you don’t forgive the silence for not speaking up
no matter how hard we’re trying it’s not hard enough
your eyes before the lightning to meet it by yourself
you’ve been tired and a little sick
you’ve been trying to work with it
you drew your grave on every single map
you don’t plan on staying long
you plan on burning it
no matter how wrong it went
you don’t have much more room to forget
you don’t have much more room to forget
you don’t forgive even the lightning
for leaving you
but everything should try again
even you
you followed the train through every prairie dawn
said "i’d like to see ohio one more time before it’s gone"
you had your hands up high in a prayer to crush your heart
and every single heart
was that eight point star
ever been tired
ever been a little sick
ever tried working through it
everything should try again - jason molina
Saturday, March 28, 2015
anneli rufus:
“We are the ones who know how to entertain ourselves. How to learn without taking a class. How to contemplate and how to create. Loners, by virtue of being loners, in celebrating the state of standing alone, have an innate advantage when it comes to being brave—like pioneers, like mountain men, iconoclasts, rebels, and sole survivors. Loners have an advantage when faced with the unknown, the never-done-before, and the unprecedented. An advantage when it comes to being mindful like the Buddhists, spontaneous like the Taoists, crucibles of concentrated prayer like the desert saints, esoteric like the cabalists. Loners, by virtue of being loners, have at their fingertips the undiscovered, the unique, the rarified. Innate advantages when it comes to imagination, concentration, inner discipline. A knack for invention, originality, for finding resources in what others would call vacuums. A knack for visions.”
just ash
this is only
a smoke trail &
long-licked sky
burns far ahead.
watch how flame
curls on the edge
of all that comes
first.
sun gleam
weaves a liquid gold
line & cartographs
clouds or
progression or
progress through clouds.
like violet mountains
bite into sky,
snaggletoothed
through everything
insubstantial & just
insist on their space,
daring anyone bolder
to claim it.
you can climb
a mountain if you
must, but
can you move
a mountain out of
need?
until all its height,
heft, substance
& stubbornness
sit beneath the very
balls of your tiny,
tired feet.
because sometimes
faith is there
to move you
up the mountain, or
to move the mountain
beneath your work
& willfulness.
i just want
to peel these
peals of laughter
from the sides
of this ribcage
set them free like
so many birds
from this mountaintop.
watch what’s most
me, but not me,
climb higher if i
let it go, if i
don’t have to worry
about hanging on.
echoes of all
my inside selves
reverberate from
canyon walls, skip
across the tops of
douglas firs & shake
all the little aspen
leaves.
coyote chased
me up a mountain
to make me
love it, to make
me stop faulting
it from so far away.
the belly of the valley
is for low-slung
spirits who
neglect their wings &
the proud vault of
a howl flung moonward.
coyote snapped
at my ankles, tore
my achilles until i
learned to run
without it, until
hurt and impossibility
became new legs
i climbed into &
made work for me.
coyote bit
the flesh from my
back until all i saw
was spine & i
found a backbone
to build a new
body, or a new
being in the body
i already had.
coyote laughed
& i recoiled, until
the hiss & hackles i
raised became
breath through sharp
teeth & matted blond
fur that smelled
like leaves &
late october.
a smoke trail &
long-licked sky
burns far ahead.
watch how flame
curls on the edge
of all that comes
first.
sun gleam
weaves a liquid gold
line & cartographs
clouds or
progression or
progress through clouds.
like violet mountains
bite into sky,
snaggletoothed
through everything
insubstantial & just
insist on their space,
daring anyone bolder
to claim it.
you can climb
a mountain if you
must, but
can you move
a mountain out of
need?
until all its height,
heft, substance
& stubbornness
sit beneath the very
balls of your tiny,
tired feet.
because sometimes
faith is there
to move you
up the mountain, or
to move the mountain
beneath your work
& willfulness.
i just want
to peel these
peals of laughter
from the sides
of this ribcage
set them free like
so many birds
from this mountaintop.
watch what’s most
me, but not me,
climb higher if i
let it go, if i
don’t have to worry
about hanging on.
echoes of all
my inside selves
reverberate from
canyon walls, skip
across the tops of
douglas firs & shake
all the little aspen
leaves.
coyote chased
me up a mountain
to make me
love it, to make
me stop faulting
it from so far away.
the belly of the valley
is for low-slung
spirits who
neglect their wings &
the proud vault of
a howl flung moonward.
coyote snapped
at my ankles, tore
my achilles until i
learned to run
without it, until
hurt and impossibility
became new legs
i climbed into &
made work for me.
coyote bit
the flesh from my
back until all i saw
was spine & i
found a backbone
to build a new
body, or a new
being in the body
i already had.
coyote laughed
& i recoiled, until
the hiss & hackles i
raised became
breath through sharp
teeth & matted blond
fur that smelled
like leaves &
late october.
Compliment
"Oh get OVER yourself. You want to know what the main factor was in all of this? Why I even agreed to go out with you? Because you liked me. That's it! Honestly! Like going out with you was some ridiculous obligation because you said I was cute and funny and you wanted to. That's how it is with every boy who comes along and asks me that. So yes, that's fair, I am psychotic. You're totally right. Psychotic for thinking that I'd be happy when the only reason I said yes was because of some irrationally screwed up sense of gratitude for your compliment of liking me! I dated you because you were the only available option, and because I just wanted to be nice and pay you back for your attention!"
The spatula hit the wall behind him. I wasn't even aiming anymore. I was just throwing things to distract myself from crying. Since I only cry when I'm mad, and I was furious. He jerked his head around anyway, even though it had missed him by a good two feet.
...Of a beautiful calm. Can you see this disguise fade into a resolve? The stereo was blaring still from the bedroom.
"Bullshit. BullSHIT, woman!" He put on his overdone, affected falsetto imitation of me, "Ohhh... you're so gorgeous... it's amazing... you look just like the picture of my ideal man that I made up in high school. So don't, JUST DON'T give me any other line. Throwing out lies like you're throwing those fucking utensils that aren't landing in the right places either. I'm glad you agree you're crazy! How I put up with this shit for so long, I'll never know, and not even just the shit that you toss my way..."
"Don't you go there. Don't even go there you, asshole! You don't have to start being a dick just because - "
"IT'S THE SHIT THAT YOU KEEP FEEDING YOURSELF THAT I CAN'T DEAL WITH!"
Hesitation complies. I've nothing left to sustain. My worries here have allowed a momentary refrain...and there it goes, my innocence, while gathering up a compliment...
The strains of music interjected as he crossed the room quickly enough that I didn't even remember him walking, and holding onto my shoulders he started shaking me. Words hissing through his gritted teeth matched the frenetic pace of his dark eyes as they scrambled to keep mine attentive.
"You think that the key to coping with your problems is shoving me away and it's not, and right now I just want to strangle you for it. You use the bullshit fucking chip on your shoulder to just beat to a bloody pulp everyone that tries to get close. For all your lines about forgiveness, I have never in my life, NEVER IN MY LIFE, met someone who holds a grudge like you do. And I am done trying to fight back the blows just to get close to you. No, look at me. Until you fix whatever broken, snapping wiring is sparking bullshit in that overinflated, self-deprecating head of yours, you'll never get close to anyone. I am done having to pin the arm behind your back that you default push everyone away with, only left with one arm to show you how much I cared. You, YOU -"
At this point he jabbed my head with his forefinger, it was hard, and it hurt. I felt the blood rush back into my arm.
"- You crippled me before we ever started. You did this, not me. And I've been a giant ignorant fuck to have spent so long trying to rationalize to myself that I was helping. That somehow I was unbreaking you, and that things were going to be fine in the end. Fuck the end. And fuck you for never giving me a fair chance."
The sincerity in his eyes, and the sudden unmasked loathing and regret barreling its way through that sincerity, was going to crush me under the weight of my own guilt. I wrenched away from him, hitting my shoulder hard against the wall behind me. I hit his chest, pushing him back with my fists. Hot, familiar tears boiled over my lashes, blinding me. The scene in front of me swam.
"I'm glad," I choked out, trying to hide wet, wild sobs and rushing over by the sink to jerk a drawer open and disembowel it, I coughed loudly, "I'm glad that you've finally found some way to verbalize your emotions like this. Glad to actually know from your fucking words how you feel. You've never been much capable of that before. Not when there was anything good to say. So you're welcome, you bastard. You're welcome for giving you something to despise so much that it's rendered you nearly eloquent. At least this is a true feeling, and not some retarded internet poem that you found and tried to pass off as your own to impress me. Hate me then. It works for you, looks like it's made you more of an actual person and less of a giant bumbling caveman."
He stood there and took it, wincing, I wanted to imagine. I don't know, I wasn't looking at him. As I rambled out that bitter tirade, I had gone back to upending the kitchen, pulled out all of his things, dumping them into the box on the floor.
"...And you're an idiot to have wasted so much of your precious, precious time on me, when I was clearly so broken and delusional and since it took such heroic efforts on your part to love me. I'm so sorry that I made it sooooo difficult for you, so sorry that you've clearly had to mentally manhandle me to get me to bend to your affections. But I'm even sorrier that you never said any of this to me until now. Mostly sorry for that, really."
I jerked the box off the floor and flung it toward him, urging it into his arms.
"So take your shit, and go. You'd think we could have made something work, with the giant axe to grind that you've been hiding for so long, and me with my chip. You couldn't have hacked away at that the whole time, instead of starting today?"
Marching into the living room, I grabbed a stack of his folded laundry from the couch, and brought that back to cram into the box with the kitchen crap.
"Just get out of here before I do something stupid, like start aiming. Take that box and go. I need to just scream incoherently and box up the rest of your shit without you deciding to butt in with your psychoanalysis and your grabbing and your bitching."
It was a vain attempt, but I was actually trying to push him towards the door and not look at him. After half a moment he went to it all by himself, nearly tearing it off its hinges as he ripped it open.
"Look, I - "
"No, you're done. We're done. This is so fucking done. Get out now. I'll call you in a bit after I've packed your shit up for you to come back and get."
I turned around and went back to the kitchen, without another glance at him, and didn't look up until after he'd slammed the door.
"Yeah go, you huge fucking jerk! Go on down to the gas station and pick up the smokes you're gonna run back to now! I hope you fucking die of fucking lung cancer! I HATE YOU!"
I threw a fork at the door and screamed.
...do what he says. One little girl, taught that she is small. Taught that she is less, and man's decree is law. One little boy who'd know her too well. But that one little boy could send her to hell...
The stereo called out; Toad the Wet Sprocket mocking me.
And he didn't come charging back in. And he didn't stay there and pick me up and hold me after I crumpled into a sobbing heap against the dishwasher.
The spatula hit the wall behind him. I wasn't even aiming anymore. I was just throwing things to distract myself from crying. Since I only cry when I'm mad, and I was furious. He jerked his head around anyway, even though it had missed him by a good two feet.
...Of a beautiful calm. Can you see this disguise fade into a resolve? The stereo was blaring still from the bedroom.
"Bullshit. BullSHIT, woman!" He put on his overdone, affected falsetto imitation of me, "Ohhh... you're so gorgeous... it's amazing... you look just like the picture of my ideal man that I made up in high school. So don't, JUST DON'T give me any other line. Throwing out lies like you're throwing those fucking utensils that aren't landing in the right places either. I'm glad you agree you're crazy! How I put up with this shit for so long, I'll never know, and not even just the shit that you toss my way..."
"Don't you go there. Don't even go there you, asshole! You don't have to start being a dick just because - "
"IT'S THE SHIT THAT YOU KEEP FEEDING YOURSELF THAT I CAN'T DEAL WITH!"
Hesitation complies. I've nothing left to sustain. My worries here have allowed a momentary refrain...and there it goes, my innocence, while gathering up a compliment...
The strains of music interjected as he crossed the room quickly enough that I didn't even remember him walking, and holding onto my shoulders he started shaking me. Words hissing through his gritted teeth matched the frenetic pace of his dark eyes as they scrambled to keep mine attentive.
"You think that the key to coping with your problems is shoving me away and it's not, and right now I just want to strangle you for it. You use the bullshit fucking chip on your shoulder to just beat to a bloody pulp everyone that tries to get close. For all your lines about forgiveness, I have never in my life, NEVER IN MY LIFE, met someone who holds a grudge like you do. And I am done trying to fight back the blows just to get close to you. No, look at me. Until you fix whatever broken, snapping wiring is sparking bullshit in that overinflated, self-deprecating head of yours, you'll never get close to anyone. I am done having to pin the arm behind your back that you default push everyone away with, only left with one arm to show you how much I cared. You, YOU -"
At this point he jabbed my head with his forefinger, it was hard, and it hurt. I felt the blood rush back into my arm.
"- You crippled me before we ever started. You did this, not me. And I've been a giant ignorant fuck to have spent so long trying to rationalize to myself that I was helping. That somehow I was unbreaking you, and that things were going to be fine in the end. Fuck the end. And fuck you for never giving me a fair chance."
The sincerity in his eyes, and the sudden unmasked loathing and regret barreling its way through that sincerity, was going to crush me under the weight of my own guilt. I wrenched away from him, hitting my shoulder hard against the wall behind me. I hit his chest, pushing him back with my fists. Hot, familiar tears boiled over my lashes, blinding me. The scene in front of me swam.
"I'm glad," I choked out, trying to hide wet, wild sobs and rushing over by the sink to jerk a drawer open and disembowel it, I coughed loudly, "I'm glad that you've finally found some way to verbalize your emotions like this. Glad to actually know from your fucking words how you feel. You've never been much capable of that before. Not when there was anything good to say. So you're welcome, you bastard. You're welcome for giving you something to despise so much that it's rendered you nearly eloquent. At least this is a true feeling, and not some retarded internet poem that you found and tried to pass off as your own to impress me. Hate me then. It works for you, looks like it's made you more of an actual person and less of a giant bumbling caveman."
He stood there and took it, wincing, I wanted to imagine. I don't know, I wasn't looking at him. As I rambled out that bitter tirade, I had gone back to upending the kitchen, pulled out all of his things, dumping them into the box on the floor.
"...And you're an idiot to have wasted so much of your precious, precious time on me, when I was clearly so broken and delusional and since it took such heroic efforts on your part to love me. I'm so sorry that I made it sooooo difficult for you, so sorry that you've clearly had to mentally manhandle me to get me to bend to your affections. But I'm even sorrier that you never said any of this to me until now. Mostly sorry for that, really."
I jerked the box off the floor and flung it toward him, urging it into his arms.
"So take your shit, and go. You'd think we could have made something work, with the giant axe to grind that you've been hiding for so long, and me with my chip. You couldn't have hacked away at that the whole time, instead of starting today?"
Marching into the living room, I grabbed a stack of his folded laundry from the couch, and brought that back to cram into the box with the kitchen crap.
"Just get out of here before I do something stupid, like start aiming. Take that box and go. I need to just scream incoherently and box up the rest of your shit without you deciding to butt in with your psychoanalysis and your grabbing and your bitching."
It was a vain attempt, but I was actually trying to push him towards the door and not look at him. After half a moment he went to it all by himself, nearly tearing it off its hinges as he ripped it open.
"Look, I - "
"No, you're done. We're done. This is so fucking done. Get out now. I'll call you in a bit after I've packed your shit up for you to come back and get."
I turned around and went back to the kitchen, without another glance at him, and didn't look up until after he'd slammed the door.
"Yeah go, you huge fucking jerk! Go on down to the gas station and pick up the smokes you're gonna run back to now! I hope you fucking die of fucking lung cancer! I HATE YOU!"
I threw a fork at the door and screamed.
...do what he says. One little girl, taught that she is small. Taught that she is less, and man's decree is law. One little boy who'd know her too well. But that one little boy could send her to hell...
The stereo called out; Toad the Wet Sprocket mocking me.
And he didn't come charging back in. And he didn't stay there and pick me up and hold me after I crumpled into a sobbing heap against the dishwasher.
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