Why do I desperately want to show myself as useful to people that don’t give a damn about me, and if I’m hard pressed to say it (ok, that was definitely not a hard press) I don’t give a damn about either?
The river is love, the river is lust, and my body is submerged in it, and I am exhausting everything I have as all of my muscles strain against a force as powerful as the earth itself, the innate pull of water everywhere to the bottom of the ocean floor, to be pushed away by new water that also wants to be there, maybe even more. And the drive of all humans to take our weak, barely warm spark and combine it with another, maybe rub to create some fire, maybe make more. This is love.
I wonder what the point of all this is, and what the point of me is. I know I’m smart. I felt my fingers flutter a little before writing that. Is there really any point of bragging to myself? My father and I talked about that briefly. Briefly, while briefly going over archival copies of magazine articles written about his favorite, and one of my (almost capitalized My, and yes, there still is much of that kind of work to do) favorite uncles.
Glad to see me and my body are still on speaking terms, even if they took to the subconscious stage to officially present their grievances. It’s true, I’m in pain and winter is going to make it worse. I don’t know who to talk to to get good advice here. My Father will tell me to go to the gym, of course, but he’s not considering the plague. Everyone else just simply can’t understand why I need the gym like I do, the fat lazy fuckers. Or they’re runners, who work out for stimulation, not relaxation as I do.
I had dreams last night, and they were intense, descriptive, and complete. I woke up feeling like an entire, complete narrative had taken place, a complete story that answered all it’s own questions. There was a beginning, middle, end, and even a moral. My brother was there, and so was everyone I wanted, even though I don’t know who that was. I went somewhere I had been meaning to go, and came back home, even though I don’t know where that is.
I dreamed of boats, of a property that I owned, the property that my brother owned, the property that my friend used to own, on a dirt road behind a town that could have been anywhere, on an old road behind the main road that everyone knows, that everyone uses to get to two places that are somewhere, bypassing all of the cool stuff that only the older locals remember. All the lakes, rivers, old drinking spots, beached cars from the 60’s, the hollowed out ice cream truck that looks like it’s been there since the 40’s , the abandoned zoo with the art deco stone carvings to denote which exotic animal was in which cage.
My back is killing me. I was in a car accident with my ex, the same one that broke him to the point where he ruined our whole lives. I can see why I dreamed of My father in law, and know that that’s not true. My ex lied and said he was disabled, but I just grabbed my suitcase out the back of the wrecked car and went to work.
Sometimes I wonder, of all the coincidences in the world, the ones that just stop and make us think and recount and say emotionless statements like “What are the odds?” which ones save us and which ones ruin us. And I wonder how much who we are as people effects that.
I mentioned her school affiliation (Ivy of course, plus the other game in town) and I could almost forcibly feel the boy’s shoulders squeeze into each other, and saw his chin fall in toward his chest, his eyes just almost looking at his own inadequate genitals or something. I could literally feel him fold up. He radiates a warmth that I can feel without looking and that’s why I love him.
I can’t even go about figuring out how to fix things… I always fill my personal relationships with more than they can hold. It seems great, it seems like there’s enough room, but then as I’m putting stuff in I see that suddenly, the meniscus bursts open on the top and rivulets pour like tears down every side of the glass.