Daybreak, The Inevitable

A jumble of tossed sheets and limbs in the very briefest of fresh daylight. From afar, we would have looked like a mess. Who are we kidding, we were a mess.

I lay there, eyes still closed, knowing this would end soon. I felt you knew it too - we were both logical and strong, but also hopeful. After all, this was the second run at things, and I learn from my mistakes; I grow, I take note, I try harder, I endure less shit.

You stirred first, making that noise that I adore; a half groan, half purr. From under the covers, I reached out and stroked your shoulder, which encouraged a smile, heavy with slumber. Still, your eyes stayed closed.

I didn't have the heart to end it, but thankfully you did. As we had, five years earlier, it was matter of fact, and we said our goodbyes. We were a mess of incompatible schedules, emotional distance, and lack of fuel. And that's it really, the fuel.

Two people can't share early morning purrs and light touches forever. Relationships don't run on four dates and two nights of sex per month. You couldn't stay with my pensiveness - that shine wanes after a few months. No fuel. Slowly, inevitably, we rolled to a halt. But there were moments.

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Los Campesinos - The Sea Is A Good Place To Think of The Future

Ending Note: Second tries are worth the effort. Always.

Out Of The Ordinary, But Not For We

Near misses and chance run ins tend to be our M.O.

We've never really took to making plans, executing them, and having a friendship as other do. That's the magic, that's the key.

I turned around, and there you were, with a look on your face that seemed devoid of surprise; as if you had planned the whole thing. The words I had been listening to dropped to the wayside, the producer's words trailing off as she noticed my shift in interest. I didn't smile. You just kept your gaze, playful and happy. With an unheard gunshot, we took steps forward, meeting in the middle - it was like a movie. How ironic considering the film set around us.

I don't remember thinking anything in particular. Emotions swirled like a tempest in slow motion: confusion, excitement...joy.

Our embrace felt like forever.

We made plans, exchanged schedules and appointments that we would never keep, but released these with neither malice or slight in intention. We simply did what felt natural, what we bring out in one another whenever in proximity. This is how we interact. This is what it is to care about each other. This is our magic.

It wasn't a movie. This, isn't a movie. Neither of us is the protagonist, and none of the tried and true relationships we've watched matches here - like a shoe on the wrong foot, always wrong. And I love its broken form. Our disjointed relationship.

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Radical Face - Ghost Towns

Ending Note: Happiness takes many forms, and smiles are usually lies.

Memories of Journeys Through The Mission

(photo)


I've been racing myself down to the bottom of a highball glass for the better part of the new year, and seem to be holding my own; first place finishes become tame after you've broken the tape a few times over, and my record remains pretty strongly in the green. Every so often, I get out the door, to see a familiar face at another race, to eat bad Mexican food, and go for a run, just to feel a hurried, deep burning in the chest. Around a mile in, it feels like a shot of Wild Turkey followed up with a sharp slap from a wordy broad that can't take a compliment.

In the Mission the other night, I stepped out from a horrible taqueria, finding my equilibrium hidden behind a swallow of vomit, and lazily stared out at the drunk hipsters littering the sidewalk. Just a few blocks over, near five years ago, you waved me away, your form bent over into the entry of Andalu. My urge to care for your drunkenly ill state fought the knowledge in my head that you wanted your dignity more than my hand holding back your hair. So I turned, and took a few steps towards the streets, and did the right thing.

Years of, poignant, although sporadic, interaction has led to a number of warm and fuzzy shared moments, but probably none as crudely banal as that night. Don't get me wrong, that night, is one of the most memorable of our interactions, despite the blood alcohol level of the both of us - and that's what silhouettes it among my history with you.

Transfixed gazes of longing and heavy words pounding behind walls of respect and morality - that's us most of the time. In the end, these words held that night, and I said goodnight, leaving you with your sweet, vomit laced breath, your undershirt still clinging to your chest, my hands struggling to stay at your back.

That's the battle, the fight. It's easy to indulge, to follow desire down a well of booze, sex, and full abandon. You'll hit bottom, breaking the taut surface of pleasure and pain, and relish in the floating epidural of euphoria, and for a bit, you'll be content. 

Eventually, you'll begin to drown. Emotions and self-worth will fill your lungs, and your mind will strain against panic as it searched for meaning in the darkness. You're blind, and you've brought yourself here, to the bottom of this pit. 

I'm a sprinter - I've no spirit or stamina for the long haul. That's why you and I have lasted as long as we have; our temporary lapses, the bending without breaking, it's held us together and kept us apart. We're smarter than we lead on, and stupid as shit.

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Jeff Buckley - Lover, You Should've Come Over

Ending Note: I used to swim the 50m Free and Breast.

Sidestep, Sidestep.

I swear, this isn't due to the new year. I don't believe in resolutions. I don't let the calendar dictate when I make changes outside of helping to keep track of time. Stupid daylight savings.

I've always written blogs (yes, there were others before this) based on the ones I read. I don't keep up with the digital world enough to know what exactly is hip or cool; entertainment has always been an attempt, but remains a poor template for what I can write.

What I can write has always been much more of an organic, romantic form that seems to find its stride when I have a precise audience. Gloves off, I've written best when there was a girlie I wanted to share with. Melodramatic, but true.

I'll try my best to stay true to the origins of this blog though; a chapter based collection of ideas and stories that point forward, towards the positive, even with the many detours and backpedaling that comes with every journey. 

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The Knack - My Sharona

Ending Note: Progress is tricky.

2012, An Uncertain Starting Point

Whew.

An amazingly potent cold, the holidays, a trip halfway across the country, and the new year's arrival.

Quite the buildup to an inspirational post fraught with shock and awe. Sorry folks, not going to happen...

Instead, some geometric philanthropy.

I've mention before the circles that make up my social world, and my comfort zone for overlapping, and I've just recently decided on an amendment.

I've chosen to tighten the belt and shrink my circles a bit more, to cut the fat, and simplify. Too many colors and lines tend to drag me away from the logical categorization of my friends, and well, I don't want to.

Actually, that's just it - I don't want to. I don't want to deal with the ambiguous and unpredictable. I'd rather not have grey and tepid. This is me, crabwalking backwards.

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Eminem - Kim

Ending Note: Don't worry, the drama will pass.

Gettin' Ill, Gettin' Merry, Gettin' Squirrely

Been sick.

And the holiday mess is in full swing.

Update possibly this weekend.

For now, enjoy:

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The Knife - Heartbeats

Ending Note: Drive safe folks.

Fuzzy Role Models

I should go to bed, but will post instead.

See what I did there? I rhymed. 

Went to catch a showing of The Muppets with Red last week, and was amazingly entertained – and not “amazingly” in such as I was surprised to be entertained, but my level of being entertained was amazing. Keep up folks, I can’t waste web space explaining everything for you.

Thought about fuzzy, multi-colored puppets for the following two days, and came to the conclusion that the Muppets are a great source of open minded motivation towards multiculturalism.

There’s a green frog that plays protagonist. Blue weirdo married to a chicken. Pink backup singers to a purple caveman rhasta. And flying penguins. Lots of flying penguins.

In the Muppet world, there is no color, national, ethnic, or even species based division. Their world is built on music, fun, and friendship. They teach us and make us laugh.

This may have been the most fortunate time for them to make a comeback.

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Odessa Chen - Deer Perspectives

Ending Note: Mahna Mahna