This Room Is a Crypt

Everywhere: under every rug, behind every suitcase and box, there are reminders.

The safe box that it's been locked up in for six months now; the bag that it came home in; the paper I'm writing on -> which was where you left the note that I found. You were here when I found it, and you're here right now.

35 minutes away, and right behind me.

Tears won't come, because I forgot how to cry years ago. No, I think I remember, but maybe I'm just dry. All used up. Empty. There were so many spent on her, that I didn't have any left for you. Instead, I write.

Every blot of Sharpie ink is five tears I should have cried with you.

5 - Five for the time God stopped talking to you.
5 - Five for when He stopped talking to me.
10-Ten for when He died.
25 for when you somehow brought Him back from Hell, resurrected His almighty Ass, and I still couldn't hear Him.

Wouldn't it be funny if I did actually hear Him? Right now, whilst scribbling a letter to no one, to commemorate the passing of a relationship, while seated at a desk built by the grandfather who so made me want to hear God the way he did?!

/He's dead, too\


All of the "old guard" is passing. Everyone who knows how to hear Him is becoming impossible for me to understand anymore. All I'm left with is everything. Everything that reminds me of all the people who have passed out of my life.

Maybe we humans crave stability and permanence because it's the one thing we can never have without immediately dying a slow and painful death.

I remember learning in Sunday school that anyone who looked upon the face of God would die.

I guess God is stability and permanence.
I guess God moved to the safety of the suburbs.
He must have filled His house up with nice sofas, fancy TV's, and a beautifully ornate mirror...

...that He looked into for the first time in all of eternity...


*poof*

to be fair

to be fair, i changed too.

although it happened slowly, and almost imperceptibly: so that i didn’t notice it until it had already happened => like the rotating restaurant on the top floor of some high-rise buildings in big cities.

= you know the type: overpriced, overdressed, overemphasized. a turn is a turn right?

no, it’s not really. it’s just that most people don’t realize what has just happened to them while they were dining on octopus and veal, and tiny overpriced deserts => they completely missed the sun setting on their revolutions.

1!2!3! we’re moving! twisting!
don’t miss it: it’s the mist!
the fog of San Francisco has just been lifted while you were deciding which fork to use!

the planes hit the building and you dropped your cherry tomato.

“what was that?!”
“I don’t know, I think a server just dropped a tray full of someone else’s dinner!”
“oopsy, i know who’s not getting a tip tonight!”

*insert uncontrollably forced and self-absorbed laughter here*




Yeah, we missed it. and don’t worry, it’ll happen again. let’s watch the windows

malaise

why? who cares?


*sigh*

Life Lessons

I’m listening to my “melancholy” playlist in my Itunes right now, and “Let it Be” is the message from the Beatles to my broken heart. The crazy thing is that I actually nearly cried tonight. For the first time in ages, the floodgates almost opened up for something other than a cheesy chick-flick.

Am I shallow? I’ve seen a lot of things in my life. 911, the war in Iraq, hurricane Katrina, on and on, and I’ve never shed a tear. But I don’t think shallow is quite fair, although maybe I’m just unwilling to be that honest with myself. I actually think I’m suffering heartbreak at the hands of one of the last remaining attachments in my life.

Allow me to explain. I’ve spent the better part of two years detaching from everything in this temporal life, playing the role of the good little Buddhist. Self: let it go. National identity: let it go. Political identity: kick it out. Religious identity: it’s really surface and it’s really to maintain the family identity that I’m unwilling to buck.

If I may be honest, I’m not really scared about Hispanics or Blacks becoming the majority racial group in the U.S. Good for them. Good for us. Hooray if a Black man, or a Woman becomes the next president. I’ll be excited, because those things are all great for humanity. Beyond that, they’re great for the universe, and that’s who I really am.

You know what, though? I’m also just me. I’m also all of the things that I’ve chosen not to detach from. Buddha, if he was indeed preaching detachment, missed out on something very real, and very, very right. Life without suffering isn’t really life at all. Maybe he knew that. Maybe he knew that once a man or woman reaches a point of complete, or nearly complete detachment, here at long last, they would find that suffering is not something we need to escape, but rather, something to embrace. Is that not the message of the cross? The story of the Christ is one of a man so in love with, and attached to his people that he suffers supremely for their sake and at their very hands.

Sorry, I don’t mean to get too heavy-handed, but I’m having a bit of a Siddhartha moment right now. As I write that, I know it’s a joke that’s being played on me, because I don’t have the guts to really be an ascetic. So I live my asceticism in little doses, and vicariously through the lives of friends who are truly willing to give up the good things of life in search of truth and peace. But in all fairness, and in my spoiled American way, I’ve tried asceticism. I’ve also tried the same scaredy-cat version of excess, but in the end it’s the middle way that seems Right.

To love deeply because I choose to, that is Love, after all. I could detach from my family, remove myself from my career, my friends, my country, my identity in every way, but I’m not going to. I’d much rather soak the suffering in with open arms. Even though in some cases it will literally be a lifetime of suffering, and waiting with bated breath for those few seconds of bliss that will mean eternity to me and to those that shared that same suffering for so long.

To those of you who don’t “get” sports, who don’t understand why there’s so much fuss over a ball and a bunch of “jocks” on a playing field, at least know this: Buddha and Jesus didn’t teach me this lesson tonight. Tonight, my savior is a football team. In a few months, my savior will again be a baseball team that hasn’t won the big one in 100 years. Like I asked earlier, shallow? Silly maybe? I don’t know. To get so close, and yet remain so very far from those fleeting moments of perfection, that’s a lesson I don’t see myself ever realizing so personally from any sermon I’ll hear, any Sunday-School class, or any book I’ll ever read.

This is for every man, woman or child who has waited their entire life to see the Cubs get back to the World Series, and bring the Pennant back to the Windy City. This is for everyone who almost shed a tear when the Bears lost the Superbowl tonight. Heck, this is even for everyone who never gave up on the Red Sox.

Or, maybe you never gave up on something that actually “matters,” and you’re rolling your eyes at my callousness. Maybe you waited through the hard times in a marriage for a few fleeting moments of perfection decades after that glorious “I Do.” You could be holding out hope for a family member in a time of catastrophe, or a brother who has been fighting alcoholism, drug addiction, and altogether stupid decision-making for as long as you can remember. Or maybe you’re bearing the weight of a deep, dark secret, and just waiting for that glorious moment when you can scream it out from the podium to 50,000 pairs of ears, “THE WAIT IS OVER!” And the weight is lifted.

Don’t give up. Learn a lesson from the city of Chicago, and the fans of its favorite teams. Even if the Cubs carry a losing record into 2040, the Blackhawks never lift the cup, and The Bears never see a Superbowl again in all my life, I’ll save a seat for you in the bleachers. For at least tonight, try on our “Broad Shoulders” and see how they suit you. You don’t have to wear them alone. We don’t let go of hope. Don’t you

i might be-->a hippie

-->i might be not

i might be a rockstar-->i might be not

i might be a christian-->i might be not

and if i am, i might be an anglican-->i might be not


i might be a family man-->i might be not

i might be a conservative or progressive, liberal or traditionalist-->i might be not


i might be in love with myself-->i might be not

i want so badly to be in love with everyone else--> but i'm likely not


and with every breathevery step every day every beat of my strengthening/weakening heart and each step of my feet that breaks further the knees and the ears that hear every tick of the clock counting downtotheend of a life of adventureandpleasureandsadnessandboredomandlaughterand feastinganddrivingandcrying

and changing my mind! i change again every thought that ever was mine. every thought that i thought never/ever was mine.

i might be dying -->i might be not

and when that happens finally someday

i might be here-->i might be not

what makes me dance

you are the smoke that my lungs need
i am the addict and you're my nicotine.
you are the drink that makes me dance
i, the chicken and you the romance.

i know it sounds kind of wrong to compare you to a vice with a downside
but all i mean is you?re just what makes me feel alright.
and like my friend who needs a bit to make him free,
i’m not quite right without you here.

you’re what makes me me.

The Old Soul

my stomach has a spy in it, i can feel it. he’s working hard to outwit the current regime. he’s trying hard to defeat the American dream. he’s synonymous with the angry teen, you know the kind with growing pains and all the shades of green.

he begs to be fed black label and cigarettes, chocolate cake and steep debts.


fast forward a year-point-five: the spy’s gotten old and fat with a stitch in his side any time he tries to run, but it’s quite alright ‘cause his mission’s been completed

the old soul’s been broken and sucked out.
the old soul’s been broken and stretched out.
the old soul’s been broken

my stomach has a spy in it, i can feel it. he’s got nothing left to keep him lean. i’m crossing my fingers that he’s about to pass, i’m hedging my bets that his time has come at last. he’s kept me empty for quite some time now, like worms feeding, feeding on every tasty treat i try to eat. every last bite i long to eat.

fast forward a year-point-five: the spy’s gotten old and fat with a stitch in his side any time he tries to run, but it’s quite alright ‘cause his mission’s been completed

the old soul’s been broken and sucked out.
the old soul’s been broken and stretched out.
the old soul’s been broken

Don't sleep

my tongue was tied to the god that died on the last night of December 2005.

out with the old, in with the new. i always knew it would happen one day.

and when i settled, when i sat down and decided to live rather than love, and sleep rather than shove straight through the night ‘till there was no more to give, that’s when he died, and she moved in. that’s when i died and let the mud dry my skin.

i am an Indian reservation living casino to casino does she know?

how could she? how could he? where is he? ask. ask. ask. ask. ask. don’t sleep.

hHappy bBirthday

wWhat's with questions?

iI'm asking them now, iI guess, but iI don't understand really. iI used to be one big question, and then somehow, somewhen iI got over it. Plain and simply iI just became okay with living life instead of asking more of it.

Is it time to Ask again?

Is it time to Feel again?

iI've been dry for so long, and all iI want is to be open again.

gGod, if you're real, and even if yYou're not, sSpeak.

iI want to verbalize the emptiness, but iI can't.

or perhaps iI am doing just that through my silence.

but iI want to be prolific! iI want to be 6'4," dark haired, and 180lbs. but here iI sit on a strange bed in a strange place with a strange belly and a strange age.

where did iI come from? and how did iI get here?! this man is completely unrecognizable from the boy iI was not long ago.

black label and american spirits. who would have known?
gGod whispers, "iI knew."
but iI doubt it.

iI think hHe's just as suprised as iI am

hHappy bBirthday.