i go snowshoeing across past terrain beneath snowstorms. i wear a vr headset and stare at a spacescape dotted with emotions. ride in my car listening to knx 1070 news radio like a detective to a case i wasn't asked to solve. crawling through canyons of my youth all the while nursing a wound. topanga canyon you were supposed to be my gold mine. up in those hills where we hid in the sage dust holding paintball guns. i was shot, it bruised my skin. i'd get stomach aches from oreo cookies and run up and down the steep hills to the toilet. victoria secret magazines and my mom's lesbian erotica sitting on the linoleum floor.
i was supposed to be somebody. i remember her telling me she just knew i would, just knew how special i would become. she says it, less and less, now when i bring myself up, seeing the way the light goes in and out of me like it never used to do.
i used to be more slender, used to carry an unrealized weight, disturbed and fathoming the beautiful. i was always scratching and clawing my way into the beautiful, and i did, i did find it, so often i would have to remind myself how beautiful it was.
sometimes i wonder if this blog is the only true thing ive done, and whether the internet will house it much longer.
i am sorry, is all i want to say sometimes to nobody in particular, to those i've hurt, to the ones programmed to believe it's necessary to feel hurt always about someone and something.
when my mom followed her therapist into those hills up las flores canyon, we went with her there too. we learned that we were never enough, that the ground will slide away from us until one morning our road is washed away. we learned our dad would show up every tuesday and thursday, every other weekend, we learned how to shake him down for twenty bucks and he taught us that the uncomfortable distance would be fine for awhile.
if i could go back in time i would show up there just to say i didn't want to be there, like a boy who sits in the corner of the party staring at his phone because his eyes don't feel up to the task of meeting another pair without a guarantee they will care.
it was her who taught us we were animals. my siblings believe themselves to be gods, planetary something or others, and i just see us like animals. snuck out of cages, packing crates, escaped from the circus to roam the same fucking land we first dropped out onto with primitive dreams to storytell.
so here's one:
when my girlfriend and i first started hiking together she would say how i looked like the earth, i would joke, the dirt. her and i climbed up to a waterfall and sat on a stone in front of it bringing each other to pleasure. years later we climbed up another one and watched little birds in a nest creviced into the stone wall of a cave. the little birds waiting to be fed, the mother dashing in and out doing so, trying to do so.
