Eleven twenty-eight at night, central time, on January thirty-first, two-thousand and twelve. There's clearly a reason we abbreviate dates and times (and I, far too lax in grammatical form at present, am sure I've botched the full form in one way or another). Yet, saying it slow - typing it even slower on my phone - has a certain appeal. There is an almost poetic calming of the mimd that occurs when we pause to fully consider the date and time, without attaching to them any anxiety or preconceived notions based on our daily tasks and goals. Today simply becomes a day, in a year, in a long string of years, that has more to do with our short blip of existence in the vast universe than anything else.
Yes, I am waxing philosophical. And yes, precursor to reading that long-hand date aloud I imagined hearing "Captain's log, stardate..." in Patrick Stewart's velvety voice. Say what you will, but the truth is, its good for the soul to remember just how infinitely expansive the universe is, how incredibliy small we seem, yet how inseparably linked we are.
So, now marks the end of this month's voyage here on earth. Humankind continues to amaze and perplex itself. Much of the rest of the universe continues to generally ignore us - or speak to us in ways we choose to ignore right back. Earth soldiers on, despite our heavy weight. Flora and fauna persevere. And in galaxies, far beyond our scope of reality, stars are born...then die.
Things here have been a steady mix of improving strengths and conquering demons. Small demons, like self-criticism, defeatist attitudes, and an uncanny ability to eat oneself silly when faced with emotional overload. Luckily, all of those bitter things are a taste familiar to my tongue, and I've learned to stare them down. Yup, its been a week, and a tough one at that. Tough in terms of resolve, but where I've let myself indulge in some respects, I've had iron will in other, far more important areas. Few words spoken out of line, and none spoken or written in areas where weakness might have me slip. Instead, my time these days is spent between coding tutorials, photography books, and the strings of my guitar. Actually, not my guitar - a guitar I've been babysitting for my mum's friend for a few years now. Its an old Yamaha, nothing overly impressive, but its got a sound that fits the echo of my heart these days, so I've left my guitar to sit lonely in the corner in exchange for unfamiliar strings. Metaphor? Perhaps. But there is little to be done about a changing of hands and the subtle twists a heart makes when it picks itself up from a bad fall.
Generally, I'm content. It's a bit hollow - I still have trouble looking around my room, looking at my phone, catching myself remembering how close I came to something so damn good. Feeling a little crazy sometimes, because of the way things worked out and the fact that there are only really a handful of people who know just how close we were. And none as much as he and I. Losing a best friend is the fuckin pits. No matter how kind I am to myself, or how much I bury myself in time with friends/family or doing the things I love in my free time, there's still this second version of me, walking just a step or two behind, living a half-life in which things are what they could have been. In time, that's bound to pass, I'm sure. I just...wish.
Anyway, I've been recording myself singing and playing the guitar. Sooner or later I put something up here...for now though its just good practice, and good reference to see how much my vocal habits have changed since show choir.
Of course, I'm catching up on Dexter too. I was sucked in two years ago, but haven't seen much since. In the past week I've watched season 4 and really enjoyed it. Kudos to Michael C. Hall (LOVED him in Six Feet Under as well) and John Lithgow (yea, I totally watched 3rd Rock from the Sun) for playing off of each other so well, and being incredible actors overall.
As always, there's a song to my day. Today (a rather momentous day in my small world of baby steps that lead to standing apart from a dream that's been dear to my heart for longer than I care to admit), I find myself drawn yet again to the hauntingly simple and sweet stylings of Geri X, an artist from the Tampa Bay area. For its lyrics, gentle guitar accompaniment, and subtle soul, I give you Seven of Spades by Geri X.
And once that's said and done, the follow up is Paint Yourself Crazy, also by Geri X.
Had a dream last night that I watched a meteor fall. I was in a park, in Wisconsin, getting ready to meet Dustin. We were talking on the phone when I noticed a streak of light in the sky getting larger, closer. It reached out of the distance, all at once, yet in slow motion...burning blue - the size of a 1 story building. I happened to be standing by a pool, so when it hit, I jumped in and huddled under water as the blast and burning debris flew above and churned the water around me.
Somehow I managed to hold my breath long enough to survive, and when I emerged, everything had changed, yet nothing looked terribly different. There was a huge crowd forming, and I began to walk around and listen to neighborhood kids as they described what they had seen. My phone survived, as only it could in a dream, so I began to take video of everything. The last thing I remember is taking video of a boy and his sister. He had named the meteorite Orion's Foot because of where it had fallen from. He had tracked it in his telescope.
My hand,
In search of yours
Reaches out
Touches nothing.
Touches what it can;
A blanket, a pillow,
Poreclin, moist and cool -
Stark in contrast
With the near scalding water
Of this near nightly tub.
But these things
Are breathless.
No take, all give,
And what softness they lend,
Your rough fingers lacked.
What tenderness lived -
There in your far-off palms -
Will not be matched
In your inanimately filled absence.
So out reaches
My hand,
Searching
(without my full consent).
There lies thin a haze over this sleepy Christian city, and I, a misfit child of some other, less-descript non-dogma, sit content amidst the halflights that will not dim. Here, on the edge of consumerist havens, brick facades litter my birds eye view, patches in an incomplete verticle quilt. But up, up a few miles, past the feeble glow of suburbia, past the steady trail of air traffic flowing reassuringly from the South, crisp winter skies give way to vastness.
Numb fingers make slow and steady work of voicing the wordless healing of sensitive vitals, but peaceful reflection amongst stars feeds the soul unsparingly. This moment knows little of past events; last year's squabbles, or poignant dreams. This place remains safe from intrusion...no jarring memories of what could be or what has. Simple, clear, and barely even a passing notion of wishing for you here.
Last years trials were somewhat other than simply personal, and as such I made a choice to take a step back from this blog for a while. I made a commitment to air out as little laundry as possible here, at least as it concerned others, and I'm happy to have stuck to that resolve. This year marks the beginning of a new era for me. It had to start out a bit differently than planned for me to fully see where I was, and I'm still pretty uncertain about exactly where I'm headed, but the past two weeks have given me an almost entirely foreign (until now) insight into where I am. Its a huge work in progress, but I think I'm learning something big - how to feel comfortable in my own damn skin. Years I've spent pretending...raging, whining, crying, smiling, dancing, and generally waiting for something to click. And you know what? It never did.
What did happen, however, was something between relaxing into a comfortable dream, and waking up to realize that it simply doesn't matter. I am this, and I may not be anyone's ideal - hell, I'm not even my own - but that's fine. This work in progress is messy and beautiful, and the people who see me clearly get it & love me greatly without being afraid of any of the chaos, or trying to change even the slightest molecule of my wild (yet somehow altogether mellow) energetic mess. They stand by, let our atoms mingle, share stories, smiles and tears, and then continue on, knowing we'll share it all again soon.
I'm not always that confident, and one of my greatest wishes is that I will develop that skill. To trust that those around me will stay near. I've leant my heart out and had it put back prematurely a few too many times not to be a little concerned in that department. Maybe next year I'll be able to report better news there. I just hope that the man who starts to mend that organ will stick around in earnest, long enough to see the job through.
And there it is...can you tell I stepped inside? Warmer hands, warmer heart...and much more vocal. Well, its a lovely night, in any case, and I'm happy to be crawling into a big warm bed - one that for now at least, I get to keep entirely to myself.
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