My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

I formulate infinity stored deep inside of me…

Tired

June 21st, 2011 | Category: Life

I’m tired and lost and alone, and I’m scared. I’m not ashamed to say so. I miss her so much, so much She’s somewhere else and doesn’t want me… I just, she’s my best, was, I guess, my beautiful love, she was going to be the woman I finally asked to marry me. I screwed everything up, fucked it all up so badly. I didn’t mean to, but every fuck up piece of shit who gets left for someone better says that.

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And now…

June 18th, 2011 | Category: Life

New glasses

June 13th, 2011 | Category: Life

Me and my new glasses, and a black eye

I don’t have anything particularly interesting to write. I got new glasses, aside from my fucked up eye, I think the glasses are kind of fetching.

My head’s somewhere else, I have like, five posts started and unfinished, one pushing a thousand words. I just can’t finish any of them. Can’t, won’t, don’t feel like it, something along one of those limes.

Maybe I’ll post my last three tattoos later. Maybe. Eventually. Of course.

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Thinking about someone

June 12th, 2011 | Category: Life

I’m thinking about someone, I can’t sleep. It’s like part of me is somewhere else, and I want to be there, in that place, so I don’t have this empty feeling in my chest.

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Bouncing around

June 11th, 2011 | Category: Life

I’m still pretty scattered, but I really am trying to post every-day and if I keep doing that, at some point, I’ll write something pretty. So, that’s the plan.

Yesterday, I started a big project, well, I made Lauren, my assistant, start it. A few years ago I got lazy and quit tagging my blog posts, really, my assistant, Sarah, used to tag them and when she retired, I didn’t keep it up. Part of it was, I just missed her, and doing the tags or making someone else do them, that just made me miss her more. So, the tagging stopped. Yes, an assistant’s just an employee, but the good ones, they do get really important. I miss them when they go, there’s a real sense of loss, another person who goes. Sarah was around when my thumb quit working and I could hardly type, hardly talk to anyone, before the NeuroSwitch. People weren’t really around anyway. Sarah was around though, so we’d go to lunch, at night we’d go to the bar, we’d alphabet conversations. She was good with the alphabet and smart to talk with, so she kept me sane when I really needed it. Sometimes, sitting at the bar, with a vodka tonic and ten dollars worth of Elliott Smith in the jukebox, I’d alphabet flash stories that she’d type up after. She was around for twenty-ish tattoos. She stopped me from dying once. She was around when I really needed someone to be around. A fix for a fix, but we were close and had fun. So, yeah, when she left, the tagging stopped.

Anyway, we’re tagging again, Lauren’s off to a spectacular start. Tonight, I go for another tattoo, and then and then and then…

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Screw things up

June 10th, 2011 | Category: Life

I screw things up that I don’t mean to screw up, I lose the people most important to me. I get scared of losing before I actually lose, it’s such a shitty part of me. It’s just so fucking stupid.

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The last post

June 09th, 2011 | Category: Life,Opinions,Thoughts on Music

The last post, that weird italic paragraph, I found a new Nirvana song that brought that into existence. I was listening to this song, The Other Improv (Demo), off their With the Lights Out collection, and it just sort of took over the post. It’s a fun song, one of few I’ve never heard. Their playing, the music sounds done, but the lyrics, it sounds like Kurt’s just making most of them up as he goes. Lots of Nirvana songs seemingly don’t make sense, but the lyrics are written and set, and if you take them apart you see the parts with meaning. Kurt liked mixing sense with nonsense, the nonsense often being the hooky, pop sounding parts that rhyme.  With The Other Improv, you hear he has the general idea of the song in his head, but he’s making up most of the lyrics on the spot. It was fun just hearing him create a song rather than perform something that’s already created.

I’m thinking about Monica, so I just started writing flash without thinking about anything but the words stumbling out of my head and posting it unfiltered. I saw her, it didn’t go right, I got scared of what she was saying, I reacted wrong. I don’t want this, I love her so much, so fucking much. I can’t fuckin’ sleep. God, I just want to go home. It’s like half of me is always someplace else, my head is never completely anywhere, with anyone. It’s like I’m in this car, drinking down some dirt road, and no matter how far I drive, the road just keeps going and I can’t go home. I’m in this bad dream that doesn’t stop when wake up.

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Blood and Glass

June 09th, 2011 | Category: Life

I’ve never written about it here, but ever since I was fifteen, after reading The Catcher in the Rye, I’ve had this… recurring want to put my fist through glass windows. Whenever I get so lost, so frustrated, I imagine going through the house and putting my fist through every single window. We’ve never had a garage like Holden Caulfield. I imagine the glass cutting my skin, digging into my knuckles, tearing veins, arteries. That pain would drown out every thought in my head. My head’s such a disaster.

He just loves her. he loves her , when he looks at her, time stops. She goes and goes and goes, and time goes and goes and goes, until everything’s gone and gone and gone. He’s just rambling now, waiting for sleep and bad dreams.He’s just rambling so that he’s not thinking about her, but that’s wrong, he’s rambling about her, so he’s not not thinking about her. He’s never not thinking about her. She’s somewhere else, he just wants her close, maybe the rambling makes her close. It does it does, a little a little, not enough. Not enough. At night, not enough.

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Not feeling amazing

June 06th, 2011 | Category: Life

So, a few weeks ago, I had some sinus surgery. This did not help me, physically or psychologically. I was pretty hazy on Demerol leaving the hospital, the kind of hazy that produces thoughts like, “What if I’ve died and this is actually Hell?” For minutes at a time these thoughts seem completely true. Then, “No, shut up, don’t be stupid. You’re breathing, you’re not dead.” I remember all the nurses, Lauren (my assistant), even the parking valets, they’re all talking about how “tough” I am. They said, “Mike’s so tough.” They said,  “Nobody’s tougher than Mike.” I never feel tough, I was busy arguing with myself whether or not I was dead and in Hell. I felt tiny, scared, old. I think people mistake quiet for tough. I’m not tough, in my head, I’m not tough. I wanted to go right back to my little room, have more Demerol and forget the pain in my face, all the scared in my heart. Though, the drugs, that’s just a fix for a fix. Drugs, liquor, either/or, they’re just a fake feeling of warm, safe, the pretend versions of a love’s touch, kiss, warm brown eyes to tell you you’re not alone. Those are real fixes, for me anyways. That’s all I ever want.

I’m still not me yet, I’m on some anti-biotics that are making me feel sick, which makes me nervous. My head’s a mess. I’ve been trying to hold it together for weeks, and obviously not.

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I am

June 05th, 2011 | Category: Life,Random Thought

I am creative.

I am smart.

I am a writer.

I am dark.

I am damaged.

I am haunted.

I am fun.

I am sad.

I am a good person who has done bad things.

I am loving.

I am kind.

I am alone.

I am better than breaking.

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