Whiskey & Ink
thoughts or comments go here
kc, missouri, usa
everything amazes me. i'm still a child.
i love siamese cats.
i fell for her /
Friday, August 3, 2012
nope, too far gone. i tried to stop it, it's really the last thing that needs to occupy my mind right now.
but i fell for her.
like, sit-on-the-bed-gazing-off-into-space-with-one-shoe-on-because-i-started-thinking-about-her-and-just-fucking-plain-forgot fell for her.
blushing alone in my room fell for her.
usually this is a bigger problem. usually it bothers me, and it really should. but there's something special about her. something that i'm lucky enough to glimpse, even if she'll never land in my arms.
let it all out /
Saturday, April 28, 2012
i feel like i'm scraping by surviving this world. i always sit and contemplate the day, the information, press it through an introverted screen that enhances my perceptions and understanding of myself and the other every-things. but i understand so little. so much contradicts itself in my head. the moment i feel wise, i do something foolish. i cannot create art when anything is expected of me, it's a struggle to make a career out of that. the most trusted friend betrayed that trust in earnest carelessness. i sit on my angry hands with a problem, thinking it over for so long that it magically works itself out. i put an issue off, try to ignore it, and it becomes a glaring wound in my life. the most painful experiences have quickened my compassion, and the more compassionate i feel the more my failures hurt.
i get to the breaking point, of my depression or anger or issue, where it hits this glass ceiling of personal integrity. a ceiling that, from far below, looks so beautiful and crystal clear. the things beyond it are beyond me, but they are gorgeous anyway and my shoulders are light. then the seasonal floods rush in, and start pushing me up- i get so angry i could lash out, or i'm so sad i want to die, or some other breach of my code. sometimes it's like a tidal wave that carries me up to break hard against the glass, and other times it pools around my ankles in a steady climb over weeks. the anxiety differs, but it's always a race to find the clog. sometimes i try to slosh around on wet ground, try to ignore the warning signs.
but when i'm in its grip, if i let my head fall under the water, i'll be carried away in the undercurrent to lower ground. a place where the view of the ceiling is even more obscure and hard to see. a punishment, wasted time, a bitterness that takes a long while to climb out of. i've been in there, in the lower valleys and caves- i don't ever want to go back.
so in those terrifying moments where my head hits the wall, the pressure threatens to crush me the more i resist. i've struggled so long there, it's like a repeating nightmare. the longer i hold my breath, the less chance there is to survive it at all. i try to break through, but the glass is too thick. i get that stab in my lungs that says, "now or never, fool," and i start slipping across the surface. and i push away, and dive deeper into the drain. just to try another day.
but sometimes when the ground is wet, as i do tend to learn, i contemplate the ceiling. i keep my eyes on it, searching for an answer, even while being pushed closer. i see soft shapes and fleeting beauty, so many things, so many good things. i can hardly make sense of it, it is so foreign to me, but it's in my nature to try. and while watching the glass press down on me, a conflict for clarity arises. will my anxiety of the conflict conspire to interrupt the view? or will i get a good look of the other side, somehow gaining a better understanding of repetitively smashing against the beautiful rocks? what it means?
it is rare i do. it is very rare, but i am grateful to say it has happened. i kept my eyes open and held my breath and someone appeared, strange and hazy but i get the feeling she's me. she reaches out to touch my hands through the glass, and somehow her fingertips reach me. sometimes i'm too enraptured to realize what this means, and i start to pass out, but she dips her hands in around my face and pulls it through. i take the sweetest gasp, and can hardly open my eyes in all that light, but she holds me there, and whispers sweet things. i can barely feel the storm raging around my body, when she kisses beads of water off my forehead. she tells me things i won't remember, and some i do, but it always feels right and the little secrets make perfect sense. i can never stay long, just until i've caught my breath. she looks at me a little sadly, with a slight pain, and has to push me back in.
but i always have the strength to dive for the clog, and i always find it. and i ride out the wave while it drains, and i settle on the grass, all to contemplate the ceiling. just so that tomorrow i can continue the study of experience, this progression of human reality, while gazing up at the ceiling that won't be there someday.
the human remained /
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
i hope one day i will know all the terminologies and histories, books and musicians and philosophers and films…. strife and oppression of the world, to recognize them all and lay any ignorance to rest.
but until then,
the Baxoje in my blood will recoil from the privilege of my skin
and lash every ignorant mistake to my memory with hot recompense
white clouds and trees will shadow mountain trails to solidarity
ghosts in old clothes and some in new, all of them consuming and shitting
delayed by parasitic thoughts, sweets, things, pleasure, greed
wants dressed like needs.
i’ll carve it all out, until i’m only bones at the peak, human remains.
beauty in the thirteenth cigarette /
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Clever in the corner like a painted wooden fox, that bitch. Curses only cross her legs. She blows dust into my eyes, I fall down to breathe under all that smoke. She leaves a light on when we depart, slips her hand out of mine on the stairs.
She likes to laugh, especially at my excuses. She likes to smile through me when I've lied. She finds me so fascinating, that cunt, that absolute harlot. She compares notes at the foot of my bed. She gets up and leaves sometimes, but she's always there when I turn back. Always with another laugh.
At the moment of sleep, on her hands and knees she crawls to me and thumbs through her rusted keys. She opens the windows, sweeps and cleans, rearranges what she needs. Sometimes she looks through pictures of us and misses me. Sometimes she sits and stares at the memories, and the silence starts to ring. I've caught her before, forgetful and lost in the morning. I pressed my eyelashes against the split in the frame and could almost make out the silhouette of her crying. She did see me, but stood still and said nothing.
As she stepped out, checking the lock, she had another sharp smile for me. Right before she licked, tasted, swallowed another key.
paludarium blues /
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
"Like ice cream floats and dreams
And I will fill your heart with boats and bells
And beams and candy-appled everythings
Bells and beams and candy-appled everythings"
i can remember the first taste; fresh, still youth
warm rice milk and lily textured crème, flowering but
never deeply enough to cleanse.
tongue the infinite sweet of skin (please don't end),
please don't defend against the heat.
i dropped my eyes to concentrate on his story. i was far away, straining. might he come to deplore me? i felt love much later, long after this fool had crossed me. he missed his chance of a sweet, quiet humility.
i gave them what they wanted; a long conversation, a winded declaration to prove that they exist, just to prove that this is it, just to smooth out doubts and counter ills resounding out like trinket trills.
ah, her confident eyes, i want them back. glossy, like a morning thicket fawn grown fat. mossy cheeks to glean dew from the morning fogs. delicate beaded eyelashes framing thoughts. i lament the lady who instead intensely looked away, because i may never know what she caught. i weep for the girl who closed her eyes, because she will forever feel lost.
but i was born sick, always waning nostalgic.
it is simply a taste i will never forget.
"I feel I'm just a child
Sinking down one hundred million miles"
[aching] let me help you down /
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
there is a privacy in early morning, an intimacy with the scattering of light that few adventurous and restless souls will witness. the crawl of cobalt smoking out the stars, i find this to be a true witching hour.
i toe the dirt and leave a scar. back and forth, feeling my bare skin slice through the dense, comforting humidity cooled by the night. press and lean, gaining height without notice. i am willingly seduced by this gentle temptation in clover patches, the thick breeze and leaves saturated by perfumes of mysterious honeysuckle and jasmine. grand trees did take other forms, consuming clever tosses of light artists dream of; it was beauty of a selective nature, pouring out of my eyes in every direction.
in such a glorified moment of silence, how could my mind be still?
the fireflies danced like summer children about my feet, eight feet high; they laughed at my worries, naive to our night's end. but the stars--bled out of the sky with inky hues-- faded with whispers of sound judgement.
Keep coming now
Possessed of nothing more than hell
Before I can speak
My world is wishing me asleep...
Weigh me down
And when the darkness comes around
Remember nothing I have said
Where are you?
Come back again, I want you to
'Not now, girl' you say
But I was born to lose my breath.
-My Bloody Valentine
reset ----- /
Monday, June 6, 2011
It's our Rhythm; mania and melancholia
looking out and breathing in
The wolf and the lamb divide my thoughts, immortalized
by pale bruised skin.
there is a softness of thought that plays like a riddle in my chest. there is confusion thunderous in my belly, sudden radiation of uncomfortable anxiety pouring out onto my nerves. the uncertainty, the illness of being poor. the disease of the mindful. that wretched melancholy, breathing into my head convincingly the life that once was. i have lived as so many different people, edging forward with humility or pain, stark changes and subtle winds.
but that's just it, i sigh to myself. for these winds are often not so gentle, and i am rooted to it with the core of my being. and a force like a tornado has no path, and nor do i- we carve out our footsteps in the earth for others to remember.
a heart's settlement in the forest /
Friday, December 11, 2009
i open this old book and its spine crackles with age, abused with the times and weather and its careless care. soon i will leave without saying a word out loud to anyone, and i will get in my car, and i will cash my paycheck, and i will drive and drive and drive. i will drive so my heart has something to remind it of, things and places, and so my heart can selfishly hurt and wrench without judgment. reach a crescendo of pain, pain i risked, and never hurt that much again.
i am not a fool. i have never told myself that. i walk around, giving my heart away to incredible people. that is what i do. if i continue, then my heart will be battered with experiences. if i stop and hold it to myself without budging, it will be safe and cold.
the reason why it hurts so much, the reason i cradle this old private space no monopoly or treason has ended, is because last night in my drunken boast of heart and joy, i thought of the one i loved, and i love them very much. i would do anything to be the foundation for them, and i would not shake or doubt, i would last and bathe them in the love they deserve from me. i took a chance. i risked it, like i've never risked it before.
why can i have not what i want the most? how can i be trying, and trying, and trying so hard to be a good person to spread my love and care and to be as kind as possible, even to the rude, even to the hateful. why am i never allowed this love, why must i always be so alone in my journey? the answer is fragments of comfort and patience. the answer wraps around me without a name, somewhat vague but obviously so, and it warms my heart up with pain and determination. the answer itself is not an answer, but a confirmation that my efforts, my love will not always be so rejected and strengthening. the answer tells me, you will not always be met with challenge, and your heart will not always be shaped for strength. the answer cries with me, because it understands the will it takes to guide myself through these times without selfish pity or anger.
and i walk on and i walk through. soon i will be packing my things and saying goodbye to this life i made for myself here, the love i gave here and the love given to me. my beautiful mistakes earned with blood and tears, and my quiet triumphs edging me forward. i will look back on this era and weep for the bigger picture it fits into. and i will smile through my tears and leave quietly, without notice or warning, not to cause pain but because i never truly leave.
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