sockmonkey

In the end blue happiness is only metal.

In the end words written are just fodder.

In the end sex is something that you order on the internet.

And my memory is just something that you wipe away.

I hurt.

Tomorrow will be the aniversary of the night that a hiker found his body.
I still did not know for two more months.
I was not legally married to him,
and the letter that he left for me was given to his mum.

She never let me read it.

The coroner called me on January 20th, Zach's  birthaday, 2002.
She asked me questions, which I tried to answer... but they weren't relevant any more.
Finally, I told her, down to his chonies, what he was wearing, and the serial number of the gun.
She offered to read the letter to me at this point, but I didn't want to hear it through her voice.

It's been almost four years.
I still carry so many people through their grief.
Ruben, Christina, Rudy, Jewels, and my son, who on that day, became, My Luxurious Victim...
Sometimes, I cannot bear it myself.
Tonight is one of those nights.
I crush.  Into myself.  Until I cannot breath.  Until it feels like living is too much...
But dying would be too easy.  Too afraid.  Too un~caring for the ones I say I love.

He left me a note on that Friday, and I didn't think a thing.
Handsome, fun, and full of mystery...

Take care of Nimbus and Conpella...
Sure, I could do this for this eccentric man I loved.

My lovely boss sent me to a mental ward.  She paid for everything.
I threw up in their lobby.  And they sent people quickly.
They said that I was not crazy.
But I could work no more.

Scott came to me that day, the day I called in "crazy" to work.
I had not told a soul what was going on. 
I just took care of everything, full, for those four months.
And then, my friend, Matthew's friend
came there to take care of what I could not.
He never spoke a word, not one.  For the weeks that he stayed with me.

He shaved my head for mourning, as is the custom in the east.
Not only for M. Pike, but for the war that now was raging.
He cooked for me and dressed me.  He made me tea and cleaned my house.
He cared for the garden that I could no longer tend.  And held me, sobbing, in the night.

People stayed so far away.  They didn't know what to do.

Please, if you are reading this.  It is for me and those who need it.
Do not write or comment.  I love you all, but this is too much hurt for words.

Just think.  And pray.  To what ever God you know, or want to.
That there is peace for those,
whose eyes burn richer than melted amber,
whose hearts are blacker than ink spilled upon my breast...
For those who keep secrets that they think are heavy,
but are not. 

To silent friends who love them.  Need them... To be living.  To carry others.

Through this futile life.

 M. Pike, My friend.

Please, cook Italian, where~ever you may be.

 About 1992...
Jer, Cameron, not pictured here, again... and Z.

 2006. 
You are not allowed to have a phone or camera in school...

 2006.
It's rare to get a pic of this one. I did not take this photo, or add the caption.

http://sockmonkey.buzznet.com/user/journal/39741/

         

I woke in the night, as I used to, often, with that heaviness on my chest.
Aware that I have opened Pandora's box. 
That I have eaten of the Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge.
The tidal waves threaten, though all is silent and dark around me.
If I were to roll into the salt.  Into the black abyss.  Into the sea.
Off of this little raft of where I try to sleep.
Would the murkiness and Kingly evil ocean dwellers devour me?
Swallow me up and make me as one never known?

I would, tonight, just rather, let myself sink slowly.
No more treading.  No more knowledge.  No more loss of innocence.

I would, to become the little girl I served lunch to yesterday.

"Do you have apple juice?"  "Yes, we do."
"Can you mix it half with water?" 
"Yes we can.  Or I can bring you two cups,
   and you can do it  for yourself so that it is just the way you like it."
"Do you have pasta with butter and red?"  "I think that we can do that, yes."

"Do you have hair around your vagima?"  "Well, yes, sometimes, I do."

Tonight, I am too tired. I lie awake, and wish to sink.

~

You fell into my center.
I was spinning, it was true,
You were that thing 
flung into my gears...

You said I was a tchotchky,
You treated me as though
I was the trophy of your win.
But it was You who fell,
no, jumped off of the mantle.

You broke us both.

When You fell into my center.

~Cake~

Currently listening :
Mary Ann Meets the Gravediggers and Other Short Stories
By Regina Spektor
Release date: By 14 February, 2006

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