That urge to abandon everything here is back. Not from any sort of melancholy or depression, but simply for a desire to start fresh I think. I need to get out of here, to find some place that doesn't feed on my spirit and creativity. I feel as though I've inadvertantly hobbled myself through my fear of being on my own. It's as though I have an invisible collar on that ties me inexorably to this place, one that I'm only vaguely aware of. I have no idea how to rise above who I am, or how to become who I should be. I wish I could live one day like some of my friends live their entire lives. I despise this fear of uncertainty because it has always been a part of me. For as long as I can remember, I've hated being, feeling, alone. Even in rooms full of people. It stems from my fear of rejection, a silly, albiet slightly justifiable fear. Until I can figure out how to rise above this silly notion of my birth parents not wanting me, I can't help but wonder if that's what's at the root of all of my problems with intimacy and jealousy. 

Fear feeds on fear, feeds on fear, feeds on fear. It's a vicious circle of human emotion. I blame Rick, as silly as it is, for reminding me that I'm human. I was doing fine, costing along on a current of detached despondancy when he came into my life. I feel things more keenly now, I cry far more now than I think I ever have, outside of infancy. I've become aware of myself on a personal level, and all it's done is made me fear death more than I already do. There was a point in my life where I looked forward to death, as a natural part of life. It's an end to suffering, to pain, and ultimately once it's done and over with an ending to fear.

I think people who aren't afraid of death are ultimately selfish. I say selfish because I know that I'm scared to death of what will happen to my family, my friends, and by then hopefully, my children. I'm quite sure that I will continue to worry about these things until I'm on my deathbed. Chances are good that I'm simply talking out of my ass here, but maybe I'm too emphatical for my own good. Who knows. Perhaps being afraid of death is something for young people, and by the time you get to be, for lack of a specific age, "old enough" you stop, and just look forward to it. I guess I could sum this up simply, I'm afraid of losing the people that I care about. I find it hard enough to make new friends without losing people to death.

I wish I could be a better person.

I know, I know, I'm a very bad updater. I was browsing today when I realized that I never actually posted the thing I wrote a few days before Rick and I broke things off. Hindsight is twenty twenty, as always. As said in the post before last, however, I'm still trying to not let my past dictate who I am today. It's really kinda tough. I'll try to write something more substantial soon. 

Anyway, here it is.

i'm scared to sleep tonite,
to dream, to risk losing the absolute
lucidity of lesbian insight
when thoughts like a freight train
a hurricane
mother nature herself in all her
pissed off
menopausal glory
brought me back to earth
to myself
to you and i
and what we could have
that i'm too
scared to see
to feel
realize
that i'm trying to
fuck it all up
you know me
how happiness is
a streamer of smoke
a wisp
i breathe wrong
and its gone
its hard to hold on
to something so tenuous
abstract
but i can't let you
go
walk away
without begging you to
stay
please don't go
like you said
it takes two
to tango
and this dance isn't
over yet
you say you want what's
best for me
but do you see that
right now,
here, and now, it's you
and it kills me to say it
because I can't need people
but it's true
you're tearing down my wall
stone by stone
and life is getting in
i hate you for it
and i love you for it
and that scares me most
of all
because what if one day
you're not around
and there i am
with no wall, alone,
with my anchor,
my armor gone
do you understand that,
how i'm not scared to let you in,
i'm scared of losing you once i have

These are my first real tears since, and it's cathartic in a way. I have idea why but I think I was holding on for some reason I can't explain or quantify. I still am, a bit. A fingerhold, if nothing else. But for once, this wasn't a relationship that I screwed up. That in and of itself is cause for a twisted sort of melancholic celebration. I'm still trying to figure out where my self-sabotauging subconcious impulses come from though, so I can dive in there with a sharp spoon and dig them out. Metaphor, of course. No sharps spoons in my head, no sir. I'd just like to go through one relationship without being constantly in my head wondering how I'm going to screw up. Or am I just confused, and is constant self-doubt a cornerstone of a good relationship? Come to think of it without self-doubt, there'd be little communication, no positive reinforcement to be had, no warm happy fuzzy feeling after something is resolved without resorting to an arguement. 

I think I'm a bit fucked up.

Cripes, yo. I read through six years of backlogged livejournal, and came to one conclusion. I used to be far more vocal about being absolutely silly. Hrm.

Firstly, let me preface this blog with the following. I will blog about something happy and full of sunshine and all sorts of wonderful before the month is over. Promise.

I felt very alone today. I’m on these networking sites, and all my networking has made me realize just how very alone I am. I despair of ever finding anything meaningful and sincere from them, yet I keep going back to them. Why? Friendship? The friends I’ve made on there I talk to other places, so it can’t be that. Some vain attempt at hope? More than likely, but no, I don’t think it’s that either. I think it honestly stems down to me not being able to let the possibility of being happy enter the equation.

All my lif has been a string of disappointment, rejection, fear, people who are bad for me, and depression. I think I can honestly count the times I’ve been truly happy on one hand. Happiness and contentment just doesn’t seem like my element. I can’t write when I’m content with things, it just doesn’t work.

I certainly can’t relate to any of my other friends in this, as either they’re all genuinely happy with the way things are, or they are damn good actors. In some respects, I can’t help but think that all this chaos in my life right now, while stressful and entirely evil, is a good thing for me. It’s bringing all these little nuerosis to the front, where I can at least get a look at them and recognize them for what they are. I can’t be unhappy about that, as maybe being able to identify them is the first step in working through them. Who knows.

Still pondering running away from life. I have no idea where I’d go, and I have no money. I have a bike, a laptop, and the urge to do it. Will that be enough, or will I be a chicken shit and just stay put and languish?

I’ve tried, in vain, to get in touch with much of my old crew from the cafe. I talk to Amy now and again, but largely it’s just phone tag for the win. I think I talk to Ada the most, and even then, it’s a distressingly little amount of time, considering. But really, where’s Shake, and Beks. Hell, where’s Thad, even?

I saw some of Carl McNew’s friends the other day. People I could have gone without. Story of my life.

Things have been going...not to great lately. A sort of general funk, for lack of a better word, has pretty much become second nature these days. Well, most. I have had a few not-so-terrible days over the past month, but by and large it’s been one hell of a ride the past few months.

I have no regrets, and largely consider such things to be a complete and total waste of time. No regrets. Of all the things to turn into a mantra, I can’t think of one that is both inspiring and just down right depressing as "no regrets". I guess it could be worse. I’m a firm believer in karma and fate, and I know in my  slightly jaded soul that everything will work itself out in the end. On the same token whoever, I can’t feel bad about wanting things to work out faster. C’mon Universe, I don’t have all day. Hit me with it already.

Then again, what if it has, and I’m relegated to life in Indiana for the rest of my days. Chilling thought, hopefully just a nightmare really, but it’s a possibility that I really can’t discard out of hand. Am I, having screwed up royally in a past life, doomed to be stranded in Podunkia Indiana in a life that is ill fitting at best, and damned near impossible to live at the worst. Scary. Following the same train of thought, I’ve started looking for apartments in Sturgis and the surrounding area. Something to establish residency so that I can not get utterly reamed by out of state tuition come fall. Things are still up in the air in that respect too, though. I can’t help but thinking that I’d like nothing more than to just pick up and move to a place where no one knows me. Nothing scares me or fills me with a warm sense of...something, as much as that thought right there.

Is it time?

Fragile, as rice paper in a breeze,
He breaks, spilling everything
into the chill morning, where ice
covers thoughts and hopes and makes
them seem more than what they are,
Reflected a thousand times
in a spectrum of winter,
Death in the morning, death in
the evening,
He comes, a prisoner of his
dreams,
A prisoner in cages
of ice and insecurity
behind bars of self-loathing,
beautiful to behold
but dead on the inside,
He’s preserved only
by the memory of warmth
and the biting cold
of winter, and love.

Ghost Town, USA
where dreams come 
to die
recent construction 
makes way for our 
graveyard of dreams
and hopes
my tires skid
along the edge of a 
bike path to nowhere
as I at the empty eyes 
of our soul
bare now
except for a few pieces
of Gallery "art"
and a cheap blanket to 
hide our home away
from home
part of me
part of us really
is left there
ingrained in the walls
like the odor of cigarettes
of laughter
of Yergachef in the
morning
I wonder if I'll
ever really move on
or if I really did leave
part of my soul there
to die
I can hope that
what I left there somehow
made it into a box
and is sitting on a shelf
in the land of geriatics
and sunshine,
of love.

Sturgis in the middle of the night. It seems oddly serene, as though with a light dust of snow and a new paint job, everything on the surface is fine. 3.30 am is an odd time to reminisce, but I think I needed that. It was oddly cathartic to just drive pat where I spent my time, without interruption. I could go as slow as i wanted, and relieve each memory as it came. 

I miss you guys, very much. All of you. I'm crying as I type this, but they're not all tears of sadness. We had good times and bad times together, like any family.

I love you all.

It's that time of the year again. The time of the year that I'm so emotionally unreachable that you have better odds of striking it rich digging for oil than getting me to commit to anything other than moping. Birthdays are never easy for me. I'll be damned if I can put a finger on exactly why that is. It's part of me I guess, I tend to want to categorize and quantify things rather than just accept that life happens for a reason.

Dangerous tangent there, moving on.

It just seems like I've spent the majority of my birthdays lately alone. Whether self-imposed, or maybe self-enforced would be more accurate, or not it seems to have become a depressing trend. That'd be the story of my life, wouldn't it. Oh no! Max has a depressing trend. SHOCKING!

I'm not worried about getting older. I look forward to it, in all honesty. I don't understand why some people are afraid of getting older. It's part of the cycle for chuck's sake. It's a plethora of new experiences and the like.

I realize this entry is somewhat all over the place in it's inability to stay focused and cenetered, so I'll take this opportunity to write some second-rate piece of crap and pretend to have the balls to call it art.

it's cold here today
the bitter chill of
midwinter rises from
the streets in a bitter
haze of what little
warmth is left in this
town even though there
wasn't much here
to begin with
it's cold here today
the wind blows
fierce and flawless
with all the strength
of one mans regret 
and no more noticed 
than the dead leaves
scraping across the
street

That sucked. No, really, it did. I lost it 18 lines in. 

Happy 25th birthday to me.