The Weather Report

I get this wistful feeling when I listen to Simon and Garfunkel. I think it goes back to when my first bf moved to California to become a writer and he made me a mix tape to say goodbye. That was the first time I had ever heard Homeward Bound, and The Only Living Boy in New York. I get the news I need from the weather report..

He ended up working at a movie lot painting animation cells for a movie about a dog version of Rodney Dangerfield that never came out, I believe.  He wrote a few desperate letters from then. They were full of longing and loneliness which I took personal even though there was no way for me to know what it felt like to leave home at that point. I desperately wanted out of my situation but I wasn’t ready then. He didn’t really miss me. He missed home.

When I finally left home it was it a quick run out of the front door into the arms of a guy I didn’t really like. When you feel desperate and lonely you will do anything to not be abandoned by the only person you’ve ever met that actually likes to spend time with you.  He was my first really big mistake. Sometimes I look back on that time and wonder who the hell I was. I’m sure wasn’t me. 

Transitions. There is no way to stop changing, stop growing, stop moving., and yet these days I feel like I am at a standstill. I feel like a firecracker waiting for my fuse to be lit. I feel like I am waiting for a spark to ignite my trail so I can blast off. I feel like the cannon that is being maneuvered into the perfect position before it is fired to obliterate. You feel me? You understand that it’s all just cycles and movement and new avenues to travel and leave one reality behind for another.. or something like that. Or something.

I hung out with Harry last night. I felt like I needed to be around him to keep me going. I wasn’t feeling anything really at all l but numb. It wasn’t a bad weekend, but I feel like I squandered most of it wasting time living up inside my head.  I guess it’s too hot outside. I guess I didn’t go work out as much as I normally do. I guess I’m just waiting.

What do you do when someone you love sees you walk in and frowns? It happened a few times last night with 3 different people.  People I love and who I know love me. What happened? Am I really that intolerable to be around? Are people reading my blog and getting a load of the crazy and pulling away? Am I just paranoid right now? Am I seeing things that aren’t there?

Hold back. Hands up

Invisible walls stand tall

Between the you and me

That we all see

I can’t smile

Or frown

In this fucked up town

Fingernail picking

Side eye swearing

look me in the eye

Smoke exhale and

Wonder

I need shoulders to brush against

Stories no matter how untrue

Cups of water

Spilled bottles and

Consonants cues

Microphones feedback and

Barstool pews

My legs to find you

And drag you

Under the tables

Dreaming

Hold up Stand Tall

Your belt loops

And pockets

Tabs of paper doll

Clothing

Falling

Like ashes

Stale poetry and

Rumors

Galore

I need some stimulation

Baby

I need some fuel

I need some fire

Experiments in sobriety this weekend.. I need to clear my head. Maybe this fuse can’t be lit because it’s too soggy again. I saw burlesque on Saturday. Big beautiful sexy women with real tits and asses and talents and style. I’m fascinated by the process of watching women disrobe for fun. It’s not like a topless bar all ripe with desperation and alcohol. It’s more like a performance art and fun.

There was a big woman.. beautiful  in robes of fantastic colors twirling under purple lights . I think I might be beautiful too. That’s what she made me feel. I think I might be sexy too. I think you should be flummoxed and nervous when I’m around.. I think you should be proud I write poetry about you and call you a muse. That’s what I think.  But maybe I’m wrong

You know that it would be untrue

You know that I would be a liar

If I was to say to you

Hon we couldn’t get much higher

Then we went to a party where I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t drink. Everyone was nice.

It was late

And we were talking about aliens

And God.

For the time I felt invisible

And wanted to run to the food table

To fill my invisible body up

With something real

But all I found was sugar

The culprit to all my fears

In chocolate frosting

Sexier than any woman’s bosom.

Then we went home. It was a good night.

Fast forward or back. I scrubbed the tub and toilet, washed the dishes and swept and mopped. Folded clothes. Bought a bowie t shirt at the thrift and considered growing out my hair again.

I Waited for the right moment to talk to you but it never happened. Frown. Ghosted my friends at the bar and didn’t turn back. Wrapped ribs up and folded blankets over my swollen belly to sleep. It was dark and cold and the bed held us in the palm of its hand.