| (no subject) |
[Nov. 23rd, 2009|12:25 pm] |
acid. first time sucks, i walked 7 miles in the rain for a cigarette and a lift home, i got neither and had to walk another 7 miles to get home. I would do it all again just to hold your hand.
from dylan.
if we had taken it together and seven miles to walk and nothing but rain in our way i would live in that night forever. when the morning came we would be up before the sun. the road would be hard like your fathers hands and rough like my mothers voice from smoking all those years. the road would remind us of home even as it set us free. the sky would turn into a hot blue sheet fanned out over the town. thunderstorms in the middle of hot days, thats what you remind me of.
my response. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 16th, 2009|12:18 am] |
the other night i found my girl in bed with my boy.
i dont remember what the lighting looked like or even the way he jumped out of bed.
what i remember most was the way it felt to slam the door and walk away feeling as empty as i ever have. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 27th, 2009|01:27 am] |
The gladdest moment in human life is the departure into unknown lands.
The blood flows with the fast circulation of childhood.
The world is not respectable;
it is mortal, tormented, confused, deluded forever;
but it is shot through with beauty, with love, with glints of courage and laughter;
and in these the spirit bloom.
We tell ourselves stories in order to live.
( what about your wife? i could give her a good life. ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 19th, 2009|09:06 pm] |
you were talking in your sleep about a place out west where twilight was turning into night. everyone was free there.
but i cant sleep while you speak of the land of the free.
my body often betrays my mind, my hand moving where
it knows it shouldn't. my eye wandering out past the horizon of his smile.
so i fucked it up, on purpose.
( in this light, everything is blue. ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 13th, 2009|01:03 pm] |
i cant feel that glow anymore.
i used to have this glow around me, a brilliant white light that seemed to suck me up and carry me beyond all ordinary limits. suspended there.
i was holy he said, my tongue my insides. our us. he'd be gone forever if it happened again. but it always happens again.
i could see his breath snatched away by the wind, little gusts of silver vanishing
into deeper silver. no more slick skin going moist as we fucked in the heat of july, the suction at our bellies, the crickets outside. everything else was nothing.
there is this same melancholy, the same musical rise and fall.
i used to run to the woods after every time i saw him.
it was a place where lost was a rule of thumb with water here and there.
forests folded into forests, sky swallowed sky. the solitude bent back on itself.
the only place i could unwind after him, the wild where perfect unity
and oneness and mirroring waters give exact copies of other copies.
multiples, everything hypnotic and blue. it was where vanished things go.
you have to give over to pure and absolute mystery.
but to know is to be disappointed.
to understand is to be betrayed.
all the petty hows and whys, the unseemly motives,
the abscesses of character, the sordid little ugliness of self and history,
these were the gimicks you keep under wraps to the end.
( fire up the jungles make the rivers burn. ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 8th, 2009|12:36 pm] |
he always wore black and she knew that. her pale white skin pressed against his black routine never compared.
his coffee was black, his dog, his hair. she used to joke that all the black in his life would make all other colors and memories fade to black. in the black parts of his eyes she could see the years he didn't want to live. he had loved her from the moment he saw her in the summer of 1919. they had robbed banks together, hosted speak-easys, and partied with pirates. the dark part of his eyes were like that of coal, but dull coal not shiny like when she had loved him once back when the west was a place to be won. they had lived their heart, took life and threw it off a cliff to watch it sink just to save it. but now the only sun that sets on these nights is black and the promise of forever is always forgotten. he walks into the black night, she breaks into the black light.
( black and white its alright. ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 1st, 2009|03:44 pm] |
love blurs what's happening all around me, like this pixie dust. sprinkle on the love, I end up fooling myself.
for me, the soul seems that it will remain an absolute and impenetrable unknown.
I wish I didn't have such a craving to force entry into anothers heart,
to trick the rules of natural law, to perform miracles of knowing.
I am fascinated by the otherness of others.
the first time he told me he loved me it was this moment of incredible lightness, an unburdening, a soaring sensation and then he was all around me, and soon inside me and maybe in this way I became consumed by the fire.
the first time he left me the physical world seemed flimsy and poorly made. I remember the pastel sunlight and how it colored the smoke that blew from his mouth. That autumn day was too bright and it was hard to fit the sunlight with what was happening inside of me. Heartbreak for me has always been physical, like if I don't water it, it hardens inside of me.
In the dark at night love glows like it belongs to the spirit world or something.
I'm stuck in the cool shade of emotion.
The first time he came back we toasted to all the dead. 'long may they live' he said as he threw his drink back and ran his hand though his hair. the night had come down dark and solid. That night I tried to drink the wind, to suck it in because it reminded me of him. Strong and elusive and always slipping through my grasp.
It was the feel of rain without rain. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 1st, 2009|03:13 pm] |
there have been many moons between me and you and the sunlight is heavy pressing down on me.
tonight dylan came over and we went to your spot in the earth where we buried you on a hot summer night.
he poured some whiskey on the red dirt and danced with his arms in the air like all those nights
when we had nowhere to go and nothing to do but we drove anyway and with every window down and your arms
were always dancing in that wind. and I can still hear you laughing.
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 21st, 2009|02:16 pm] |
(dont black out from drinking you end up with these kind of photos on your film the next morning.)
i feel trapped by circumstance, by where i reside on the map.
all the time i feel like im 6,
back when i was pushed under water in the neighborhood pool and
i could see something else, something just above the surface that i could not reach.
my lungs ran out of air and my arms resembled a drowning bird.
after a minute i realized how normal it felt,
to be deprived of oxygen
and i wondered if i could live this way,
just beneath the surface,
forever,
breathing under water.
( the universe is shaped exactly like the earth. ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 17th, 2009|09:39 pm] |
we live in our souls like an unmapped region, a few acres cleared for habitation.
most of the time my head makes me try to remember,
all that empty time, the convenience of a faulty memory.
it makes it hurt less.
it was another bright day,
almost hot and the trees along the road flamed up in brilliant reds and golds.
it always brings me back to him, the way he looked at me,
no tricks at all just young and in love,
sentimental maybe,
but it was a time in my life when all the mysteries of the world seemed to condense into something solid.
love wasnt enough, which was the truth, the saddest thing of all.
i remember the beach with sand at our feet and sangria in our hands.
a big pale sun burned without heat.
i was struck by the immensity of things, so much
water and sky that it occured to me that i never wanted to live a life indoors.
the open air could never be but a medium of transit.
it was then that i knew everything was part of everything else
but now that same water
has the feel of something static and purposeless
with no reality beyond it own vague alliance with everything else.
the most ordinary objects on that beach seemed fiercely alive with their own sorrows and desires.
its so implausible that the world could be indifferent to its own existence.
i told him i didnt know of he felt anything was really sacred, final and sacred.
"Us" he said "your tongue my mouth. no one else's. forever."
that night there were hot white stars in a black sky.
the steady lap of waves against our chests.
i showed him a full moon
he talked about the dark side.
the world was electricity then.
i could always sense his passage through the air, the draw of his body.
i was light and high, soaring through the glassy roof of the world and breaking out
into another.
i was caught up in rosy sunlight.
he was a charmer. literally. wrap you up
in charms till you couldnt fucking move.
( everything that happens is from now on. ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 11th, 2009|03:07 am] |
this is the universe where fortune finds itself in love with misfortune. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 9th, 2009|05:59 pm] |
hey im in estonia at a hostel and drinking a pear cider while it rains outside.. your beautiful kid.. ohh yeah i took some mushrooms yesterday and tryed to make it down this hill and around a turn but lets just say the turn got me.. im intersted in u blahhhhh hey smile and remember the times that u laugh by yourself..peace lovely
so i saw some chick in a muscle car today...she thought she was hot shit. I did too until i got a flashback of you and your falcon. so, just in case you were questioning your sexiness, just know it is still in tact. anywho, im comin up to santa cruz on Labor day, the 7th. so get your ass ready to hang out, even if you are an hour away.
(letters from boys I care about can make any gray day brighter) |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 9th, 2009|09:31 am] |
my mother screams at God as if he were an unfaithful lover.
I can only laugh,
but she looks to the sky in case it has something to tell her.
I was an atheist by ten, when my grandfather died,
I could see the clouds were too high
and clean to take him.
I could tell he went nowhere, but died
only a body and a memory.
I guess I admire the ability to believe though,
the faith that is needed to keep up an argument
with someone who never responds.
"Cross your legs,"
my mother whispers,
but I figure Ive got nothing
to hide.
So I sit on the pew
with knees spread wide
and tiny scuffed shoes
dangling high
above marble floors.
A draft whirls above my head,
carrying with it
the drone of the organ
and the priests monotone.
I stare at him
and pretend Im absorbing
his sermon deep in my soul
but really Im just wondering what hes got
beneath his long white robe.
Does his mother make him wear his Sunday best?
Or does he stand comfortably in last nights pajamas,
laughing inside at all of us
who rose hours earlier
to be shampooed
and scrubbed clean
of all our weekend sins,
then stuffed into starched suits
to cover the dirt
that wont wash off in the tub. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 3rd, 2009|12:23 pm] |
freedom is a waterfall,
is the right to write the wrong words
and ive done plenty of that.
words are keys or stones,
i give you my word,
you pocket it and keep the change.
the word on the tip of my tongue lately
has been love.
I hold it close though it dreams of leaving.
water is the skin of the earth
tears come from clouds in your head
waiting is the art of desire.
the other night my lover loved like he had never loved before.
I felt a carnival inside his pulse
as he wrapped his arms around my neck.
in his throat an acrobat dangled,
in his wrists horses galloped on tightropes,
and as his legs intertwined with mine,
I felt the electrical empathy of a freak show.
some nights I am reintroduced to the force of life
as if for the very first time.
on this same night of life one of my best friends cat died, Juice.
death is a funny thing.
most people are afraid of it
mostly because they don't understand it.
death is it.
thats it.
finished.
finito.
over and out.
no more.
death is many different things to many different people.
i think it is safe to say, however, that most people dont like it.
why?
because they are afraid of it.
why are they afraid of it?
because they dont understand it.
i think that the best way to try to understand death is to think about it a lot.
to try to come to terms with it.
to try to really understand it. give it a chance.
try to visualize, for example, someone sneaking up behind your back
and hitting you over the head with a giant hammer.
some people prefer to think of death as more of a spiritual thing.
where the soul somehow separates itself from the mess
and goes on living forever somewhere else,
heaven and hell
being the most traditional choices.
death has a very black reputation
but actually to die is a perfectly normal thing to do.
and its so wholesome,
being a very important part of natures big picture.
trees die, flowers die.
i think its nice to know that you are not alone. even in death.
millions of ants die every day and do we care?
no. and im sure the ants feel the same way about us.
another comforting thought about death is that 80 years or so after you die
nobody who knew you will still be alive to miss you
and after your dead, you wont even know it.
so tonight I drink to Juice, the worlds most badass cat.
( Dont mind people grinning in your face. ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 31st, 2009|12:04 am] |
All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they really happened and after you are finished reading one you feel that it all happened to you and after which it all belongs to you.
The real reason for not committing suicide is because you always know how swell life gets again after the hell is over.
The first and final thing you have to do in this world is to last in it, and not be smashed by it.
- my dear Hemingway
( out of the blue and into the black. ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 24th, 2009|07:25 pm] |
i woke up singing a song i had never heard.
i remember the first time i saw him. he was standing in the doorway,
his red flannel and gold hair spilling into my vision. if id had known that day was going to change everything
id have asked him to kill me right there.
get it over with id tell him.
the sun shining behind him as if it had risen for him and that night i was still seeing stars.
i remember his hands. the way they constantly stretched out for me, waiting for my hand to find his,
waiting for relief.
i remember constantly tracing the tattoos that lined his body, found myself wanting to remember even when
i was still there.
even then my dreams of him were beautiful.
i could tell his body was built to whip through wind and young girls grasps.
his laugh surrounded me each night with the wind.
he knew what i wanted to hear and he was happy to say it
but most nights
i would get lost in his words and forget the meanings.
his eyes always staring through me as if trying to read what i thought
of the picture he constantly painted.
on a blue night he told me he wanted to give me a daughter that would end up just like me, on those nights then, i actually believed in words.
i thought nothing could stop us.
( My Fathers Life. ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 19th, 2009|12:47 pm] |
theres a sadness thats better than love, it fell in the air the other night.
i know nothing of my other life, that life ive lived with another.
now its blaring sun as opposed to whipping winds.
its brown instead of blonde.
my mind is in several thousand pieces.
life has a funny way of sneaking up on me and shouting.
if only i could hear her whispers.
( this is my song and no one can take it away. ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 8th, 2009|11:22 am] |
www.flickr.com/photos/lightersandrecords
so i made one. add me if any of you partake. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 28th, 2009|12:42 pm] |
like father like daughter, 1975 |
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lightiswhite's journal
