pandemic diaries: 1145p 10 april 2010

this being apart shit.

this fucking shit is tearing my body apart
raking my flesh
scissoring my veins
shredding my bones…

it is rendering me jellied,
puddled.

my body knows this feeling
this d e p r e s s i o n.
it isn’t the right time for it not like this.
all of this laying around and doing nothing
AND BEING TOLD ITS OKAY.
this is what’s different.
i’m not tired i am active. alert. pointy.
with no release.
no way to let go.
no way to succumb.

So I smoke.

and i eat.

and i smoke.

and I have a rich fantasy life and when I do venture out it is with
dire regard
like a fox I am so
aware.
I crave human interaction I crave
I crave.
i need
voice. a face.
a touch .

this is tearing me apart.

Backyard, frontyard dogs. 912a, 26 january, 2020

Logan and Po’boy are having some conversation on the other side of the street.
A fairly heated discussion, to be sure, though not necessarily escalating into argument territory.

Logan, still making his case as the older boy remains quiet, perhaps checking the bushes for bones, (I don’t know, I’m all the way back here, how could I see?) mouthy and insistent, bright and bold. His strategy works; Po’boy interjects a few half-hearted *woofs* then a few more, weaker, then quiets.

The neighborhood is quiet, save for the low hum of the recycling plant on the edge of the city, varied bird calls (the only one I know for sure is the crow atop the tree two yards over), and a few passing cars.

Po’boy renews his half of the conversation with confidence and vigor, however, Logan is nowhere to be heard.

Five more inquisitive barks from Po’boy, then three more.
Then silence.

To Be Without You (with apologies to Ryan Adams) 17 january, 2020

It’s so hard to be without you (yes it is)
Lying in the bed, you are so much to be without (dear gods more than any one, still)
Rattles in my head that empty drum filled with doubt (not so much doubt, anymore. No.)
Everything you lose, the wisdom will find its way out (this. this. this.)
Every night is lonesome and is longer than before (Not every night. And no.)
Nothing really matters anymore (There are things that really, really do.)

It’s so hard to be without you
Used to feel so angry and now only I feel humble (yes but the timing. not angry anymore. free.)
Stinging from the storm inside my ribs where it thunders (and inside my skull)
Nothing left to say or really even wonder (so much left to say! so much left to wonder, to discover.)
We are like a book and every page is so torn (some can be mended. Some discarded. Some set ablaze.)
Nothing really matters anymore (not in that desperate, urgent way. no.)

It’s so hard not to call you (I listen to your voicemails to me. Mine to you. You saved them.)
Thunder’s in my bones out in the streets where I first saw you (the wind’s been blowing like mad)
When everything was new and colorful, it’s gotten darker (richer, bolder, deeper)
Every day’s a lesson, things were brighter before (every day’s a lesson, things are clearer now)
Nothing really matters anymore (the things that do are still here)

It’s so hard to be without you (it will never be easy)
Everyday I find another little thread of silver (all the better to color purple)
Waiting for me when I wake some place on the pillow
And then I see the empty space beside me and remember
I feel empty, I feel tired, I feel worn (I feel good. I feel alive. I feel ready.)
Nothing really matters anymore (Everything matters.)

(I advise getting a little out of your head, listen to the music, and read along. that’s how I wrote it.)