Sunday, April 27, 2014

Out of the Box

doll/legs - c/o

Something that consumes, destroys and eats you alive... do you let it out of the box or never open that door again? Let's complicate matters further... What if it meant you never created again? It's growing apparent to me, in recent days, why I locked away my muse. It's never easy to write with her. Yet I am. I don't know if I'm ready to delve into this place again. It's filled with darker emotions that I rarely allow to surface uncontrolled... the jealousy, anger, sadness, self doubt make up the thing that powers my creativity to its fullest. Nonetheless I continue to think I can handle this with a little inspiration from someone who's bravery far surpasses my own. I am in awe daily by this person's courage because I somehow lack my own. 

Why must I make things difficult? Because I can. Yes, last year was fabulous...but you can not live in the past. You can not continue to live inauthenically by looking backwards. Not much more can be said about that. You were saying? I wasn't. Stop saying and start doing. Locking away the thing you love most can be most damning but if you have to choose yourself or the desire that drives you to create... I suppose I selfishly chose to love myself over anything that tried to destroy me. I have found new ways to create and there will always be a new way, with or without my muse.

Here's a story about a man who misses something that he did away with... out of his own fear of not being in control. I could tell you the background of the story only, it doesn't matter. It's a few parts real and a few parts fiction. And you're allowed to create from your experience and the fictional places that it touches. All is fair in the eyes of an artist. Can't handle that... DON'T DATE ONE. It does hurt to always find yourself in the role of "friend" rather than "girlfriend" but I'd rather be with someone who can handle me whole as an artist who will be inspired by them to create. If you are an artist you can't pretend that you don't agree. Actions are quite louder than any words...

Well then... Ever let your fear get the better of you? My advice: Don't. You can't control someone else. You can only control yourself. You are not solely responsible for the end or the beginning of a relationship. You can only take responsibility for your own actions and life. Don't let someone make you the villain. Love yourself enough to know it takes two people to muck things up. No one is perfect. 

Enjoy! Kisses, m.

Now that I miss her

There’s a point that we all reach in life where we realize there’s no going back. An action, rather a reaction that leads pointedly to the logic of the situation. And I think I’ve finally reached that realization.

Tonight when I left the house I could feel the Spanish wind dancing through the trees calling me back to her and she’s gone. Not coming back. Something tells me I’m not in Kansas anymore when I look over at the drunk on my right. They say that he’s been sitting in the same chair for ten years missing the same old broad the same way I’m missing her tonight.

The clock keeps ticking like the pulse of a beating heart. The memory of her beating heart haunts my ears in the midnight hour as we keep passing the beers.

Not before long the stranger at my side inquires about the troubles weighing down my mind. I tell him the only thing I can that’s true.

“My old lady left me and there’s nothing I can do cause it’s all my fault.”
“Fault? That’s mighty big of you to say.” Says the old drunk with a laugh behind his words. “A bigger man woulda run from the blame but you’re not that big are you.”
“I’m afraid to say I’m far worse than that man” I tell him with a tear in my eye.

She pleaded “don’t do this” and I didn’t stop. I knew that she knew there wasn’t any going back from it this time. Weaker than the weakest of men I stepped into the role of the villain the last time I saw her and gave her exactly what she needed.

In the middle of the night when I’m not leaving I’m doing so much worse than before the fight. My arms can’t stop themselves as I drag her slender form kicking and screaming from the bedroom. The face that I love so much is wearing lines almost straight across with the tension of pain. There are words but I can’t. I just can’t. The words don’t matter when I’m making her understand.

I tell the old man about the color of her hair and how it reminds me of the way she used to dance into the bedroom in the morning. Letting both of her arms reach out and grab the rear post of the bed before swinging back onto the mattress next to me. It was in her smile that I noticed the way the freckles on her nose lined up. Not at all a straight line but the imperfection of it made me love her.

The old man laughs when I tell him these idiosyncratic reasons that I miss her. I don’t know why he laughs but he does before telling me “you were in love with her” and I know he’s right but I don’t care because I can’t change what’s happened. She’s never coming back.

It’s the middle of the night when we find our fights to be the strongest. It’s always the middle of the night and I don’t know why that is. Coming home to see her lying there, pretending she isn’t playing games with me. Something about this time changes and then I’m still doing this and there’s nothing to take it back.

The conflict between day and night has long since resolved itself, yet we can’t even come to terms with our dispute. Pitch black darkness fills the house alongside our voices. Even though I’ve stopped dragging her by the hair down the hall it isn’t over. Walking away isn’t enough.

Come back she tells me when I slam the front door and find myself twenty feet out into the front lawn. I can’t understand why she says come back but at the same time I find myself wanting to stay more because she said it. Backward twenty feet and I’m not leaving in the middle of the night. I’m going back in for another round because she needs it.

Understand?” The old man replies with a question to answer mine. I ask him if he understands what its like to miss a woman. He never replies much more than that but I can see the tension in his face and wonder how much he misses that someone from his past who will never come back because of how he is or what he’s done.

I’m done. I calm myself by laying the lid down on the box. There’s nothing to say to her. She’s still crying under the lid. The ties that bind aren’t enough to hold the evil that’s she done in place. Both hands and legs tied and in my mind it’s not enough to stop the lies. I don’t want to hurt her, but she’ll never see how she really is. How I really am. It’s really a shame that it’s come to this. I want to say I didn’t warn her but this is it. Even when I carried her out of the house in the pouring rain I knew with every screaming denial that she was a liar and there was no going back.

Another round and I’m nodding my head when I tell him that I saw her face at the movies. Every picture there she was. Black and white or color made no difference. Each time I’d see her looking out at me. With a smile he pats me on the back and I tell him a little more. I tell him about her voice. He looks at me oddly with a stern grimace after pulling away. I tell him that it’s impossible cause I can’t help hearing her when I’m out. It’s like the memory of a ghost that can reach out and grab my soul without warn or presence. The old man keeps looking at me cause now I’m crying but I don’t know I’m crying only that I’m hearing her sing that same song in the back of my head. But when I turn around she’s not there anymore.

“Son, what happened?” the man stares as he asks as the room full of strangers sits quiet and still.
“I don’t know.” I tell him in my most convincing voice that almost convinces me I’m telling the truth.
“Now that ain’t right what you’re saying or doing there. I can tell cause I know that look. I know it because I’ve worn it before.”
“What’s that?”
“You might say that I am.”
I tell him this one is on me before getting up to leave. The stranger doesn’t say much except he nods and stares my way until leave. The room keeps watching me with the same pale eyes she used to watch me with. I can’t help the way they stare at me. I know they all know what I did. But I can’t take it back.

There’s no going back.” This is my only thought as I drop the wooden box into the ground and shovel in the gravel and cement. I want to tell her why she’ s going into the ground this time or why it has to happen this way this time but I can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to tell her that she’s the reason. Another man with his filth laid his hands on her and it was too much. This time I couldn’t bring myself to look at her anymore. There’s no level of distance that could take this away.

Sometimes I like to pretend she’ll come back through the door. That the sunset will bring her closer to me once again. When I hear the phone ring and I half expect to hear her voice singing into the line. But tonight as I find my way back through the Spanish winds that remind me of her black hair and light eyes I know there’s nothing that can ever bring her back.

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