Greys

It is that deep down, I know I am very vain - I feel in my heart conceits of many colors. My color always changes, I impose myself over every color like a shade, filtering out any honesty in their true tones. It's a suck, leaving grey shades, a grey cloudless sky. The grey sun, and grey hairs. It's the grey moon, growling in a grey voice many grey songs filled with grey words in grey tones.

I have grave intentions with this grey heart.

Plow the Cows

Was it a pretty day today? My uncle arrived home from India today. I picked him up at the airport and he looked thin and tan just the way he wants to be. During the time he spends here, however, he grows fat and pale. Like walking through a veil it's an uncanny transformation, not figurative and very palpable.

It is a shift I too see in myself at times. Like today. A veil of wind washed over all the streets and also over me. Veils of frustration and glory - drenched, dirty, and dying.

It was blue and warm for a few moments today, but the veils brought by the wind shook free some light snow. Icy and cold tonight, no plows.

Feta Cottages

For breakfast I had an omelet with french feta and some cantaloupe with cottage cheese. I like cottage cheese after eating it in the hospital with many different fruits. Cantaloupe and melon were my favorite.

After eating and taking my medicine, I cleaned in the few spots I have been trying to finish. I wasn't able to finish either, and really didn't make any more progress than I have in the past five days. I did find an old scrap of watercolor paper which I must have done over two years ago. It was weird, because looking at it for the first time in so long, I couldn't even remember doing it. But I recognized the way I did the clouds and Tilly and the Wall.

I saw the big fat grey cat, and I tried to shoot it twice. I missed both times. I wonder if that was the cat that raped monster. We'll see.

I made an appointment with a counselor. It's Monday morning, however I am a bit anxious since I am not quite sure what to expect. I suppose that is pretty normal, for once. I think.

My left ear began to ring a new pitch just a few moments ago. It was like a switch, being pushed in or out, on or off. I'm not sure if it's the absence of silence, or the appearance of a new ring. It's hard for me to be sure.

I will try to wake up early tomorrow and make breakfast for my mum and brother. I hope that at the least I can do that. That and clean. And I need to pick my uncle up from the airport tomorrow. It won't be very good if I forget.

Rusty Rings

When the sound around me stays still, I ring. Like a round record playing a steady pitch, there are picks and pocks to the smoothness of the ring. As the skin on the back of my hands creases, I feel the scalded skin become firm and beg for nails to be deeply drawn across it. Beams of green neon flash behind my eyelids, as they flutter from exhaustion - never feeling calm when closed and never feeling strong when open.

Today was colder than yesterday. I had trouble recalling what point I was at in my life. I believe I'm at a point somewhere after it's beginning - always hoping to be a little bit closer to it's end than to it's beginning. It feels better, much much better, to believe the latter. Much much better, to imagine winding down. To at long last, be winding down this life. To at long last, be able to wind life in some direction. I'm tired of being rusty.

short stacks

It'll put any kid down when the few joys in life begin stacking up shorter and shorter. Maybe it's because the memories are piling up higher and higher, leaving less room for dreams and less room for desires. Maybe sanity has become too heavy to hold steady. Maybe it's a craving for unbalancing and re-balancing. It is all better as a game.

I spent a week in a psychiatric ward, beginning February 17. It was probably a lifetime too short. When I was there I wanted anything but to be there, all I wanted was to be free. But out here, all I want is back in. All I want is to be told where the boundary is, to be told there are a pair of doors I'm not to pass through. I'd like to be told what to do with ten fingers, what to do with ten tows. I'd like to be told what to see with two eyes and what to hear with two ears. I'd like to be told what to do with one life, what to do with one heart. What to do with one beat. What to do with no beat.

I've withdrawn from this semester at school, and cannot fathom re-enrolling in the fall. It seems life could move on around me. Is it a slow seep to insanity or a swift slope into sanity.

It is raining outside, the first shower of spring. I do not have a job and I do not have any money. The sap from the trees is running. We believe Monster was raped. Today the city was misty and the crests of the valley were swabbed in grey. Tonight I baked two pizzas for two friends, and now I go to sleep feeling ever as alone. Tonight I go to sleep, knowing I should not have ever been awake.

A Game Called Thursday

It was a curl in my habits which caused a thought to cement itself to my heart. A tie to the tracks which I wanted so desperately fulfilled.

I got lost searching for myself - and stumbled back into a world I want no part of. I think I would have let it run right over this neck and these thighs, and I'd have embraced every steel wheel.

It is now all long gone and I'm here, right where I started. My soul just keeps curling, and the thoughts in my head settle and then churn, and they all leak into my chest. Ever word and ever sight, ever taste and every smell, seeps straight into my chest. I do not control it. It just is.

Friday hysterics led to Sunday salutations. A run led to a shower where I let everything curl out and away. It all simply burst and crawled down the drain after clinging down my cheeks. The salt and the tears made everything, seemingly, very clear.

And the railroads, they just seem so perfect. The perfect spacing between, the perfect level, and the perfect feel. Something about... lines.

Something about finding yourself and not seeing anything there. And that will take a long while to ever seem real.

only in corners can love
find a heart

only at the edges can
faith ever be tested

always in between
is where a faithful heart is found