Best wishes to anyone who actually knows “how” to fucking stay.
Best wishes to anyone who actually knows “how” to fucking stay.
NYC Subway // Scott Glover // 2012
I woke today, chest weighted and head racing. I dreamed that Kristen and I had moved to Brooklyn NY. I don’t get it. I don’t ask for it. I don’t even visualize things like that consciously much anymore. So I suppose the residual, fingerprints that stay behind tend to find their way to surface in suspicious ways. Or maybe the empath part of me is screaming things to my face.
I could smell the wood and feel the unevenness of the floor. The brushing past door frames of the apartment and seeing the scuff marks along the bottoms with their layers of gray. Scattered shadows dancing across the ceiling while moving a lampshade. The weathering across the stoop, and it’s oddly comforting hearth welcome (we don’t even have those in Texas). The sound of cardboard boxes sliding across a gritted floor.
I wiped the damp snowing off of my face.
It’s penetrating to wake up like this. It’s like wires pulling me across thousands of miles. A stapling of notes to the back of my head. They echo, they ring, and they resonate. It will fuck with me, and linger. As things like this constantly challenge my comfort zone, rattling any kind of idling that I have. It makes me add up everything that I have seen in life and ask myself “is this all you ever want to see?”. And my answer is always and absolutely, definitely, “no”.
She‘s been gone for sometime now. I tiptoe around the haziness of what was, and what it leaves behind. I somehow forgot the way she smells. Or maybe I distanced it away, hoping that it’s absence would make finding it again that much more exorbitant.
I do know that I fully worry about this winter ahead. And what it brings. My thanksgiving, Xmas, and new years will be finding their way into the stitches of course. It’s all part of it, a never-ceasing storm when you feel everything too much.
And at the end of the day, please just fucking put me on that plane.
Working through the seasons. Pressed up against the ceiling. Pushing down on me. – The XX, Lips
A lot of shows in a row makes me ache but I’d rather have that soreness than the other types. It’s easier when I don’t have to count the disasters but more so the ones avoided (I count them on my free hand now). I’m tired a lot, constantly. I carry a shit ton inside and I’ve decided to just shut the fuck up. I’m way too old for this kind of nonsense. I gave everything I had left, again.
I overheard a conversation at a show in south Texas almost a year ago, a musician stating how many times he had cheated on his girlfriend over four years. He said twenty-seven times. Three times while she was pregnant. He acted like it was some kind of trophy staple to playing music. Fucking ridiculous behavior. Considering how many times I’ve had to regurgitate people’s bullshit over and over, it really drastically alters my view on things. Even when you are one hundred and eighty percent to the point where you may as well skywrite devotion to someone, sometimes it still doesn’t matter. I will never understand that. And I fucking hate my hometown and all the garbage people who behave like that there, or anywhere.
Not much I can do about the residual webs anymore. Clear them out, pull them down. They still stick right to you. You roll over at 3am and reach for the empty spot where you once backed up against, just so that you could finally breathe. It is an empty that is so loud it’s like a piano on your face.
And it’s so easy now days. Social media allows you to rewrite your narrative to make it out to anything you could ever want it to be. In fact you can make faces just disappear with the click of a ‘delete post’ button. It’s like it never happened. You were really never ever there. Crowds just pass on by your feed like “huh oh, wow carry on”. No one sees the stitches underneath it all. It’s all too easy to wipe away. Must be amazing to pull that off, because oh how it makes one feel like total shit and less than zero all at the same time. Way to go, you deserve an ‘atta girl/boy’ ribbon for that fucking Houdini trick.
Momentum screams and that irony just bakes all around you. Anger is a such a plentiful tool isn’t it? How I know it so fucking well. It is a reeking hailstorm at times, and you just have to hold everything you have left over your head and just hope that when you lift your shoulders back up – everything that remains, the smoldering and battering of eyes and lies, YOU HOPE WITH GRITTING TEETH that it might not weigh as much as it did the day before.
Caring what people think is way over rated. I tell you with 46 years of experience in shoes and legs that I can’t even feel. The less you give a fuck about what people think, and the more about lending the focus of your heart and finding its place – that’s where you need to be. It’s raw and pure and you carry it like stones on your chest.
Find it. Throw it. Yell it across empty stares until it’s like dragging a screen door across someones face. Do it enough times, and maybe a reason will tap you on the back and say “hey I get it, it’s ok”.
It’s ok. And unlikely. Trust me, I get it.
“When my absence doesn’t alter your life, then my presence has no meaning in it.” – Unknown
Ghosting is a shit way to deal with ending relationships. I have first hand been on both sides of them as to why this issue makes me want to pound glass into my knees every time I have to deal with it. In addition to it being emotionally abusive, malignant and shallow – It’s THE weak fucking way to back out of something that maybe didn’t go your way, or maybe was more than you could handle at the time. Either way it’s wrong, and here are MY fucking opinionated reasons why.
What you just did was throw out a huge majority of tangible trust that the person will ever hand you again. Because who knows what life is going to throw at you or them next, you have already wrote down that if things get “unmanageable” – your behavior may prove unreliable and could possibly lead to disappearing again without fucking warning.
This behavior is directly abusive, especially to people who are very empathetic. The leaving without a word being said is emotionally damaging similar to people dealing with death. The immediate absence with no resolution is selfish and cowardly and shows that you had no business being in a relationship in the first god damned place.
Everyone deserves an explanation (excluding physical abuse obviously). When you agree to be in a relationship with someone you most definitely are responsible for your reasons to end (and ending) of said relationship. Just because the city is not your shade of red doesn’t mean you can wipe it all clean when you still have the paint brush in your hand. BOTH parties owe each other ONE direct chance to explain themselves.
That Going On
The other person has a fucking life. And they have no reason to spend weeks or months waiting to see “why you left”, or “why you fucked a co-worker”. People need the resolution to move on with things, and your ghosting can send them into an ‘infinite loop’ of trying to figure out and resolve what they did wrong. The sooner you tell them, the sooner the healing starts. Just because you DON’T HURT and moved on quickly doesn’t mean the other party is immune. They are entitled to that resolution, YOU OWE THEM THAT.
If you can sit for weeks after ghosting a long-term relationship without any resolution then you obviously never respected the person long enough to even commit to them. This is abhorrent behavior when there are still inbound feelings. I can’t even describe the amount of damage this does. There is no guarantee in love ever, but as one side fails the other side falls. This lack of integrity reflects upon your character, and other people in future relationships will see that.
That It’s Fucking Over
You could just say that. It may sound harsh but I would rather of heard that 100% of the time, every time. At least then you know. And although blunt hurts, blunt is definite. And sometimes you need to hear that. Put on your fucking adult pants and handle your shit. Life goes on, people get over shit. The fact that you remain to ‘be weak’ and trail it on into some fucking nightmare ‘go between’ is ridiculous. Own your actions so that you BOTH can move on.
And fuck shit. I hate this post. It’s one I’ve written and deleted twice. But I guess coming back to writing it again shows the validity in that I need to leave this here. This type of treatment just really vividly pisses me the fuck off.
Just disappear off the horizon, don’t even finish a sentence. Let all the pieces fall where they may. Shrug your shoulders and walk off like nothing was ever there. That’s how people handle entanglements in this time. Run as far and as fast as you can, it makes no difference. Thanks.
I’ve hated May and June for the last 11 years. Like a plate full of needles that you have to swallow. Thinking “well if things all land in the right place” it will be fine. But odds are that will not happen. Just digest. And the metal will taste like blood. And it will paint your face even if you are quiet as fuck. Charge on. I leave marks over my shoulder for every time I have to walk by something I don’t care to even touch. Throw it all the fuck away. It’s everyone’s answer anyway.
I’ll hashtag #wastedtime or some other fucking witty crap to throw into a sparkling bucket of social garbage. Like it matters anyway as people are fueled by “likes and thumbs” so much they believe it’s going to ignite themselves in a way that makes them sleep again. Good luck with that.
“I’m not a poet. I’ve never moved anyone with my words. Maybe that’s why they chose me.” – Solaris
“Love lasts about seven years. That’s how long it takes for the cells of the body to totally replace themselves.” – Françoise Sagan