this is almost more than I can bare to hear, overwhelmingly heartbreaking and lovely.
"a white blank page...
and a swelling rage...
rage"
If you dont ever take the time to listen to the videos I post, make this one an exception.
Mumford and Sons- "White blank Page"
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
"and as for the clouds
just let them roll away
roll away
roll away" -Ray LaMontagne
There are two very lost, morally broken people that have intersected my life recently...and just when I think I have a grip on some closure, I get dished another helping of brain scramble and the whole thing opens back up again. The details dont matter, and honestly I couldn't tell you what they would be anyway because everything I know about it is based on half truths and conflicting stories, and drama. Drama that I never asked to be a part of, and didnt deserve to be a part of, and will never find acceptable. period.
So, since closure can not come from truth and understanding, it is coming from washing my hands of both of them. Life is too short, and there are too many good things in mine to spend my time used, confused, and disheartened by the sour ones.
just let them roll away
roll away
roll away" -Ray LaMontagne
There are two very lost, morally broken people that have intersected my life recently...and just when I think I have a grip on some closure, I get dished another helping of brain scramble and the whole thing opens back up again. The details dont matter, and honestly I couldn't tell you what they would be anyway because everything I know about it is based on half truths and conflicting stories, and drama. Drama that I never asked to be a part of, and didnt deserve to be a part of, and will never find acceptable. period.
So, since closure can not come from truth and understanding, it is coming from washing my hands of both of them. Life is too short, and there are too many good things in mine to spend my time used, confused, and disheartened by the sour ones.
Monday, October 4, 2010
I'll be dancin on a ponies head....someday
The karaoke machine made it's debut at my first Tampax Mafia party...and our selection of songs was limited, but I do remember squeaking out back up to Jennifers version of "If I had a milion dollars" from the safety of a knuckle dragging buzz and a corner in my living room. Jennifer earned the nickname Closet Karaoke Freak that night because she knows all the lyrics to every song, even the inaudible parts where you and I would usually mumble. This night sparked the tiny fire in me that is aching to sing, out loud, in the same manner that I car diva, or belt out a drunk diva sing along. But turn the volume down and when my voice stands alone it dies, or rather I pass out...literally. I have maybe been known to be a little bit of a show off. I can stand in front of a room of women and explain to them how to find their G-spot, wear a school girl outfit around a bar and ask every single person to buy shots from me, and spill my guts freely all over these pages, but when it comes to karaoke I am a straight up chicken shit.
The Summer after the first karaoke party, The Tampax Mafia hosted a huge weekend in Atlanta, a yaya invitational if you will, or intoxication revival. Ladies only, friends and sisters, the idea being you come and be who you are. Bring out your ugly laugh, act like an idiot, fall on your face, let all your shit hang out and indulge in misbehaving because we got nothin but love for ya. I started running my mouth months in advance about how I was soooo going to belt out "If I can't have you" by Alicia Keyes. My car diva version of this song was already spot on, it was a favorite during the Maxima days, driving around with the sunroof open and the Bose turned up as loud as it would reasonably go, driving too fast and loving every second of it. So Kelly secured the tune, and on the big night I stood in front of my dearest closest friends, clutching the microphone to my chest as if I was praying for my life, barely able to make a sound. I got out a few pathetic baby bird sounds before all the blood rushed out of my upper body and I had to hit the floor.
Ever since my memory has wrestled down my deep desire to sing with anxiety attacks at even the thought. When I was mapping out my roadtrip, Machine Gun and I were going to meet up in New York, just the two of us and sing "Jackson" by Johnny and June Carter Cash. We thought for sure that New York would love our Southern accents and song choice so much that they would erupt in glorious applause. Machine Gun and I had a magic that made me feel invincible. I was convinced that she sings "I'll be dancin' on a ponies head", to which he laughed hysterically and said "that's not what she says but baby if you wanna dance on a ponies head, god damn it I'll wrestle that thing down and hold it for you". There is no doubt in my mind that if we had done it together I would have belted it out like I was born to sing, just as I wrote amazing things and saw things as a writer when he was my muse and my friend. But we flaked out like we always do, just days before I was supposed to leave. We burn white hot and then burn out. Nothing that passionate can last long.
On the trip I confessed my karaoke madness to everyone, and Jenee and Laura both looked for spots to do it, but each mention of a specific time or place and my heart began palpitating and I would feel faint. Jenee even made me a karaoke practice cd for private use on the interstates as I was making my way up the East Coast. I considered Jeff Buckley "lover you should have come over" and Amy Whinehouse "Me and Mr Jones", both ambitious numbers...but I cant help it, I want to go big or go home. The cousins tried in Florida to arrange a karaoke night, but I froze and chickened out before we even left the house. I stayed home instead of going big, my karaoke dreams a failure, crushed by fear. Infact, aside from writing a book that never gets published, I can't think of anything I am more afraid of or paralyzed by....
The Summer after the first karaoke party, The Tampax Mafia hosted a huge weekend in Atlanta, a yaya invitational if you will, or intoxication revival. Ladies only, friends and sisters, the idea being you come and be who you are. Bring out your ugly laugh, act like an idiot, fall on your face, let all your shit hang out and indulge in misbehaving because we got nothin but love for ya. I started running my mouth months in advance about how I was soooo going to belt out "If I can't have you" by Alicia Keyes. My car diva version of this song was already spot on, it was a favorite during the Maxima days, driving around with the sunroof open and the Bose turned up as loud as it would reasonably go, driving too fast and loving every second of it. So Kelly secured the tune, and on the big night I stood in front of my dearest closest friends, clutching the microphone to my chest as if I was praying for my life, barely able to make a sound. I got out a few pathetic baby bird sounds before all the blood rushed out of my upper body and I had to hit the floor.
Ever since my memory has wrestled down my deep desire to sing with anxiety attacks at even the thought. When I was mapping out my roadtrip, Machine Gun and I were going to meet up in New York, just the two of us and sing "Jackson" by Johnny and June Carter Cash. We thought for sure that New York would love our Southern accents and song choice so much that they would erupt in glorious applause. Machine Gun and I had a magic that made me feel invincible. I was convinced that she sings "I'll be dancin' on a ponies head", to which he laughed hysterically and said "that's not what she says but baby if you wanna dance on a ponies head, god damn it I'll wrestle that thing down and hold it for you". There is no doubt in my mind that if we had done it together I would have belted it out like I was born to sing, just as I wrote amazing things and saw things as a writer when he was my muse and my friend. But we flaked out like we always do, just days before I was supposed to leave. We burn white hot and then burn out. Nothing that passionate can last long.
On the trip I confessed my karaoke madness to everyone, and Jenee and Laura both looked for spots to do it, but each mention of a specific time or place and my heart began palpitating and I would feel faint. Jenee even made me a karaoke practice cd for private use on the interstates as I was making my way up the East Coast. I considered Jeff Buckley "lover you should have come over" and Amy Whinehouse "Me and Mr Jones", both ambitious numbers...but I cant help it, I want to go big or go home. The cousins tried in Florida to arrange a karaoke night, but I froze and chickened out before we even left the house. I stayed home instead of going big, my karaoke dreams a failure, crushed by fear. Infact, aside from writing a book that never gets published, I can't think of anything I am more afraid of or paralyzed by....
Friday, September 24, 2010
when home is a burning ring of fire
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I have had a few ill connections in my life. I have also had some sweet and harmless ones. There is only one that is the love of my life. There has been an undertow of emotions pulling me under, slowly but surely for six long months. I underestimate how poorly and slowly my heart and mind process grief. A slow dissolve. I dont cry really, I wish I did, but I dont. In most cases I keep a stronghold on denial up until the last bitter second that I am forced to see that which I have made myself numb to, and even then, I do it begrudgingly, and only because the undertow wins. The undertow took me under about a month ago when I was laying on the sofa at my mothers house with blisters burned into my stomach because I had come completely undone, one thread at a time. And the only person that I needed to comfort me, is the same person that pulled the first thread.
He always asked me to write about him while we were together, or to even write him a love letter, and I never could. I tried once and it was smartassy and he didnt like it because it was a list of details. It sucked. He never said it sucked, it just didnt touch him. He never commented on my writing either way, just quietly read it and helped me write html code for blogs while sipping his cokes out of a can. I felt like I was trying to describe a forest by using a magnifying glass on the bark of one tree. Some things simply cannot be seen until you step back from them.
Our story never sounded like a movie. Our beginning was the root of our end because it started in a bar, with insecurities and skeletons and gossip and baggage...and all of those things which kill the purity of pure things. He was the first person I ever liked for who he was inside, and not for the idiotic reasons we women end up with alpha male clowns.
He was sweet yes, but not harmless. A genius honestly, which we both referred to as the big brain. The big brain spent many years studying theology, and family dynamics, and psychology, and sitting on the sidelines with beautiful girls taking notes. The big brain had a power that I was no match for, and that he couldnt turn off if he wanted to. He could store info like a squirrel, things that I loved, things that I wanted, things that I might want, things that might make me more comfortable, things that would make me smile, things that would make me laugh, things I might like to eat, things that might cure my ailments, and things that would encourage my goals, things that I never knew I needed that he could see clearly. As quickly as it processed amazing gestures done out of love, it processed a few here and there done out of hurt. And when it did, it was capable of breaking me into a million pieces, without even realizing it. It is his great gift and also his worst enemy at times. It knew how to give me what I wanted in a way that shielded me from ever questioning what lied beneath the surface. "To tell the truth it's hard enough without a lover, who you only want to hide your darkness from so you dont let them down"- Ryan Adams That lyric haunts me because it describes what happened between us perfectly. That's exactly what he did, but only because I did and said things that made him feel like he had to. Things that I didnt think anything of...because I was careless and dont have a big brain that doesn't forget. I feel my way through things until I feel threatened and when I am my little brain just falls into broken records of obsessive worry that are impossible to break free from. We poisoned eachother with our insecurities, mine that seeped out one drop at a time because I couldnt keep anything in, and his in blows from left field because he kept them in until his mental will had a moment of weakness, which was not often. Neither of us could help it, but we tried because we loved eachother so much.
I can say on my end, and assume on his that everyone close to us can see clearly all the reasons we should not have loved eachother. We should be written off and discounted as a waste because of all the childish hurt that transpired. Hurt that burns bridges and exhausts everyone else that loves you. There are no bridges left now except for the one painful truth that he is my toxic soul mate. He is who I need to feel like I am home but the fire that burns my shelter to ash. We have learned this the hard way, always wanting to just go home to eachother, always limping out of it with third degree burns.
Subscribe to My truth minus the mens. by Email
I have had a few ill connections in my life. I have also had some sweet and harmless ones. There is only one that is the love of my life. There has been an undertow of emotions pulling me under, slowly but surely for six long months. I underestimate how poorly and slowly my heart and mind process grief. A slow dissolve. I dont cry really, I wish I did, but I dont. In most cases I keep a stronghold on denial up until the last bitter second that I am forced to see that which I have made myself numb to, and even then, I do it begrudgingly, and only because the undertow wins. The undertow took me under about a month ago when I was laying on the sofa at my mothers house with blisters burned into my stomach because I had come completely undone, one thread at a time. And the only person that I needed to comfort me, is the same person that pulled the first thread.
He always asked me to write about him while we were together, or to even write him a love letter, and I never could. I tried once and it was smartassy and he didnt like it because it was a list of details. It sucked. He never said it sucked, it just didnt touch him. He never commented on my writing either way, just quietly read it and helped me write html code for blogs while sipping his cokes out of a can. I felt like I was trying to describe a forest by using a magnifying glass on the bark of one tree. Some things simply cannot be seen until you step back from them.
Our story never sounded like a movie. Our beginning was the root of our end because it started in a bar, with insecurities and skeletons and gossip and baggage...and all of those things which kill the purity of pure things. He was the first person I ever liked for who he was inside, and not for the idiotic reasons we women end up with alpha male clowns.
He was sweet yes, but not harmless. A genius honestly, which we both referred to as the big brain. The big brain spent many years studying theology, and family dynamics, and psychology, and sitting on the sidelines with beautiful girls taking notes. The big brain had a power that I was no match for, and that he couldnt turn off if he wanted to. He could store info like a squirrel, things that I loved, things that I wanted, things that I might want, things that might make me more comfortable, things that would make me smile, things that would make me laugh, things I might like to eat, things that might cure my ailments, and things that would encourage my goals, things that I never knew I needed that he could see clearly. As quickly as it processed amazing gestures done out of love, it processed a few here and there done out of hurt. And when it did, it was capable of breaking me into a million pieces, without even realizing it. It is his great gift and also his worst enemy at times. It knew how to give me what I wanted in a way that shielded me from ever questioning what lied beneath the surface. "To tell the truth it's hard enough without a lover, who you only want to hide your darkness from so you dont let them down"- Ryan Adams That lyric haunts me because it describes what happened between us perfectly. That's exactly what he did, but only because I did and said things that made him feel like he had to. Things that I didnt think anything of...because I was careless and dont have a big brain that doesn't forget. I feel my way through things until I feel threatened and when I am my little brain just falls into broken records of obsessive worry that are impossible to break free from. We poisoned eachother with our insecurities, mine that seeped out one drop at a time because I couldnt keep anything in, and his in blows from left field because he kept them in until his mental will had a moment of weakness, which was not often. Neither of us could help it, but we tried because we loved eachother so much.
I can say on my end, and assume on his that everyone close to us can see clearly all the reasons we should not have loved eachother. We should be written off and discounted as a waste because of all the childish hurt that transpired. Hurt that burns bridges and exhausts everyone else that loves you. There are no bridges left now except for the one painful truth that he is my toxic soul mate. He is who I need to feel like I am home but the fire that burns my shelter to ash. We have learned this the hard way, always wanting to just go home to eachother, always limping out of it with third degree burns.
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Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Ah...You drift into my dreams,
as if you had the right...
And you showed me how you broke me
doing all the little things I really like..."
-Leonard Cohen
Oh Leonard...That's how it happens to me, that I get sidetracked and spend my energy focused on love. It is afterall the most intoxicating force out there. Especially when it is new, or established, or broken. Tripping and falling in front of me, it is always there in some form. A passionate memory, a stab of wanting and wondering, stories of how it has shaped me, and songs....so many songs that taunt, torture and marinate my eternal optimism that all of this hurt, disappoinment, walking away, and letting go has not been in vain. It has been because I believe in soul mates..and all that jazz. still. just not right now.
as if you had the right...
And you showed me how you broke me
doing all the little things I really like..."
-Leonard Cohen
Oh Leonard...That's how it happens to me, that I get sidetracked and spend my energy focused on love. It is afterall the most intoxicating force out there. Especially when it is new, or established, or broken. Tripping and falling in front of me, it is always there in some form. A passionate memory, a stab of wanting and wondering, stories of how it has shaped me, and songs....so many songs that taunt, torture and marinate my eternal optimism that all of this hurt, disappoinment, walking away, and letting go has not been in vain. It has been because I believe in soul mates..and all that jazz. still. just not right now.
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