. Granted, there are points of light inside of me that you don’t even know about since they have come about since the breakup. They have little to do with you being in or out of my life, but more to do with the kick-in-the-ass that the breakup was to me, a tidal force pushing me to become a better man. Yes, I still miss you, especially on Sunday nights like this. Ultimately sports can get me only so far. Nothing was ever simpler than the good night with you on the sofa, TV on, mind at ease, and your feet in my lap. That’s the origin of loneliness and love.