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Showing posts with label lonliness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lonliness. Show all posts
Apr 20, 2013
Dec 27, 2012
girl, your voice breaks my heart...
.
the desperation is overwhelming. i know it inside and out. how many years? even as a young girl? how many silly evenings did i spend wishing on the first star for a way out? and now, with no parents to run from, i still identify with this eagerness. i spent too many years inside such hunger.
but now i live in a city. i know how to wait tables. there's nothing to run from these days. i can write poems in the evenings and dream in my lonely hours of hands in my hair, a man that might understand me or, at least, a song like this. i can read whatever terrible philosophy finds me. i can curl up beneath a blanket i made with my own two hands. just me and my crochet hook and a bit of yarn, just like my mama, just like my daddy. where the fuck did those two go? oh yeah, one died and the other decided it wasn't worth the trouble. life. and so i listen to this song and ache. people i haven't seen in a decade leave messages on my phone and my eyes sting with tears. but that was a different life. i'm not that little girl anymore. i'm not a little girl at all. i'm 32 years old. i'm grown. i've been thrown against the wall and come face to face with some shit that was way before its' due. and i'm not mad about it, just please attempt some understanding... i can't be younger than i am. i can't be 32 in certain ways. in certain ways, i'm so much older than that. how old were you when your mother died? did you have a stable job? did you have a spouse? did you lose a spouse? did you have children? were they grown? were they in college? see, when i was in college i was taking care of my dad. he's a quadriplegic. i would go to class and then race home to cook dinner, do the laundry and be a confidant. on the weekends, sometimes, i'd paint pictures that were sold in a gallery in san francisco. people only saw the paintings. they didn't see what went on behind them. i wasn't a good enough artist at that point. i didn't know how to make it apparent. i didn't want to. i've spent alot of years feeling very alone and very ashamed.
but not anymore. and no matter. it's just that i love this song. and while it plays i crave the same shit she sings of... that goddamn ache, that reprieve. just put your hands in my hair, kiss me hard and make me feel like none of this matters, that i am somewhere else...
....
at intervals, i feel like one big gaping wound....
or one big block of ice.
does it matter which? i still need your mouth. i still need your hands. i am still a human being, equipped with all the tawdry longings and secrets that most possess, and i still want a strong arm around my shoulder.
i play the old tunes that our parents put on the stereo when we were children. my heart aches something awful. not for what might have been but for what is. and in spite of how i feel tonight, i love us kids with such ferocity. they don't see it but we have been made so much more beautiful because of what we've come through, dear brother and sister. the task is for us to see it. and then, to believe it.
;)
.
the desperation is overwhelming. i know it inside and out. how many years? even as a young girl? how many silly evenings did i spend wishing on the first star for a way out? and now, with no parents to run from, i still identify with this eagerness. i spent too many years inside such hunger.
but now i live in a city. i know how to wait tables. there's nothing to run from these days. i can write poems in the evenings and dream in my lonely hours of hands in my hair, a man that might understand me or, at least, a song like this. i can read whatever terrible philosophy finds me. i can curl up beneath a blanket i made with my own two hands. just me and my crochet hook and a bit of yarn, just like my mama, just like my daddy. where the fuck did those two go? oh yeah, one died and the other decided it wasn't worth the trouble. life. and so i listen to this song and ache. people i haven't seen in a decade leave messages on my phone and my eyes sting with tears. but that was a different life. i'm not that little girl anymore. i'm not a little girl at all. i'm 32 years old. i'm grown. i've been thrown against the wall and come face to face with some shit that was way before its' due. and i'm not mad about it, just please attempt some understanding... i can't be younger than i am. i can't be 32 in certain ways. in certain ways, i'm so much older than that. how old were you when your mother died? did you have a stable job? did you have a spouse? did you lose a spouse? did you have children? were they grown? were they in college? see, when i was in college i was taking care of my dad. he's a quadriplegic. i would go to class and then race home to cook dinner, do the laundry and be a confidant. on the weekends, sometimes, i'd paint pictures that were sold in a gallery in san francisco. people only saw the paintings. they didn't see what went on behind them. i wasn't a good enough artist at that point. i didn't know how to make it apparent. i didn't want to. i've spent alot of years feeling very alone and very ashamed.
but not anymore. and no matter. it's just that i love this song. and while it plays i crave the same shit she sings of... that goddamn ache, that reprieve. just put your hands in my hair, kiss me hard and make me feel like none of this matters, that i am somewhere else...
....
at intervals, i feel like one big gaping wound....
or one big block of ice.
does it matter which? i still need your mouth. i still need your hands. i am still a human being, equipped with all the tawdry longings and secrets that most possess, and i still want a strong arm around my shoulder.
i play the old tunes that our parents put on the stereo when we were children. my heart aches something awful. not for what might have been but for what is. and in spite of how i feel tonight, i love us kids with such ferocity. they don't see it but we have been made so much more beautiful because of what we've come through, dear brother and sister. the task is for us to see it. and then, to believe it.
;)
.
Dec 30, 2011
X
i begin to think at times that i might be one of the worst people on the planet. i know this isn't true. one of those strange fears left over from childhood. the bad habit of self-hate. there are plenty of people out there who are way worse than i could ever be but, still, i think it. i feel it. some sort of cold nausea of the heart. the pounding of such a sad organ. round and round we go, all this aching blood looking for an outlet, an outcry, some sort of solace from what the world is and what life has been.
i am such a fucking downer here. tis the season in so many ways. this white rectangle is my repository for all the bad little things i hide in real life. it is the precious receptacle of everything dirty and mean and whiny. i can be totally unattractive and completely loathsome here and the only punishment i can count on is that no one will read these words which, in this age, is a big blessing. who knows what the hell i'm trying to say anyway. this has become a death blog and i really don't know what that means or entails. i finished reading Close to the Knives and it was all so painful and beautiful and i thought that if i can at least outfit my friends in black sweaters and black banners and leave them with some interesting things to read before i die i will have done alright.
he writes: "i want to be untouchable and without need."
i writhe beneath such a sentence. i know exactly what he means and it makes my heart hurt. i want to feel such a deep, inconsolable void that pain doubles over itself like a somersault and spits out something beautiful and necessary. something beyond all this whining, all this conjecture, and hungry hands searching in the dark blankets for some amount of security.
i can't name the things i wrestle with. nouns have no power over them. still, i lean in toward the future with hopeful eyes like a child. such a big hope that i am blistered by it, radiant and expectant and willing to go on trying and working and struggling.
i am such a fucking downer here. tis the season in so many ways. this white rectangle is my repository for all the bad little things i hide in real life. it is the precious receptacle of everything dirty and mean and whiny. i can be totally unattractive and completely loathsome here and the only punishment i can count on is that no one will read these words which, in this age, is a big blessing. who knows what the hell i'm trying to say anyway. this has become a death blog and i really don't know what that means or entails. i finished reading Close to the Knives and it was all so painful and beautiful and i thought that if i can at least outfit my friends in black sweaters and black banners and leave them with some interesting things to read before i die i will have done alright.
he writes: "i want to be untouchable and without need."
i writhe beneath such a sentence. i know exactly what he means and it makes my heart hurt. i want to feel such a deep, inconsolable void that pain doubles over itself like a somersault and spits out something beautiful and necessary. something beyond all this whining, all this conjecture, and hungry hands searching in the dark blankets for some amount of security.
i can't name the things i wrestle with. nouns have no power over them. still, i lean in toward the future with hopeful eyes like a child. such a big hope that i am blistered by it, radiant and expectant and willing to go on trying and working and struggling.
Jul 30, 2009
trying to fend it off...
i've been feeling more and more restless lately...
it's probably the summer heat.
i always thought that seasonal depression was pretty much a winter affliction but i'm starting to think i've been wrong about that. thinking back, i was pretty much always depressed when i lived in southern california. the drain of 6 months of 100+ degree heat definitely took its toll. day after day of lethargic, unenthusiastic HOT does not do a body good. NOT. and so that's probably where this weird restlessness is coming from...
we'll see.
but the major culprit: i think i need a friend. all my really, really good friends live pretty far away. the nearest one is an hour and a half drive from here. that's not exactly a winning combination. the few friends i've managed to make during the past year or so here in wine-land are fun, good-hearted people but they don't really care about art like i do... i generally do most of the talking in those conversations (if we even discuss it at all). they're also all married with children- something i know nothing about and don't plan on knowing about for quite some time either. i'm on a completely different path, full of completely different interests and ethics, and it gets to be a bit lonely to say it plainly. where are all the almost 30, unmarried, childless, artist females? ha! is that a tall order? am i an anomaly? okay... what about any artist female, any age, but who isn't going to make me stare at her kid with her or put me in the middle of fights between her and her husband? any of those in the world? how 'bout a female artist, any age, divorced, and whose kids are grown and gone? there's GOT to be a few of those out there. got to be!
women need other women. it's a fact. i guess i'm just feeling a little homesick for my old circle... i miss all that laughter.
it's probably the summer heat.
i always thought that seasonal depression was pretty much a winter affliction but i'm starting to think i've been wrong about that. thinking back, i was pretty much always depressed when i lived in southern california. the drain of 6 months of 100+ degree heat definitely took its toll. day after day of lethargic, unenthusiastic HOT does not do a body good. NOT. and so that's probably where this weird restlessness is coming from...
we'll see.
but the major culprit: i think i need a friend. all my really, really good friends live pretty far away. the nearest one is an hour and a half drive from here. that's not exactly a winning combination. the few friends i've managed to make during the past year or so here in wine-land are fun, good-hearted people but they don't really care about art like i do... i generally do most of the talking in those conversations (if we even discuss it at all). they're also all married with children- something i know nothing about and don't plan on knowing about for quite some time either. i'm on a completely different path, full of completely different interests and ethics, and it gets to be a bit lonely to say it plainly. where are all the almost 30, unmarried, childless, artist females? ha! is that a tall order? am i an anomaly? okay... what about any artist female, any age, but who isn't going to make me stare at her kid with her or put me in the middle of fights between her and her husband? any of those in the world? how 'bout a female artist, any age, divorced, and whose kids are grown and gone? there's GOT to be a few of those out there. got to be!
women need other women. it's a fact. i guess i'm just feeling a little homesick for my old circle... i miss all that laughter.
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