sockmonkey

I am afraid to be loved too much.

Because, in that, I will surely hurt him.

I am afraid to be loved not enough.

In that, I will hurt him, too.

What super power would you have, if you could?

The power to balance love.

Or to split love's shaft, right in two.

So, that it slapped both people the same.

At the same time, with the same force.

With the same colour.

And, to last the same length of time, for both.

Would you walk away from one, if you had another?

And, if your other, had yet another,
wouldn't you walk away for the love of his love?

I am afraid to be loved falsely.

I am afraid to be loved too really, as well.

I am afraid of these things,

As I am afraid of myself.

And, my not good enough lovingness lovings.

do you remember, dear, that night, i wore the smashed cherry lipstick?

do you remember, the netty veil, that stepped, jauntily,
off the edge of my pillbox hat?

do you remember, sir, the little seam, that went, marching up,
the back of my long, slim leg, sewing me, into silk?

do you remember the scents i wore, for you, that night?
of tonquin, and, french vanilla beans?

do you remember the punk, and loud, leather and spike wearing music,
or the smoke?

do you remember, love, lifting me, by my waist, inside that little military jacket,
up, onto that sleazy barstool, and, kneeling, on one knee...
lifting up my ankle, and, placing my foot, there, upon your thigh?

do you remember, sex, looking up, into my eyes, and, mouthing words?

do you remember what you mouthed?

do you remember, abaddon, my eyebrow, singly, lifting,
or the focus, stripping, almost naked?

do you remember, the lead singer of the band, gruffling by,
pulling in his chin, and shaking his head, as if you didn't fit, there?

do you remember, prince of darkness, re~working, the buckle of my shoe?

do you remember, now, or then, dear, the drizzles of sugar,
that surely, would have covered your hands, had you left them there,
any longer...

do you remember our skin, melting?

I fell, today, into, some words.
Artfully, dancing, together, with eachother.
Pardoned, by a pen.
An illustration, of a life, in a quiet, afternoon museum.
Shards of light, cutting shadows,
where, I, alone...
Still hearing birds, and, mission bells,
but, muted, by the shock of shapes of language.

At first, I thought it was a mistake.

An electronic glitch,
that opened up, a doorway,
into other countries,
other worlds,
and, minds.

A writer's journal...
perhaps, that should be private,

A stranger's gift...
Or, maybe... I've known him, already...

But, who, un~knowing, wrapped me in cinnimon toast, and, butter...
Completely, chained, in coffee, having sex, with cream...

Wishing, that the words, were not on a brightly lit screen,
where, I remain, upright, clothed, not in thick brown, satin,
or in glossy water, sliding with calamity's Christmas gift.

Wishing, that the words, that I was reading,
were in some wine~stained, tattered notebook,
or, carefully laid, into cigar box,
with the smell of leaded pencil.

Truly, now, mesmerized, and,
off to fix a broken bicycle wheel,
in physical, but, tied, if only,
by a French or Cuban coloured string,
to words, written.

A story... Turkish Delight...
My addiction...
My prison...
My passion...
What~which causes me to fall,
into ir~repairable love, and endless, mindless lust...
Always.

Words. 

The bath just overflowed.

So, I'm the one,
who doesn't have another mate, yet,
after the last "tragic break~up".

I hadn't been looking for anything,
when I met him.
So, why look for anything, now?

Now, he's that guy,
who acts like I'm stalking him,
if I respond, in any way...
if the new girl is around.

For the most part,
I'm good.

But, you know,
there will come that time...

When I'll see him with her,
and, he'll "warn" her.
and, it will be awkward.

So, tonight...
all alone,
with the young, and, the beautiful performers,
who are my family, now, still, and, treat me like perfection, and, sugar.

They mention a mentor.
A now, famous, sort of, amazing man,
whom they admire, and, who is older, like me.

I say, that I once, had an un~bearable crush on him.
I don't say it all.
The length, or the depth, of it.
He's too much, in their eyes, for that.

The young, and, the beautiful,
who treat me like perfection, and, sugar...

LAUGH.

We know, one of them said.
And, he crushed, right back.
We heard many, wicked, and tasty things, about you.

Is it possible,
that I blushed?

Or, is it the heat,
from the wind?

And, with that,
I walk away, o.k.
with the psuedo stalker status, of the most present, here.

And, the left~over, un~tarnished crush,
of a man, well admired, by many.

My secret weapon, of heart.

And, solace of self.

When, I, next, see the man,
who was most recently, my lover,
with his new love...
I know, exactly, how he will shield her,
I know exactly, how his chin will jutt,
and, his eyes will pace.

But, I've been there.

And, I've been there, too.

There, is better.

There, becomes here,
becomes bigger...
becomes, now.

Yep.
I, too, will jutt my chin,
smile, secretly, and, perhaps,
even turn pink, in the edge of my cheek...

And, skip, looking to her, like a craaazy woman,
into tomorrow.

Currently listening : Leonard Cohen: I’m Your Man Release date: 2006-07-25

If I made you think that I think that I'm better than you...
I'm sorry.

If I made you think that I've made less mistakes...
Or, that I think my image more important than your birthday...

If I've made myself too cool, in any way...
Because of the people who I've sat beside, in a shitty bar,
or diner...
Because of some aura or talent, or put~together image...
Did I make you think, that, because I had found a treasure,
that I had nothing to do with making... 
but was better,
because, un~found...
that I was older?

If I've seemed the popular one,
Or thought that beauty was something that I owned...

I'm sorry.

Did I make it seem as though your hurt was less?

I'm sorry.

Did I make it seem as though your hurt was nothing?

She should think that you're a rock star.
Your wife, lost, was worth whatever grows inside my chest.
They knocked your door down, and, took that watch...
I didn't come out, when you offered.

I'm too busy.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, as I rode my bike,
past the mission,
with the moon, on a kite string, close behind.
I'm sorry, as I watched Gabriel beat those limbless torso drums,
and, I bowed around your struggling,
with boxes of sound, and, wire.
I'm sorry, as I pushed, crowded, past you,
and, acted like I didn't see you.
I'm sorry, as I read your note, and, spit a comptemptive laugh.

I'm sorry.

I felt alone, inside my hurts,
like no~one spoke my language.

We're all in this, together, friend.

And, if I think that I have hurt, in some way that you have not...

I'm sorry...

Tonight, I weep,
out of pity,
for my sorry...

Currently listening : The Listener By Howe Gelb Release date: 2003-03-18

Someone told me, this, tonight...

There are some women, who are like fine cars, he said.
Or like that crazy instrument, that you didn't think you could afford to buy, at the time...
Or like some women...

You touch them,
and, they're fire.
But, you walk away,
thinking you'll forget, or find another.

Man, that thing could race...
It was a Gibson... It would be worth a few thousand, now...
I could have lived with her, forever...
GodDamn, she made a new forever, every day...

They're like Heroin.
You know that you won't stop wanting them.
And, you know that when you leave...
But, you leave, anyway.

You come back, later, and, they're gone.

Then, he laughed.

Where's that lucky hat, you used to wear?
I always liked that hat...

Here I am.
One guarantee.

I'll more than likely fuck it up.

Pity?  No.

Second guarantee.

I'll more than likely try to get back up.

Third guarantee.

Only three people will understand this.

Four.

Currently listening : Daisies of the Galaxy By Eels Release date: 14 March, 2000

It's not finished, yet, and balefully "happy", but I kind of like it...
In ways.

I don't know how to drive this car.
I don't know what this music is.

I don't know why that cop has made a u~turn in the quiet road.
I don't know where I'll get the money.

I don't know where you are, tonight.
Or if you'll ever see me, more.

But, I smile,

Knowing that you are.
Somewhere, in this world, tonight.

~Silk Lives & Hearts Made Out Of Dandelion Wine~

Currently watching : Travellers & Magicians Release date: 25 October, 2005

We see her every day.  We hear of her every day...
Her life is harder than this...





Her experienced Hell is so much worse... than what these kids know...





These people in Darfur have to deal with Starvation, murder, and rape every day..
but who the fuck cares??
Paris isn't allowed to have her Blackberry.


Something similar was sent to me via e~mail.
As ugly as it is, it makes sense to send it on.

~Cake~

I don't consider myself a particularly messy person compared to the general public-
when you compare my desk to the general condition of the desks in my studio,
objectivity (albeit without subjective informative discourse)
would perhaps hold my hand and slowly try to coax me away from such cognitive dissonance.

But I know where everything is! So although it is a bit…cluttered,
at least there is an organization to the whole, though it may be beyond mere human observation.
This is fine- well, tolerable- for desk- and countertops,
but my floor is covered in sawdust. I'd like to say it's nostalgia for old pubs,
but it's really just because I don't sweep. It works well to absorb pools of liquid from knocked-over containers on the cluttered desk and counter tops,
but it's hell when trying to find a screw, nut or othersuch trifle that has slipped from your gnarled grasp.
Now, it's no easier when this happens out in a field, looking for a contact lense
or a key in the middle of the woods.
And the same maxim applies:

When something falls, don't try and catch it. Watch where it falls so you can pick it up.

The point is not to keep something from falling.
Things will fall. Some things break.
Very few things break irreparably, have you the inclination or the wherewithal to attend to their mending. The more important thing, I would think, is not losing them,
when they could still be so useful. Irreplaceable even.

Your first inclination is to reach out and try to catch it before it completes its natural trajectory. Whenever I try this, I just end up tripping over something,
or am so concentrated on my hand that my ego doesn't allow me to focus on the subject
of my attention- the thing falling.
And so it falls anyway, but without someone watching where it went, to pick it back up again.

So keep yourself out of the picture, and just be there to pick the damned thing back up.

And it wouldn't kill me to sweep up a bit.

Currently listening : Armchair Apocrypha By Andrew Bird Release date: By 20 March, 2007

For his third wish...

and perhaps this is where he went a little awry...

He said,

"I wish mine head looked just like the inside
of a hard~boiled egg."

So, you became You
And I became You,
And in all the inter~star~struck lovers,
Only one pretty blonde girl noticed,
And wrote, "Who is You?" to me...
We spanned Arizona to Illinois,

Covering all the nouns and capitalizations.

Until I became YOU,
and You became you,

and then we were no longer We.

I still miss the You who was You to Me.

~?~



P.S. 
I still miss the You that I thought let me be Me...
Or You...
Or who I thought was You...
Whatever...

Currently listening : A Ghost Is Born By Wilco