Tonight's one of those harder-than-most nights. No particular reason, of course. I suppose uninstalling all her shit off my machine triggered it, but it might have been watching consecutive episodes of Netflix TV shows. Apparently about thirty percent of drama plotlines involve love affairs, betrayal, and blah blah blah.
I'll shake it off, of course. It's getting easier. The dead thing inside me hasn't finished moving, but it will and when it does it'll go into the fire along with everything else.
It's cold and grey outside. There are a lot of people who love this type of weather and I wonder about them. Are they naturally warm and glowing inside, so that days like these are somehow balancing? Maybe they are cold inside and so it feels more complete to them. I don't know. What I know is that my muscles tense to retain heat, my eyes can no longer distinguish between beautiful things and the other, and the sky looks made of concrete.
Days like these are harder to endure the mourning. When the waves come, I'm not able to walkabout and feel the sun on my face and the smiles of the people around me. I feel the hole inside more sharply on this kind of day. My bones ache with an echo from the future, the kind of grinding throb that makes one feel time passing. What a mixed bag that is. Time cuts and beats me with every instant, yet holds the promise of a future free of these terrible memories.
The Stranger is back on one foot at least. And smirking.
Ah, a fine start to a new week. Knocked out those problems pretty fast and it's not even 10AM. Let's see here. Oh, disk space alert. Treesize to the rescue! What do we have here, oh some installers, they can go. DELETE. Huh, what's in the Camera folder? Probably some old pics I transferred.
Kate and I on the cruise. She's holding her face and smiling at me. She's sitting at the bar. She's lying outside. She's eating. She's She's shes shes shesshesFUCKDELETE.
Breathe. It's gone. Breathe. Breathe.
I was in the bathroom looking into the mirror when I noticed there were strange ring-shaped marks on my face. It looked like the sort of thing you'd see on dishware after washing them with X brand. I rubbed the rings a little, just to see, and they started to peel. I could hook a fingernail inside the rings and peel off my skin. I pulled off a few inches of my face and underneath I was bluish-green and textured like undersea moss.
I leaned out of the bathroom and called for Kate. She was watching TV with friends or something and said something about being busy. I yelled again, pulling off more skin nervously. She came to the bathroom and immediately started to examine my face, shocked but curious. I said my skin is coming off. She sniffed my face and said yes but it smells good. It smells good. That was of some comfort.
I kissed her but as usual her mouth didn't respond. I tried again. She was looking somewhere else. I said no? She said married, remember? I didn't but I felt the implosion begin again and I began my descent back to hell.
I checked my phone for messages and got out of bed. What a way to wake up. Tea time.
Woke up fully dressed again. Had my headphones still in my ears. At least this time I turned off the MP3 player before I passed out. From the looks of the site I was listening to Coldplay again. I recall dancing alone in the dark at the Eucalyptus grove to something old. I check my messages but there still is nothing from her. I fall back asleep and miss my alarm.
It's beautiful out. I look at the sky and think about how beautiful it is. U2s crap song comes to mind. I think about looking at the sky while on the cruise ship, how it looked like this, how she looked with the sun on her face. A car almost hits me.
The ride to San Francisco is uneventful. My seat has one of those unknowable stains on it but I sit there anyway. Someone recognizes someone else and jogs over to sit next to them and talk. They talk and then pull cells and start reading. I think about how she used to read those junk novels next to me. How she smelled and how her hand felt. I almost don't notice it's my stop.
It's just another day I miss my friend.
Come up to meet you, Tell you I’m sorry, You don’t know how lovely you are
I had to find you, Tell you I need you, Tell you I set you apart
Tell me your secrets, And ask me your questions, Aww let’s go back to the start
Runnin’ in circles, Comin’ our tails, Heads on the science apart
Nobody said it was easy
It’s such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Aww take me back to the start
I was just guessin’, At numbers and figures, Pullin’ the puzzles apart
Questions of science, Science and progress, Do not speak as loud as my heart
Tell me you love me, Come back to haunt me, Oh when I rush to the start
Runnin’ in circles, Chasin’ our tails, Comin’ back as we are
Nobody said it was easy
Aww It’s such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard
I’m goin’ back to the start
Ahhooooooooooooooooo
Ahhooooooooooooooooo
Ahhooooooooooooooooo
Ahhooooooooooooooooo
I'm getting pretty tired of crying. Literally and figuratively. I feel like I'm wrapped up like a mummy and I'm trying to unravel it one thread at a time. I've gone through two boxes of tissues so far (Kleenex is better than generic, FYI) and I expect to clear a few more before I'm done.
Screaming into a pillow helps. Writing helps. Talking to her as if she exists helps, but I think probably also hurts so that might be a net zero. Ian said I'm doing everything right and I know that he's right, but none of this feels right. All of this feels like one of those movies where the main character is actually a ghost but doesn't find out until the end.
I can't help but laugh at the inverse proportional relationship between how I feel and how I look. I think if I'd been more successful last month, I would have left a pretty handsome corpse. Women look at me interested but then look into my eyes and whatever they see there chills them. I'm glad I can't look into my eyes.
Om Nom. BB. Max's. Cruise ships. Lounge singers. Venus. Warlocks and Shamen. Her sleeping face. Leeloo Dallas. Hot Topic. Hemlock. Krav Maga. Torn underwear on her head, laughing. Yelling dragons. Clothes shopping. A shower in a hotel in Orange County. Venture Brothers. Sears. Cheez-its. <3 E>. Halloween costumes. Bullet with Butterfly Wings. Finding accessories that match. Making out in an alcove outside her work. Alcatraz. Cupcakes. Squirrels. Beep beep I'm a jeep. Hmmmm, interesting. Party Down. Xbox 360. Santa Cruz. Being shoved into absolutely everything. Barf on my shoes. The Metropolitan Museum and the history of American women's fashion. Raiding. Birthday at 83 Proof. Glass coasters. The Aquarium. Octopus earrings. Sesame Balls. Photobooth pictures. Rika. The Empire State Building. Hotel Chandler. Sunlight through her sundress. The smell of the back of her neck. Tomatina. Hipster flute. Sailor Jerry's at Butter. Poo monsters. Mew? Mow. ILOVEYOU New York City poster. Osha. Sobbing at Encore. The whole family, including Stalin and Winston. Basshunter. Sociopath refrigerator. Red hair, black hair, brown hair, blonde. Cucumber drinks. Cocaine. Waiting for Diablo 3. Scars on her ankle. Birds hopping and peeping. Peeping. Upsetting things. Almonds. Webcamming. Wild partying at the Duncan/Channon offices. Drawing on her back until she slept. Annabelle's. Cooking fresh steaks. Messages in chocolate, dark, light and milk. Moles. Levi's jeans. Leaning out of a cab, puking. Bernal Heights. Stories of Chile. Pizza Pino. Winning lottery tickets at The Holiday Party. Purple hair in a church at the wedding. Terrible lie.
I knew it going in and I saw it going out. Why the surprise, chuckles? It started with the same meaningless promises that it ended with. You stupid sucker. How many times have you warned others to beware the phantom love? You knew it going in and that is why you hate so deeply. Not for it, but for yourself. What an embarassment to find yourself clutching a shade, a puppet, a mirror of yourself in the hopes of your feeling being reflected.
You feel bad for yourself? You stupid fool. It told you what it was when you courted it. It knew what you didn't, what you refused to accept and what you poured your hope into, that it had no love, no soul, no meaning to give you. You knew it you stupid fuck, and your ego couldn't handle it. You're so smart, so perceptive, so strong. Now look at you you poor pathetic fool, broken on the same wheel you fashioned of your miserable beliefs. Where are you now?
Oh yes, clasp the vapors. "She" is still there, you craven patsy. Reach for it, oh yes, oh yes, you can pull those wisps to you! Do it! Oh it loves you still doesn't it? Caress the ephemeral as if it has meaning. SHE is with you, SHE is something, SHE is real! HA HA HA HA HA HA you poor fool, you sap! You won't awaken from the dream because you love not that ghost but the feeling you constructed yourself to live with the undead.
The ghost is gone, dreamer. It was as real then as it is now, only more potent for your writhing. Strain against the entanglement you've gathered to yourself, but don't pretend the ropes have intent. You called this hell to yourself, and with ample time to see what you'd invited. And so what? So what that you loved an illusion? Love it still, lotus eater. Love it and tighten your arms to grip nothing. Endure the dream that rots from without until the nightmare consumes you.
He wouldn't shut up. His howling was making Frank bored and frustated. It wouldn't help but Frank twisted little Phoebe's arm until it popped under his hand, a small relief. More cursing, more promises of vengence blubbered out of the stupid asshole. Frank held her in his face and asked again, "Where's the box?" and he could see that this meat was of no help.
He asked again anyway. "Where's the box?" he said, holding Phoebe's little head right near her father's face. He knew the answer, and felt himself become aroused at the inevitability. He saw the thing break in front of him, tears streaming from its face, begging for his other thing's life. Oh please god please I'll tell you anything anything please leave her alone, and more and more.
He smashed Phoebe against this thing, again and again, until both were silent. He was tired from it and sat down to sleep for a while, comforted in the knowledge that he had done all he could and had exhausted the value of the objects in his control. Sleep came easily, and Frank dreamed of cold, clean rooms where he could do nothing more than sing, despite that no one could hear it.