Like dreams, i’ll wait for the good ones.


Art by Camille Lackey // CVCAMILLE 2016

It’s just all about how we clean our insides up. Repair, walk away and hide from the outside world. You lean your face against a cold pane of glass and begin to decide about how to unwind everything again. Like pulling arteries out of our arms. The discomfort of being tied to things that wire you deep down. To dismiss it is like dragging sand paper across your face, and  finding that revealing reflection of everything just being ‘ok’.

How you let it go and how you let it slip out from under you, is the real challenge. It’s a crawl. I think of swimming underwater at night, the feeling of being totally surrounded but also being very completely alone. An inability to breathe alongside the quicksanding thoughts, overwhelmed and held down. And then knowing that you are standing awake right in the middle of it all. It’s a wonder ones’ chest does not just cave in on itself, and then we’d be more surprised at the face we have to paint on and later wipe off before we sleep.

Even anger being your tool, channel that. Sharpen that. Make it your instrument and let it push you. I find myself chewing on glass through it. And eventually you will reach that momentum. And the tide is so very fucking important. It is the heat under your skin. It launched me through a burning wall twenty stories high, through the distance and past the decent. And the jaw finds the ground, and jars the ringing in your head. It all never makes much sense and then you feel like you want to set everything on fire, everything that is being peeled off of you in your totally misshapen story.

I stood up. It was just me and the dark against the concrete. I walked and I could hear the rain on the leaves. I remembered how every step felt and sounded when I walked along pebbles and wood aside a towering staircase and orange flickering windows. It fades, and they all run together. The vivid turns grey, and all of the loudness makes me feel deaf and still.

We let go. It’s a gift that kills us when we hold it, and bleeds us when we cast it out. The skin shears from my knees as I erase the start and redirect the ending over and over in my head. I strive to find comfort in falling and knowing that each of us are alone and never owed to feel like someone has to be there. The stars do not always aim that way. And regardless of how many heads are in your ballroom, the inept ‘conscious decisions’ of yours are still, very alone.

Drive it away, warm your hands in it all. Don’t forget the ‘I’m about to fall’ feeling in their eyes. It’s more divine than all of it together. It means more to me that way, than how it was or how I thought it would be. The gaze in crumpled sheets two inches away from my face, that’s all I can really care about now. And if that moment counted, then that’s really the only moments that I care to find a home for anymore.


“I was silent, attentive, I made a conscious effort to smile, nod, stand, and perform the millions of gestures that constitute life on earth. I studied these gestures until they became reflexes again. But I was haunted by the idea that I remembered her wrong, and somehow I was wrong about everything.”

-Solaris (Soderberg 2012) 


Comments are closed.