I Should Write LessI traveled back in time to catch a flight on a plane to nowhere.

The woman with razor blade for eyes… I don’t know who she is; but I feel that I’m in love with her.  For months I’ve seen her in the distance watching; sometimes she passes by and says nothing.  She says nothing but her scent of expensive perfume and pheromones linger to remind me that she indeed is real.

She scares me as much as she arouses me.  Why has she followed me for months, making it very apparent that she is disecting me with her eyes?  I should have mentioned her to Tim.  I know he’ll generically think she’s a figment of my allready fragmented mind; but I know she’s real.  I feel her.  When I sleep, when time stands still, when I watch the tears from my eyes drop onto my desk for no apparent reason… She’s fucking there.

Every time she’s within my grasp, my ability to speak is always crushed; and that’s when I see her smile and squint her devilish eyes.  But then I face reality.  I have a keeper of my time which is defined as the present and possible future at home.  A keeper who most likely is flexing her remote control choke hold against my throat to stop me from venturing too far away from the farm.  It’s been too many days, months, years that I’ve been orbiting that satellite.  Long enough that it’s apparent that separation of our elliptical paths will resolve in the destruction of our both worlds.  My mind attempts to draft up a chaos theory that will result in both my exoneration of my prison orbit, and return to the time that really is my present.

Maybe this predator in the shadows is my liberator, or maybe it’s my impending demise.  I don’t know, just like with everything else that’s the randomizing jigsaw puzzle which is my life.  I should take that vacation time that I have coming to me; lie and say it’s a business trip.  I have to do something.  Anything to give me some freedom and peace of mind to find out what the hell is really going on.

I’ll take my vacation, and I’ll write less.  I’ll write again when I come back with answers for you, and myself.

Goodbye.

I heard the most beautiful string of words that were put together to describe love last night.  “Waking up each morning, looking over to your partner and understanding why you love them more and more each day”.  

It was a realization about life and love. Love and life.  I’ve been here for a few years wandering this reality, and incompatible instance of time. Those words were from a woman who was having a conversation with what appeared to be an old friend.  They were obviously catching up; the laughter, the smiles and even tears; it wasn’t mushy to watch from the corner of my eye.. It was poetry and life in motion, and unfolding.

In a few short words, this woman with a cheesier cat smile like no other explained the definition of love.  I then started to reflect upon my own life, and miscellaneous points of confusion and as myself, if I ever felt that way.  The response that came from the shadows and echos of my mind was:  “Answer foggy, try again”.  Yes my fucking head works like a magic eight ball sometimes. 

This was the truth though.  In reflection of the random shit storm incidents in my life that were masked with denial or sadness… This was one was definitely the truth.  I really didn’t know the answer to this. Fuck.

Fuck
Fuck
and Fuck.

Reality is a bitch sometimes.  I looked at that man in the corner of my eye, and saw that he indeed loved his friend, and she too was in love with him; but there was an element missing that didn’t make them whole.  Their relationship would only be logical; not mystical.  I felt for him and her.  It was a visible but invisible barrier that was the handicap for the both of them.  But this is the reality of relationships and life, no less.

At that point, I understand why my mother loved to cook so much.  Random, yes. But it makes sense, as I type in this living journal.  it’s the release.  It’s the art form; it’s the freedom from the monotony that your relationship had spiraled down into.  Relationships that were based on survival.  Survival was a key lesson that was shared in the time I’m from.

It’s just funny though.

You are seperated from that element, and taken to a point of time in which you can reflect on what you didn’t understand or took for granted.  In the end, I’m still so cold.  I watch the goose bumps grow on my arms, and my hair stand on end when it’s fucking warm and toasty in LA.  It’s just a bitter reminder of how much I fucking hate everything; and what I’ve become.

A lost transient, who has come to the realization that he’s never coming home again.

Fuck.

My tears are so full of alcohol, they numb my fucking face as they stream.

You know the day is going to go well when you start crying at your desk after your first bite of tasty cinnabon.  Not talking the baby-tantrum style of crying. I’m talking about the silent cry you see in key moments of a dramatic flick, where there’s nothing but silence, and then a solitary mystery tear streams down your face.

That’s what I did.  I did just that.  Some days I know why those one or two tears stream down my face; others it’s just a mystery.  Kinda like those nosebleeds that you’d see kids in your 2nd grade home room class have.  I never had one of those, come to tell you the truth. 

Time marches on though.  I’m still lost and confused about my time, and my existence.  When those tears stream and fall; I can see and feel every nanosecond of the process.  The air becomes stale, sound becomes damp, and time starts to slow down and fade.

Maybe I should take the time (no pun intended) and look around for answers, whenever that happens next.  Each streaming, dive bombing, kamikaze tear that falls feels like an eternity.

Ivy.
Ivy.
Ivy….

Where are you, now?

A meeting which was only weeks ago, feels like months and years ago.  Random thoughts during these tear based rifts of time must move back and forth between the past, present and future perfect.  What once was a random summer missed scent of attraction, now turned into winter, years later.  So much later, that she is still waiting with shorter hair, a parka coat, and a glimmering smile…

The tear falls and lands… Time snaps back into sync and you’re back in reality; until the next one falls… 

Sometimes I sit and shake my head during the torture this curse of my offers.  Sometimes I stare into the distance, and I see my beautiful relentless stalker.  The one with razor blade eyes, and a racoon’s smile.

Ghosts.
All Ghosts.

I hear the echoes of the dead haunting me. A recurring pattern of my mind that tells me that I’m weak.  I’m just one of the fallen: broken, damaged and fucked up…  Too paralyzed to comprehend the truth.

My heart is just feeling lonely.  Lost, stolen and broken apart.

…And then I saw her stars.
I saw them rain over me.
I watched them come down, and watch over me.
So I’m here, right now.
This cloud absorbs the cacophony.
Rain down, and surround me with your poison, Ivy.
With your poison, Ivy.

I woke up and jotted these words down, and the image of the star which shot across the ether of my mind.  Later that day I came across this star, and her name was Ivy.  Was it deja vu, or was it time to blame it on the alcohol that this gorgeous bartender was generously serving me?

As with anything that scares me, I ran.  Ran away from Ivy’s smile, and deep black eyes.  I ran home and wept.  I knew it wasn’t deja-vu, it was another unraveled thread from my nicely knitted sweater from the designer label: destiny.

What is really left of me?  My reality is becoming more blurred and vacant as each day ticks by.  The merge of time is coming closer.  No matter how fast or far I run, it’s going to happen.

It’s going to happen.

—-

She thinks she missed the train to Mars, she’s out back counting stars.
I thought she’d be there holding daisies, she always waits for me.
She thinks she missed the train to Mars, she’s out back counting stars.

(Hum — Stars)

—

 I’m sorry Ivy.  Maybe in another timeline we’ll count those stars together.

Question: Since when did whiskey become a dessert wine? 

Answer:  Since the day I was disassembled, left for dead, then reborn confused, absent and disappointed.

I saw her piercing razor blade eyes across a sea of pedestrians today.  The eyes that I fear, but I’m secretly in love with, were watching me.  I felt my dissection from across the boardwalk, just making me burn and itch in discomfort.  Moments later, she was gone again; with her vagrant, devilish smile still clawing at my heart.

It triggered those white flashes. The flashes that makes the air taste stale, and my body start to shiver.  Through the smoke I saw we had children together, and she was a neurotic fucking mess, but efficient as hell…  Then I began to choke.  This always happens when I come to.  A little hyperventilation like a panic attack, followed by silly Hollywood melodramatics of checking my back pocket for my wallet.

Shit.

I’m not even a thief, and I would definitely go for a freaked out loon’s wallet, at the apex of his future trip.

Regardless, we’ve never met, but I know her.  I feel her when she’s hunting me masquerading behind the shadows of people, in broad daylight.

But the reality of it all, I’m still stuck here.  Seeing and moving between the future and the present, or not; I’m still stuck here.  Stuck here, peddling my misanthropic musings of a delusional cock-sucker. (That’s me).  I still return to this cramped pad with a less than ambitious lover staring me in the face asking:  What’s for Dinner?

I breathe the air to see if it’s stale, and then I realize that this is all real, and not a forecast of fair weather for Meriwether.  When I close my eyes though, I see the threads of fate which guide us all.  Mine are not hard to miss, they are the ones illuminated with a path paved with sadness and gold.

… I  just dozed off. And I kept fighting a field of white.  I don’t want to see anything else; unless it’s my freedom.