maybe next time.

'hello!' says
dead ex girlfriend sitting on a brown corduroy couch next to me. still with the fabulous lips, skinny as a rail, eyes that look so innocent. i can't even imagine how they could have stayed that way after all these years.

and i said,
'i thought you were dead.' as she handed me a cigarette. she looked me in the eyes for a second and pulled out a lighter. i leaned forward, took a hit. she said,

'of course i am, and so are you.' smiled a little bit as her eyes widened.

and i'm thinking that i've had this dream at least eight times before. without an anticlimactic ending, without thinking twice about anything she's telling me. surely if i had anything left to say to her we would have covered it before. but there she was on her brown couch in a summer dress and me with my cigarette.

she asked me a question, but by this time i was checking out the exits. i was ready to bolt this redundant scene. there was nothing else in the room. not even walls that i could see.

if this had been a david lynch dream there would have been a big velvet curtain for me to duck under. maybe he can be a guest director in the next one.

some more confusion.

here comes that weird sentimental feeling again, not shaking my mood, not changing the weather, never to my chagrin. can't help but feel a little silly about it. but when it comes i just let it, and i enjoy that too.

i miss sitting on the kitchen floor with an ashtray and no intentions talking through all hours. never holding hands or thinking twice or looking up your skirt. no mention of exes, no alcohol, nothing to look at but each other. just sit up until dawn telling stories, it only happens in dreams these days.

if this is the feeling of not being sixteen anymore then it's a big sham. i was getting away with it until long after that. was told over and over how these things worked, but couldn't take that as given, never accepted sagelike wisdom as any more than crap. tried to find a way to invite someone back to the house but was repeatedly misread.

maybe i've made a reputation for this?

no, no point in begging the question. this is something that will come back or blow over or just be forgotten. this weird ideal that for some reason i'm hesitant to get rid of. this vague feeling of intimacy that exists independant of all else. maybe i just imagined it. or maybe it would just be easier that way.

don't ask me why i wake up happy now, why i don't feel sad about people drifting off in their own selfish directions, about passive agression getting the best of you. it's not because of anyone except maybe me, even that is suspect.

there's an absense, better to remember than replace, better to miss it than counterfeit. i guess i'm okay with that. owed nothing, not attempting to cash in any chips at the present.

here is the story of how i'm happy with my solitude for a minute, and not even as an alternative.

hello, rut.

trying to write about a dream but it just reads like a personal ad.

so i'll write that instead.

'SWM seeks
inspiration, eloquence
competence to write about
the same subject over
and over, but who
can blame him when the
dreams are so much the
same day after day?'

i'll try again tomorrow.

i didn't answer the question.

jacquie is sad. (she told me so.) with shaking hands and corrosive fumes and other bad dreams, she yawned, picked a cigarette out of the pack and glanced across the table. out of the corner of my eye i noticed a bruise on her forearm, and another on her neck.

mostly she was covered in fabric. the kind of girl you never see much of, even her wrists, because she wears so much clothing. this time she had a button-up shirt with open cuffs that revealed just enough as she turned her wrist and fumbled with a lighter. i didn't ask, though. it's just the little things that you notice.

or maybe you don't.

i was thinking about how this was a familiar scene, taking things out of context, rubbing the nape of my neck, considering how to avoid being roped into counselling her about her problems. i had a hand on my knee, crossed my legs, uncrossed them, thought about how methodical i am, looked back at her and reached for a cigarette of my own. i watched my wrist as i went for the pack but with less satisfaction.

she asked if i had any secrets, implying something i wasn't entirely sure of, but i didn't answer. i looked her in the eye and smiled. she threw her hands up in the air in disgust. jacquie couldn't get anywhere with me. (she told me that, too.)

she said, 'look, maybe i better go.'

i asked what was better about that and she just glared. i asked her to stay and she asked what the point was. i told her she seemed pretty set on that idea. and she said,

'you didn't answer the question.'

she was right, you know.

i told her that if i don't think i can answer a question honestly i try to just shut up. she seemed satisfied with that. we sat in silence for a little while and smoked our cigarettes. there was no more bullshit. i was in a good mood.

why does a man climb a mountain?
possibly to make out, but i really couldn't tell you.

she said
'aren't these mountains beautiful?'

all i could think of was how they didn't look real. too geometric or something. i wasn't sure. something just wasn't right.

i think she was trying to make something romantic out of the situation. surrounded by lush scenery and it was made into a backdrop to make out. or something. i really couldn't say for sure, but i suppose it made me feel better about the whole thing. making out i might be able to get enthusiastic about, but those mountains were another matter.

she pulled on a part of my skin and i thought it was going to come off at first. it felt like some bass frequency resonating all the marrow in my bones and my brittle skin peeling off like it never needed to be there in the first place.

in retrospect i think about all this removing of skin. i seem to dream about it a lot, but i don't think there's a transformation metaphor. good thing; it's one cliche i can live without. i think i just revel in bodily destruction. there's a big mystery in that, don't you think? or at least a certain allure in not existing as you did or possibly even at all.

anyway
i didn't real feel like my body was very important at the time. it was very constricting, but there was this feeling in the back of my throat and the nape of my neck and in my forearms like it was wrapped up a little to tightly and ready to come unravelled. i laughed a little bit. she raised a brow and said. 'what?'
but i wasn't really paying attention to her anymore. sorry, hon. i'm a little bit preoccupied with myself and don't feel bad admitting it.

and those damn mountains just sat there looking computer-generated.

impaired judgement for all seasons.

okay, so i'll admit it. i miss you quite a bit but i avoid you anyway. nothing ever came of talking to you, not even a visit or an exchange of numbers, but for some reason i still feel attracted.

i was really scared that if i talked to you again it would lose all the velour. the more i get to know people the less i want to see them. at least most of the time. so when i saw you in the bar i didn't walk over, didn't buy you a drink or give you a cigarette, didn't offer my number or even wave. we just kind of stared at each other and maybe wondered if anyone was going to make a move. i like it better that way.

you told me you couldn't be happy except in captivity. i like that a lot and it scared me a little. scared me off, maybe. i don't know.

i was walking home that night and my stomach convulsed quite a bit. i started coughing hard and i fell and hit the pavement. i'm not really sure what i ran into but my shin was bleeding a lot. i laughed about that some; it's always funny when i injure myself and i'm drunk.

maybe that was for the best. i was starting to not be so excited about you anymore, and rather than feeling sorry for myself i just bruised a hipbone and sliced my shin open and had a good laugh. i got inside and showered for a little bit. i just stood there and watched my blood run down the drain.

i woke up in the bathtub and the water was still on. it was very cold. i turned it off, dried myself and went to bed. i thought about how i'd probably have just made a big mess out of you like i do everyone else. i guess i avoided it this time. that made me feel much better.

in the morning i saw my shin and remembered the events of the previous night. i thought about you and my weird flux of moods. i tried to conjure up some residual feeling from all that, or maybe just form an opinion, but it was no good.

more and more often that's how it is. i can't make myself stay excited about people. even now, knowing i miss you, i can't really draw any emotions i could identify. feelings are mostly mixed and i don't have a clue what to do about you or most other things. instead i get some coffee and i write it down in the hope that later i'll figure it all out.

dear cunt(s);

all you sad bastards hellbent on something can't even have the grace to drop a line well i'm okay. not terribly excited but hey it pays the bills can't say much about anything else. another year that can kiss my ass wrote it up in the obituaries still kicking and swinging.

some stupid drive down south a quick remedy and then all you get is debt and
realised that this shit you've been bitching about is my problem too but can muster the concilliatory words no need really i know it wouldn't have helped. can't say i didn't try, won't ask, just gonna look the other way.

we are stuck here together sit still and saying nothing got a half a pack and some odd months to go before it dries up drags out takes too long and makes you reconsider. and sitting in the little hallway a respite during lunchtime i can remember a few things.

i remember what you said to me shitfaced about love or some other nonsense i guess i must have really listened but for some reason
too drunk to remember
when you asked me what you'd said the next day i chose to leave that line out. my little secret.

and on the phone you accused me of some kind of treason i had tried to drag you along with me but my efforts are wasted or taken for granted and i can't seem to make myself feel underappreciated even with the facts in mind.

so we just look at each other and circle and as it has for years it can make me wonder whether we're about to fuck or fight or just tire each other out. but baby, you always knew i was in for the long haul.

with fond regards and bitter remarks.