Day 26: A Song That Makes You Want To Fall In Love
I’m gonna go with this one and let it stand alone. Firstly, because it’s a great little love song. Secondly, because you really need to meet Oh He Dead. Enjoy “Show Me Love”.
Day 26: A Song That Makes You Want To Fall In Love
I’m gonna go with this one and let it stand alone. Firstly, because it’s a great little love song. Secondly, because you really need to meet Oh He Dead. Enjoy “Show Me Love”.
Day 14: A Song You’d Love to be Played at Your Wedding
I eloped. There were no songs, aside from the wind and the birds and some distant wind chimes and traffic, perhaps. If I were to get remarried? Hmm. I dunno. I don’t really know that I’d want the ceremony overshadowed by someone else’s words. Perhaps there’s a song out there that would change my mind, or a person. But for the ceremony itself, my inclination is no music. Or something delicate and instrumental.
Now, if I were ever to have some sort of after-party/reception? Sure, there would be music. I have no idea what it would be. Probably some Leon Bridges or some John Legend. So I’m sure I’ll throw some shit like that down for you to listen to.
But, I’ve had Billy Idol in my head all day. From the moment I previewed today’s theme.
Next up, Leon Bridges. I do confess I’d love to have someone feel like this about me. I once shared this song with The Chef (someone I haven’t yet told you about), during a brief but intensely heady love affair (not the cheating kind). He wasn’t the one. But, for a moment in time, I thought he could be.
Can’t possibly have a list of (relatively recent) love songs without including John Legend, though this song makes me cry. And ache. I’d also love to have someone (mutually) feel like this about me.
Surely you know me well enough by now to expect a little of the incomparable Al Green. If not, you haven’t been paying attention.
This song by The Turtles would be mandatory.
As would this classic Stevie Wonder song.
The list would be blasphemously incomplete without a dose of Marvin Gaye.
I adore this song. It makes me cry. And long.
OHMYGOD, The Proclaimers! Of course! Another mandatory selection!
I’ll end on an Adam Sandler song. I love the hell out of it.
What would you add to the list?
Over a year ago now, I wrote about gingers, specifically the abundance of gingers in my foray into the Portland(ish) dating scene. I directly referenced a few, in particular. I ended up taking a chance on one of those gingers; I believe I referred to him as something like the “simple, but wild one.”
Why on earth would I saddle myself up to a “simple, but wild one”? I’ve asked myself that same question, as have some of my most important friends in the world. (Looking at you, Tomas and stupidityhole and Cheeky.)
One of the easiest conclusions that I’ve come to is this: Despite moving across the country, escaping my own personal hell that was Louisiana, to pursue a lifelong dream of the Pacific Northwest…I found myself soon fallen into the same patterns, the same rut: that of work, cheap fast food or no food at all, bingewatching some bullshit show, not being able to focus on reading…on words, and spending most of my time alone and moping, in bed. I knew a physical move wouldn’t fix anything other than the immediate surrounding stimuli that fucked me up on the daily in Louisiana. I knew it would take real effort. But I was failing at it.
So I started dating. I never felt comfortable doing so in Louisiana, partly because my better-part-of-5-year-separation took that long to culminate in a divorce, and partly because I’d have never been comfortable dating there. Running into my ex while out on a date, or even trying to date someone and get serious with someone in a place I knew I couldn’t stay. Couldn’t live. Couldn’t breathe.
So I started dating. Dating sites, of course. How else was a recluse going to meet anyone? I met some terrible people, but I met some damn good people, too. I had some fun. I had some prospects for serious. (I learned quickly that in modern dating, one has to openly profess they are monogamous if they have any hopes of landing someone who isn’t into “ethical non-monogamy.” Y’all. You do you, but that’s just not my jam. I’ve tried to be open to it, but it’s just not me. It’s so far out of my comfort zone that it can only end in misery.)
I also quickly learned that, while I wanted someone whom would date me exclusively while we decided whether or not we were compatible, I also wasn’t ready to plummet straight into some til-death-do-us-part thing. Another thing I learned is that I get bored easily. Very easily. I don’t want to sit on the couch, night after night, bingewatching tv. I don’t want to waste my life away watching other people live theirs. I don’t want to talk about politics, every single day, day in and day out. And no, I don’t want to rush into marriage and move into your parent’s farmhouse, for fuck’s sake.
I wanted…needed…craved…excitement, stimulation, new.
Enter the “simple, but wild one.” I’ll come up with something to call him at some point, but for now, that will do.
He was wild. He was unpredictable. He was untamed. He wasn’t interested in anything serious. He wanted to go out. He wanted to do things. And oh dear god, was he fun. The most fun I’d ever had with a boy I was seeing regularly. There was an edge of danger to it all, and it was fucking thrilling.
And so, I allowed myself to get carried away with it. Sucked into his insane fucking charisma and magnetism. I willfully turned a blind eye to the enormous red flags that anyone who’s ever known him can see (like his extreme levels of narcissism and sociopathy and alcoholism). I willfully entered into a thing that caused everyone I knew – including the few of his friends I was allowed to meet – to seriously inquire, “What the hell are you doing with him?” (That question got more and more searing as time went on, more and more pressing, more and more concerning from the asker, and more and more telling to me of just how obvious it was to absolutely everyone what a brutal fucking mistake I was making.)
But, son of a bitch, I was having fun. I was living life with reckless abandon, something most people get out of their systems in their teens. Something I’d never done.
That. Is the reason. Well. That is the surface reason. More reasons will be expressed in future chapters. Like the whole, I lived so much of my life in fear of winding up with a replica of my father. And I did. Not only did I “wind up” with him, I dove headlong into it.
This isn’t a tale I can tell in one sitting, hence the parsing of it into chapters. I don’t have the energy for it, nor do I have the desire to give it that much time and attention in one sitting.
But that. That is my version of a beginning for this. That is my reason for what came to pass.
My good friend T. Wayne shares his thoughts on Orlando and the crisis of our national (international) love deficit. His words are soft and sad, hesitantly hopeful, a poignant antidote to anger and hate. Dalai Lama XIV tells us that “the true hero is one who conquers his own anger and hatred.” In the spirit of that sentiment, please check out this post and reflect with me on our collective responsibility to restore love to the world.
Alone in the dark, you found me.
You said you were waiting for me,
Or someone like me.
Alone in the dark, I found you.
You walked out of my dreams.
And sat at the corner table in the back.
You looked so lonely, but you weren’t alone.
Music kept you company,
Lady Sennheiser singing in your ears.
Turning Kind of Blue
In Bliss from Visions of Johanna
I recognized you;
You recognized me.
Our fates were meant to collide.
The scent of rain infused the air.
On a wet sidewalk, glimmering under streetlamps,
We shared a kiss that stopped time.
We fucked on the sofa,
Made love on the floor,
And merged our souls beneath the stars.
You were my soul’s delight,
My heart’s desire,
My mind’s welcome torment.
Our passion unrivaled,
We fused into one.
The universe looked on in awe.
But it wasn’t enough.
I couldn’t compete
With the life you already had.
Our demons clashed,
Our souls in torment;
We wept more than we laughed.
But I can still hear your words in my ear.
They keep me warm at night.
I’ll meet you, my dear; I’ll meet you again.
In Another Life.
We weren’t supposed to connect in person.
It wasn’t supposed to be the same in the corporeal.
I was supposed to be a troll.
You were supposed to be superficial.
We were both supposed to be inarticulate and uninteresting.
Your touch shouldn’t have been so electric.
Your body shouldn’t have shuddered at my caress.
Your kiss shouldn’t have transported me to another realm.
My eyes shouldn’t have drawn you into another universe.
I was supposed to be too afraid to let you touch me.
You were supposed to be too repulsed to try.
You are my love.
You are my soul.
You are my heart.
You are my completion.
And the pain is something we must endure in order to experience such depth of beauty.
I hiked 12 miles and broke my foot
To experience some of the richest, most fulfilling beauty of my lifetime.
And I would do so again.
I ached for it.
Fought for it.
Cried for it.
I had to achieve it.
You, my Love; you, my Darling.
I hope I’m achieving you.
I want to achieve you.
I need to achieve you.
This incredible thing.
This reality of realities.
This is real.
And should be.
But we must endure.
We must achieve.
Stay with me.
Stay with me,
And I will wait for you.
I wrote this a few weeks ago, at the behest of my longest, dearest friend. The one who has stuck by me through good times and terrible. I was having a bad night, and he told me to write. Begged me to write, for release. Just for me.
You see, I was sitting in my car, in a store parking lot, and we were talking on the phone. And the dam burst. I had had a bad day, a bad week, and the deepest cries of my soul burst forth into him as they have so many times over the years.
I’m sharing it now.
Watching the clouds roll in, she could feel the mood shifting. It shifted in the way a wounded animal’s mood shifts. It shifted in the way a broken heart shifts. It shifted in the way a distraught soul shifts.
The mood of the Universe was shifting.
She observed the rich but deepening blue of the night sky grow increasingly dark.
It was the clouds. But calling it a cloudy night is spurious, a red herring to throw one off from the event unfolding. It wasn’t a cloudy night. The mountainous wall of thick cloud laid waste to the sky, laid waste to the light, as it marched forward, assaulting the beauty of the night and robbing her of the glory of the Cosmos.
She was one with Cosmos. It had always been so.
She could feel the pulse of the earth.
She could feel the wind’s breath.
She could feel the raw power of storms thundering through her body.
She could smell the salt sea and sense unexplored depths.
She could smell the crisp clean air of untamed mountains and wildernesses.
She could feel the humid, damp earth of the forest floor and spot the slick and shiny slime trails of banana slugs and wonder upon their journey and purpose.
She could feel the shuddering earth as herds and hordes raced across the land, to greener grasses, to better mates, away from danger.
She feels the moods of the Cosmos. They are connected in some ways deeper than the connection of lovers.
She weeps when the Earth weeps, when the sky weeps.
She aches when animals are in pain, and she shatters when humans tear each other apart.
And she yearns. She aches. She needs.
Always looking up. Attuned to both the Earth and the Heavens. In awe of the unique and nightly paintings splashed across a shifting atmospheric canvas. In awe of the sea of stars carpeting the night sky. In awe of powerful light sources that looked so dainty to the naked eye, but were in truth powerful enough to burn one alive should one approach too closely, their beauty too much to behold in full.
She is not empathetic. She is empathy. And only the vast and mighty Cosmos understand her, and she it.
And tonight, she wonders, and not for the first time…
Am I feeling the pain of the Universe?
Or is the Universe feeling mine?
Is the mountain of clouds drowning my light?
Or is my own darkness shrouding the universe in a cowl?
She tilted her head up, unruly curls whipping wildly about her head, and gazed up at the terror unfolding. The Others seemed oblivious. Doing their shopping, scolding their children, honking their horns to hurry, hurry, hurry. But not her.
She was attuned to things others ignored or had never been aware of at all. She could see that which was real and dismissed that which was not. She could see into the eternal. Searching in earnest for a sign. Any little sign that it would all be okay. And just as she was about to hang her head and weep, she spotted it.
A single rogue star, peeking out from the shroud.
Her breath caught, her pulse quickened, and she emitted the tiniest little squeak of joy.
And then it was gone.
The star was overtaken.
She gulped back tears, and the pain in her chest intensified with every advance of the mountain. It was overhead now, and as she gazed upon it, she could see in its darkness a swirling, seething mass of heartache, loss, lack, loneliness, pain, hate. It overwhelmed her gentle soul and seemed impenetrable. She collapsed to her knees on the pavement, one hand gripping loose asphalt, the other gripping her chest.
The Cosmos were dying, and she was dying with it.
Her heart pounded and hammered and raged against the dying of the light, until slowly, slowly it became the tiniest flicker of the tiniest ember. With the last bit of strength she had, she forced her head up through the viscous mass of cloud. She could see nothing. This was no mere darkness. This was a complete and utter lack of light. She slowly, uneasily and with growing frailty rocked back on her heels, thrust her hands up into the mass and up toward where she knew the heavens hid.
She opened her eyes to the darkness. She allowed it into her. She became one with the darkness and felt all of the pain. All of the anguish. All of the love and loss and heartache and death and betrayal and war and famine. All of the poison. All of the lack. She felt it all. Overwhelmed by the vastness of it all, she gasped for breath and clutched her chest once more.
Please, she whispered.
Please, she pleaded.
If I’m causing you pain, I’ll do better.
If I’m feeling your pain, please help me.
I’m dying under the weight of your pain.
Share it with me.
I’m taking your pain into me; take mine.
Be one with me as I am one with you.
Let us heal each other.
When the first fat raindrop plopped onto her cheek, she brushed it aside as yet another tear. But then another and another and another raindrop followed, until she understood and looked up, bathing her face in it.
These aren’t my tears at all.
Let us bathe in each other’s tears and cleanse each other of this palpable darkness.
Let me love you.
Let me love you, and others will follow.
And the tiny ember of her heart kindled once more into a crackling warmth. And she knew, she knew all would be right with the Universe. With herself. And so she did the only thing there was left to do. She stripped down to her naked skin and gleefully bathed in the fountain of the Universe.
Because no matter how thick the clouds.
No matter how dark the void grows.
The fountain always appears; the font never dry.
They simply have to hold fast through the storms, through the darkness, through the pain.
And the fountain will rejuvenate.
Thank you, Tomás.
For the words.
For the listening.
For the kindred.
For the soul.
For the unconditional.
For the fountain.
Do you ever feel alone?
So. Fucking. Alone.
So. Fucking. Hopeless.
I shouldn’t be listening to Alice in Chains. I shouldn’t have Layne Staley’s beautifully haunting voice in my head this morning, mirroring my mood. Feeding it. Fueling it. Strengthening it. But it’s an Alice in Chains kind of morning.
I was up too late last night. I took my meds too late. So, though I was quite exhausted, I had a hell of a time getting to sleep. Then one of my cats, the Orange One, decided to go dumpster diving at various times throughout the night. You see, I thoughtlessly left the giant sack of cat food accessible to the cats. I had no idea that the Orange One would bypass his food bowl in favor of climbing up onto the bag and eating out of it instead. That loud crackling, crinkling racket coupled with his munching woke me up no fewer than three times in the night. (Yes, I moved that bag first thing this morning.)
All of this led me to oversleep this morning. Of course. Which fucking sucked, because I had to skip my shower. I like to take one every morning. Helps me feel clean (First World water consumer right here) and is equally important to help me feel awake.
So. I’m “hoping” that those factors combined are why I feel so…subdued…today.
The alternative is far more upsetting.
The alternative is that in spite of the meds and positive changes in my life.
I’m beginning the downward spiral back into a depressive state.
It’s been a while since the slow creeping venomous vine of depression bound me in its grip. Where it cuts and burns and squeezes and binds. Until it enters every orifice and spreads within you like a slow, painful death.
It has hold of you now. You hack and hack and hack away at the vines, but they’re stronger than you are right now. Because the venom of the vine seeps into your body, into your bloodstream, into your very consciousness, into your soul. And the venom?
Lies. Cruelty. Darkness. Hopelessness. Suicide. Worthlessness. Fatigue. Loss. Pain. Malaise. Apathy. Despair. Anger. Hatred. Loathing.
The venom is insidious. But you’re in no state to fight it.
Depression is what we call it.
We want to fight it. We want to break through. We want to break free. But it’s not always so simple, is it? Sometimes it’s simply time. To be depressed.
I hate being a Depressive Person.
I hate having Major Depressive Disorder, Clinical Depression, Bipolar II, PTSD, GAD.
What. The. Fuck. Ever.
Whatever it is. Whatever the labels.
I hate it. I don’t wish to feel this way. I do not choose to feel this way. I do not enjoy it.
But in a strange way, I can at least be thankful.
Because it’s only for the darkness that I’m able to see the light.
If all of my life is spent in sunshine,
Do I recognize it as sunshine?
Can I appreciate it if I don’t know that darkness exists? What it looks like? What it feels like?
If all of my life is spent in darkness,
Can I appreciate the sunshine?
If I don’t know that the sunshine exists,
What gives me hope? What reason have I to persevere? To keep hacking away at those vines?
Perhaps I need the depression.
Perhaps it tempers me.
Perhaps it reminds me what is real.
Even as it tells me lies about myself.
Sometimes it’s the very things I hope for. The very things I cling to. That shift my sunshine into the darkest of nights. Perhaps I want too much. Need to much. Ask too much. Expect too much. Perhaps I am my own undoing.
I want to live a life apart.
I want to escape civilization.
I want to damn expectations.
I don’t give a fuck about elections.
I don’t give a fuck about money.
I don’t give a fuck about fearmongering.
I have zero fucks for celebrity.
I have no interest in things.
I am sick to death of working for the man.
I don’t wish to spend my life rotting in front of television.
I have no desire to tour the den of lies that is Washington, D.C.
I have a big, fat fuck you to societal rules and norms.
Fuck your McMansions.
Fuck your things.
Fuck your self-righteousness.
Fuck your racism.
Fuck your xenophobia.
Fuck your nationalism.
Fuck your ownership.
Fuck your entitlement.
Fuck your judgment.
I want a companion.
I want to explore the wild.
I want to take the road less traveled by.
I want to learn.
I want to question.
I want to observe and absorb.
I want to immerse myself in different cultures.
I want to meet and embrace the other.
I want to see life through your eyes.
I want to hear your perspective.
I want to feel your soul.
I want to reach into you and bathe in your essence.
I want to get lost on purpose.
I want to relish the adventure of finding my way again.
I want to discover the untamed beauties off the beaten path.
I want to make love on a blanket of grass under a sea of stars.
I want to run naked through a meadow of wildflowers.
I want to cleanse myself in unpolluted waters.
I want to giggle for no reason.
I want to belly laugh until it hurts to breathe.
I want to spend hours simply making faces at each other.
I want to have deep, tangential conversations until three A.M.
I want to make a pillow fort and sit in our underwear and tell ghost stories.
I want you to see me and let me see you.
I want to smoke a joint and tell stories in the middle of a rainforest.
I want to wash my face in snow melt and move on.
I want to walk the cobblestones of an ancient city, then get fucked in a dirty old stairwell.
I want to be loved unconditionally.
I want to be allowed to love unconditionally.
I want my quirks to be appreciated.
I want you to see my tears as beautiful.
I want you to let me kiss yours.
I want to live inside your soul.
I want to live.
I want to love.
I want to be free.
The problem is: I don’t think this is too much to ask.
I think: This is the reality that people have been brainwashed to not see.
I want: That which is truly real and meaningful.
And when I don’t have it.
When I can’t have it.
When I am denied it.
Into the depths…
Of my mind.
Of my desires.
Of my aching lack.
Adventure with me.
Learn with me.
Show me something I’ve never seen before.
Let me show you things you’ve never seen.
Let us carve our own reality.
Is this too much to ask?
I think not.
And you know something?
I feel better already.
Gather round, Peopleaneous, for I have a confession to make and news to share. I’ve played a little prank with the help of a fellow blogger. I’m pretty sure you know exactly whom I’m talking about. But don’t worry, I’ll tell you this time. Let’s get the confession out of the way, shall we? We shall indeed.
CONFESSIONS and TRICKERY
Confession 1: This one’s the real whammy – I didn’t go anywhere this past weekend, over Valentine’s Day / President’s Day. And I certainly didn’t go to meet a fellow blogger.
Confession 2: Josh and I noticed some time ago that people were leaping to conclusions about us and what may or may not be going on between us. Some of them kind of made sense, given the nature of our public conversations, banter, flirtations and challenges to each other. But some were wildly out there and hilarious in the far-fetched assumptions. So we decided to play a prank: to make you all think we were going to meet up over Valentine’s Day weekend.
Confession 3: Not only were Josh and I not together over the weekend, but I was right here in Louisiana – doing important shit around the house. And I actually had to work yesterday. President’s Day is typically only observed by government institutions, at least in these here yonder backwoods.
Confession 4: There is a real connection. Had we acknowledged it when we hatched the plan for the prank? I’m not telling. Is there now? I’m pretty sure that’s obvious enough that you know there is. And I don’t think either of us is trying to hide that fact.
Confession 5: Yesterday’s post should have been tagged “fiction.” But it wasn’t, as it was the final part of the prank. I wasn’t in any airport yesterday. I wasn’t on any airplane yesterday. Do I wish I was? I’ll leave that to your imagination. I’ll tell you one thing: I sure as fuck didn’t want to be at work. Ugh.
TRUTH and NEWS
Truth Nugget 1: I just spilled a lot of truth up there. First off, the intention was never to lie, but more to play a harmless prank that we both hope you’ll find amusing rather than insulting. From the beginning, we both planned to reveal the prank as soon as this past weekend had passed.
Truth Nugget 2: I am planning to move to the Seattle area. Sooner than later. And I have been longing to move to the Pacific Northwest for most of my life. It’s always been a dream of mine. This year I decided to take control of my life, stop wishing and start planning.
Truth Nugget 3: I spent the weekend packing my house and hauling shit to the storage unit I rented a couple of weeks ago. I’m not done, but I’ve already begun the first stages of the hard cleaning so that I can put the house on the market in the coming weeks.
Truth Nugget 4: I’ve already submitted my very first application to a job in Seattle. And it’s perfect for me. So fingers crossed, y’all.
Truth Nugget 5: Do I plan to meet Josh? I won’t speak for him. You can go read his post on this to see what you think. But for me? Sure. Why shouldn’t I? What does that mean? If anything? I’m not telling. At least not right now. I may or may not. Go ask Josh.
The readers that Josh and I have in common – hell the readers we have, period – know that we’re both irreverent, snarky, playful and mischievous at times. I promise you this: any time you’re pranked (which I have no plans for as yet), you will always be told in the end. And if it’s the Flat Out Truth, you’ll know that, too.
But the question remains: Just who was pranked in the end: you or us? That’s for us to know and you to find out. For now, we’ll all Float On okay.
Sitting in the airport
Waiting for my flight
The one that will take me
Back far away from you
From the top of the country
I’ll return this day
With a heart so heavy
But so full of you
I blame you fully
For how I feel
You welcomed me warmly
Showed me your life
You made my heart skip
And stole the breath from my chest
So it’s your fault, my dear
That my pulse has quickened
And I want to flee the airport
Come running back to you
Just a few more things to tidy up
And I’ll be back before you know it
This is the flight that takes me away
Soon I’ll take another, this time to stay