Weeks Sixty – Seventy Three: Raw Hi

I have a lot of projects – well, I have one big project, High, which I need to return to – but I keep piling up journals and I need to go through them! For this blog! What compels me to prioritize this blog, I know not, but I know I feel like a failure – I feel like all of everything is lost – if I abandon it! I suppose that film, story, play and poetry pieces come and go – but this blog is evidence of my work on myself as a person and writer – and that is a project that will endure all of my life.

^^ I was in Montreal and Quebec City this past January. The bitter cold! A zillion electric bee stings cutting through your three layers of pants! I loved it 😀 

Another issue is the editing. Because I have trouble knowing if I want to cut something out because it is too dull and cringeworthy (for you) or if because it is too raw and humilating (for me). The agonizing over what to omit takes hours.

Being that I am horribly behind and overwhelmed with material for this blog post, I’m just going to post one complete, unedited entry from October that I thought was similar in content to many other entries from these past few months, but more original in its execution. And one funny sentence from November. Nothing from December (I wrote more than thirty poems that month – for others though, not this blog for myself). A little messy tidbit from January.

Godspeed to me. Godspeed to you. Unedited, unfiltered, complete. I put xxx’s to replace people’s names. Not that I think anyone will ever read this, but JUST in case.

10/31/18 – An Oath to Dedicate Myself to Vulnerability

“You don’t speak for people but with people” – Letters to a Young Writer by Colum McCann

I am a box of bananas

Peel is a shocking yellow

It doesn’t take more than eye contact to make me all aglow and fluttery

Horrid is judging it

It’s not horrid

Stop labeling my desperation and eagerness as horrid

Stop labeling my bubbling tongue, my quick to throb to heat heart, my quick to tingle limbs, my yawning cooch – STOP labeling it as horrid because it just is what it is & on another note beggars can’t be choosers – this is to mean – if I like someone I’ll just pursue it. I’ll just pursue it. I’ll give myself watery eyes & scratches all over the wrists but I’m tired of waiting for earthquakes and gut swallowing & gulping down desire or

at least

Hi, here I am

I am a box of bananas

I am a bowl of grapes

I am fantastic, and I know it too

I’m going to treat everyone else like they’re fantastic and hopefully someday something good comes from everything.

I’m going to buy peppermint tea & vegan cookies, I’m going to tip every time, I’m going to open a salsa dancing club even though I’ve never salsa danced in my life, I’m going to peel off my fingernails & leave them on my lovers’ pillows, I’m going to treat every man who I believe is worthy of awe & smoke & leather jackets & dancing vaginas like they are fantastic because I am at a loss otherwise. Because I am at a weary, disappointed, all twisted up suffering otherwise.

When someone puts work in front of me, I focus, I can’t stand to speak, I hide behind it and bite back my strange too slow jokes & all my qualms and all my palm all my hands, in every situation

I’ve got to be

I will be

Frank

Frank. I will have a daughter and name her Frank. And she will express interest when interested and she won’t when she is not.

I’m going to teach her how to pursue happiness with no loss of enthusiasm, but first I will learn how to do this myself.

I will go to graduate school and bemoan how I had any ingratitude during these years of freedom. I will stop wishing things were a certain way and I will just act to make them that way as I can and then I will forget it, eat chocolate, write fast, do yoga, smoke weed, drink wine, dance dance dance.

One day, maybe I’ll meet a guy who is willing to compromise for me whom I’m also willing to compromise for.

Until then, I am a bag of bananas – compromising all over the place & vulnerable like a fisherman’s sack of wet noodles – through the crocheted holes I’m losing chunks of myself that are getting stomped into the ground by smelly boots and that’s okay and that’s okay because they are just 3 cent pieces/chunks of pust and I’ve got an endless caboodle to grow & nourish my whole life.

(xxx, xxx) think I’ve never had a boyfriend because I don’t make myself vulnerable.

I challenge this notion

I am as vulnerable as a wet bag of noodles and I’ll just keep on getting slimier. If nobody chooses to bite or let their insides get goopy with mine, it’s their bad, not mine.

True agony is believing this is all my fault.

That it is not due to my lack of beauty or my too many hearts or the maturity & wounds & cages of those dudes.

So, I just won’t believe it.

Hello here I am Ow

GIRL

Hello here I am, ow.

I like you, I’ll accept reject, ow

I’m touching my hair, ow

I’m putting on a dress, ow

I’m moisturizing, ow

I’m calling you, ow

 

Everybody is hurting & nobody should blame each other. The noble are those who let themselves be hurt in the pursuit of what they want & continue forward none the less.

I refuse to be slammed down.

I deserve to fight for what I want – for love anyways.

It’s a shame I always have to try, it’s a shame how much it costs me, but stop labeling it a shame & just let it be what it is.

A not shame.

A me living.

A me not backing down.

I’m already crying imagining the hot pain & greasy humiliation I know is imminent.

But the fuck, I can’t just sit around waiting & being safe, what the fuck is the point of a life in a choice like that?

11/3/18

I don’t remember age 10 except the only thing more delightful than attention from others was television.

1/8/18

In the end there is only love, or at least, there is only risking for love, getting your need sucked up into red spots & your head dizzy & sporadic, getting your cheese on your pizza – the taste of love is tomato sauce, red, fruity, vitamin C – the taste of youth is a smile as wide as the sky – don’t stop trying & flying & coughing & soaring, because the only thing worse than failing is not trying & letting your memories & velvet emotions getting all caught up and coiled on the inside of your chest.

Attempt to describe the Sunlight sparkling on the ocean

Fireflies spazzing out on the water.