Wednesday, March 26, 2014

true detective

I'm eating my mixed greens more and more using not a fork but fingers. The wind is shaking the palm trees like maracas tonight. Jostling the soul from hibernation, dance, life, dance. A work uniform, laughing at the waste of it all, mortality. I told my brother on the phone, it might be temporary but I'm glad I get to share it with you. The Indian food guy asked for my money first this time. He could see my red eyes from crying to the thinning light, knees on the sand, burying a bunch of feelings in tears. I told the Swedish girl, later that night, at a bar, that crying feels good like a completion, an emotional orgasm or something. I wept for the right reasons. Could feel it becoming a truth. And it was sad. And lately my doubt has been a liberation. Like if none of it happens the way I ever wanted it to happen, it would all still dim to the awesomeness of a true moment. And I'm wrapping my heart over and clenching a moment, devouring it like an octopus, satiated and underwater. It's one thing to talk about the concept, an entire world to know a glimpse. Maybe I found God. Maybe I drink too much. Maybe I stared despair in the face and butchered it. Maybe this is all a spell cast and acting itself out from delayed voodoo. I have been to Hispaniola. I've made love and given my heart and fluids on an island while taking nothing in my bag but a card from an intimate 500 year-old hotel where pilgrim nuns once slept but her and I barely did. I used to think that people had to read this stuff of mine to understand but it's becoming less and less relevant to my purpose. Maybe I'm just supposed to keep trying as hard as I can, bringing my passion into it as massively as I can, misguided or not, because it's about doing it in obscurity or tied to my Tolstoy chair beneath a spotlight and it doesn't matter which. Maybe it's about losing and waking up again and again. I keep having flashes now. I keep having the strangest flashes of life memories. It used to be so active, it consumed me, reflecting and delving deep into the past, actively. But now it's all happening in flashes, like it's been neglected and is chasing me, like it knows I've moved on.