Category: Prose

she says, do you think you would survive someone leaving you?. i say, of course i would but i might survive malaria too and i still spray for mosquitos. she smiles. ah, you might but you don’t stop going outside all together.

your suicide calls leave me scared and breathless and i don’t know what to say to you because i was trained by a master of suicide threats how to respond to make it stop make it stop i can beg for you to live and i can mean it but don’t fucking do it again or i’ll stop meaning it and i’ll lose compassion and you think i fucking hate myself now, just wait. you’re difficult when you’re angry and even when i understand i want to do nothing but take you in my arms and hold you until it all feels better. there is nothing about you that i wouldn’t want to keep around. you love me when i’m crazy and i’m crazy crazy all the time and out of obligation out of always having to say i’m sorry out of desire to be with someone i don’t stay around. instead i leave and i break down. because you are like good meat and i will know i’m a failure without you and then i’ll realize it a week later because its all just fucking psychosomatic. why can’t i think without underlying thoughts?

the walkways turned to water that day and i followed you down them on our shoe canoes we rowed away to somewhere where there was someone waiting for us to feel close to them and it was just you and me there. me, with my obsession of isolating everything. what would define that if it were only in a white room and out of this context? and you’re so fucking cunning. why a white room? and all the water in the walkways reform like a bad record scratch, i have no idea how to respond and i’m back to reality. fuckit, p-money, because all the other colored rooms are full. and thats just good enough so we keep going while the music starts again some sort of charlie brown jazz soundtrack that i’ve never heard before but you make up words to your favorite songs as we roll along in the grass we start to roll around in each others thoughts and everything seems just fine for right now and if it changes, we’ll roll again.

when we’re on the phone and my voice is racing quickly across the telephone wires through wire through satelites through wire through satelites and you’re hearing me in realtime while i’m seeing what just happened and not paying attention to anything but my voice. and i’m wishing so hard that it would just fucking go away so that you could talk because your voice is so refreshing, like the tapping of the champagne glass to begin a toast at a wedding or ceremony it might be long (i hope so) and some parts may be funny or bittersweet but its so exciting because its the beginning, still i’m tired of starting anew.
?

we might just be emo kids cheering up, p-money. or i start to think this and then we walk farther into our forests and fields we stood up and our knees were dirty and your shoes were still breathing and mine were still squeaking and we couldn’t tell the difference between before and after but something had almost changed between us. then, we sat reflecting on a bench in the breeze. i was thinking i should come here more often because i could write freely and you were thinking about whatever boys think about when there is silence and the girl isn’t putting out (perhaps nothing) so my hand found yours and my other one was playing with this plant that was growing next to the bench that held us. then, i let the plant go and continued to hold your hand, noticing that the plant sprung back into its original place so easily while it was so frail. i don’t spring back like that. and the plants (all of them) were leaning towards the sun. i like the way plants lean, i say. they lean toward the sun, you say. i think people lean, i say. toward what? you ask. i don’t know, whatever, i guess., i say. and i lean my head on your shoulder. you feel warm like the sun.

in one expanded — sentence i’ll explain to you, just sit tight and listen, but you’ll know by the end i promise you’ll understand how you worked your way under my fingernails like dirt and i fell for you in one — thought i let myself want you, you see you were standing there not in the light, and then in the light and you were sort of jumping back and forth and talking rather quickly being bitter while i was bitter about you and what your victories had meant to my record but the shadows accented your face in the dark, and the sun made your eyes and hair sparkle in the light, and my heart in all of its pitterpattering thoughts jumped, just a little, from the light to the dark and i liked you but its still to be continued… in another sentence somewhere… somewhere in a crowded room, i was with you, and you were there but i didn’t think you were with me quite perhaps because we were pretending to be enemies and things were weird then because we were our best friends there and thus passing notes like well, two allies might, or girlfriends might and taking hugs from each other like they were the most necessary thing to an enemy foil keeping you close seemed so natural that i kept myself wondering about you and where you might be for the rest of the day, looking forward to your face in the light and then come to find out you like me, but that too was later… in a new sentence… you were not there this time but we had a mutual friend to take care of the hard part and then i knew and i was elated and jumping and smiling and wondering why i had wasted uppers on what was turning out to be a good day but nothing, nothing, nothing could have been better until we were talking all the time and we were so close to each other that i i wanted to be closer to you and now i get to be hopefully soon, in another sintence.

spin your webs of words for me. your tripping words that flow so well together (i could never immitate). i fall in love inside of your letters, sometimes with you and sometimes with someone else but its love. while your roadways are turning into rivers and your realities into dreams i’m getting lost, deeper and deeper inside of you. who writes a new beat and crafts my love so strongly toward this, my living breathing, pre-addicted kerouac. you leave me longing for something more.

come find me pouring over your sentiments, here in nowhere. please please please. i’ll never stop loving you again.

my silver-sparkle tap dancer, im so in love with you and the pain and want you make me feel. so keep dancing across my flesh leaving my skin weeping blood out to you — you’re so beautiful. my silver-sparkle jazz dancer, i’ll keep my skin tight and you will choreograph dances to my sad melodies dressing them up with red face paint and white white skin. you make me feel and i feel so many things, so many beautiful, beautiful, beautiful Things with you. you are my secret in the bathroom, my secret underneath my jeans. and i feel for you, i want you. but i want no one else to go. so keep going, my silver-sparkle dancer. make me beautiful. leave me ugly.

i thought that maybe when i moved away you would follow me here, discover me by accident. but how could you when you don’t know where to look. i told you we should keep in touch and left a map of the world at your doorstep, where i said i’d leave my address. any country is a good guess really because you don’t know me anymore, i’ve made sure of that. welcome to the your exgirlfriend relocation program. you’re not going to find me. but i think i want you too. i want you to find me, get my email send me a letter. tell me that i write beautifully again. because then i can hate you for moving on so quickly (you didn’t know it was me) and then i can write ugly again because you’ve said it was beautiful and i don’t have to care. i don’t know why the fuck i wrote for you anway. this is my new home so go away. come banging on my door here in israel&palestine because i may not come home otherwise.

but where is home and how did you find me anyway?

i remember you there, you were touching your face. or i was touching my face because that’s what i do when i get nervous and when we’re talking i get nervous. always afraid that you’re reading me the wrong way or that i’m reading you the wrong way or that sometime in our conversation you will look, deep, into my eyes and you laugh, harshly, into my face. and i wouldn’t know what to say. but when i’m with you it feels like everything will be okay and nothing like that will happen. or that even if it does my hands will forever remember the feeling of your hands and it will be okay. your fingers sing lullabies to mine, whispering, hushed voices saying “everything will be okay.”