scrap that, i have two other blog posts to write. one of them venty, the other one just plain pissed off. Either way, though, I’d be wasting precious battery life on typing out a rant about fucktards. So, I’m not wasting that energy.
I think instead I will focus on the current life mantra. i’m secure and out of me, it’s hard to get a rise.
sit with me spiritually on this beach and watch as the crabs scuttle sideways over the rocks.
i’m waiting for the phone to ring, by the way.
🙂
of course you are.
are you still mad I kicked you out of bed?
are you still mad I gave you ultimatums?
are you still mad I compared you to all
my forty year old male friends?
are you still mad I shared our problems
with everybody?
are you still mad I had an emotional affair?
are you still mad I tried to mould you into
who I wanted you to be?
are you still mad I didn’t trust your intentions?
of course you are
of course you are
are you still mad that I flirted wildly?
are you still mad I had a tendency to mother you?
are you still mad that I had one foot out of the door?
are you still mad that we slept together even after
we had ended it?
of course you are
of course you are
are you still mad I wore the pants most of the time?
are you still mad that I seemed to focus
only on your potential?
are you still mad that I threw in the towel?
are you still mad that I gave up long before you did?
of course you are
of course you are
.this resonated.
I’ve never been this accountable-less and within
I’ve never known focuslessness on any form
I’ve never had this lack of ache for dalliance
To let go and let God in ways I have never even imagined
I declare a moratorium on things relationship
I declare a respite from the toils of liaison
I do need a breather from the flavours of entanglement
I declare a full time out from all things commitment
I’ve never let my grasp soften fingers like this
I’ve never been careless otherless like autonomy’s twin
I declare a moratorium on things relationship
I declare a respite from the toils of liaison
I do need a breather from the flavors of entanglement
I declare a full time out from all things commitment
Ah to breathe
Stop looking outside
Stop searching in corners of rooms
Not my business or timing
Ahhh
I’ve never known freedom from intertwining
I start again this time for keeps in my skin I’m residing
I declare a moratorium on things relationship
I declare a respite from the toils of liaison
I do need a breather from the flavors of entanglement
I declare a full time out from all things commitment
sotd #2. for my bro.
because, all of a sudden, sitting at my desk, i miss him so much. am gonna call him up and tell him i think he rocks. even though he sometimes annoys me to the point of eyestabbage. i’m sure i do the same for him.
anyway, here tis.
welcome to wherever you are – bon jovi
(i aint no big fan, but i know he is)
i still think of him alot (he’s not dead, we’re just both a lot older, have families, careers and mad lives) as nineteen, long hair and alot of ripped jeans action, making fart jokes and playing smoke on the water. non.stop. living across the passage from me and trying to fathom out statistics.
i guess, sometimes, i miss being teenage and running around with him, sillily, and doing crazy shit and not caring.
…and then he answered my text with a phonecall. and we laughed.
he said: “what are you doing on youtube?”
and i said: “posting porn”
he said: “CATHERINE!”
and i laughed.
he knows im not being serious.
and then he gave me a full review of the newer bon jovi album, compared it to previous ones (i guess those stetsons meant something after all!), we caught up on the band goss, and i had a little sigh.
he’s got his bon jovi, i have my alanis morissette. the paradigms, i used to call them.
that’s my brother. and i love him.
now, just as we are, and then, in our mutual hippy ‘wear alot of torn jeans, listen to the same music on repeat’ days.
(wait. we still do the same music thing hehe).
it has always been you who teaches me to be present, look forward and sing, even if you sound like shit.
that is all.
(wait. wah. i just found the vid for ‘she don’t know me’ and am canning myself)
because it makes me think of you.
pollyanna flower – alanis morissette.
(through you I see I)
Between a broken nose and a fake smile
Between piety and gunpowder
Between fighting and fleeing the scene
Between murder and diplomacy
Between aggression and end of the odd
Between brutal and realistically well behaved
Between screaming and pulling in the reins
Between tiptoeing and ambling
What am I to do with all this fire
(I’d like to hit you but I’d never hit you)
Would you stay with me in this red space
(I’d like to slap you but I’d never slap you)
Between violence and silently seething
Between my fist and my pollyanna flower
Between “fuck you” to your face and it’s alright
Between war and denial
Between flying vases and secretly weeping
Between loose cannons and ever downplaying
Between bruises and rudely differing
Between bursting and boiling
What am I to do with all this burning
(I’d like to hurt you but I’d never hurt you)
Do I overwhelm you in this place
(I’d like to kill you but I’d never kill you)
What am I to do with all this fire
Can you understand me in this place?
i wrote this a while ago. for a person. i never showed it to them though.
now i am.
all i have in me are words.
all you have in you are pictures.
they’re both just waiting to be born.
it took immense courage to face me and be truly present.
…hello there. the angel from my nightmare…
but you called it faith. not the faith peddled to us in institutions, but the type that makes no sense to the people who don’t matter and which we’re both learning not to let go of.
a life without dependencies, or expectations charged.
…i salute you for your courage in the face of adversarial forces that i represent…
more than that, to be present and to be open, to be dorky, a dickhead and direct.
all i want you to know. is that your faith inspired me on. you’re well aware of my wobbliness. that i suffer foundational problems on bad days. but that i’m working on them. that i am trying my best.
finally.
it could have been such a bad day. it wasn’t. it was a good day. it was the possibility that made it so good.
…it’s been seven hours and fifteen days since you took your love away…i can see whomever i choose…
how we laughed at that line and said ‘screw you’ to each other empathetically.
these events, yes, strange. strange but good.
i wish you ultimate freedom, now that we have it.
namaste. peace.
…god bless you in your travels, in your conquests, and your queries…
Dear Dadadadad
Today’s an anniversary for you and me. Today, three years ago, I told you that you were right. I told you what noone else would accept, ‘fess up to and tell you, for true. (for true, teehee, teehee).
You always said I was brave.
I stood there, mountainous, in a dress I loved when bought, and hated and could never wear again because it reminded me so much of the look on your face when you said “ducky, i’ve let the team down”.
Fittingly, you were wearing your golden brown jersey, the first one I ever saw you in, that day you peered over into my cot. Noone ever believes that I remember that. I must have been two days old. Noone but you. There’s a photo of it, but that’s not what sparks the memory in my head. The thing that sparks my memory of that is not in that photo. You know this.
It seemed fitting to me, in a melodramatic (‘drama, drama, drama, cathy, you love the drama’ – you are the only person who can EVER call ME cathy…), kind of way that this was how it would play out.
I was then shuffled out and made to wait on a plasticine chair (it sure as hell felt like it), and got to watch another family break bread over another plasticine table and talk as though nothing was happening, despite their reason for being there. They also had the elephant in the room, the same elephant as ours, and there they were, also trying not to look at it or talk about it. Like everyone else we knew.
They let me back in to sit with you, and you said ‘hello bump, shall we talk about what your favourite colour will be? happier things, please’.
And there we were, the two of us. You called it “laden up with death and life, us. Me with death, you with life. shit”. We laughed though, the pair of us, and had tea. A right Monty Python skit indeed.
We faced that elephant in the room, and taunted him a little with some peanuts. Laughed at him trying to fit through the doorway, and held hands when he finally stood in front of us.
I never wanted to leave you that day. We always somehow managed to confront the Elephant In the Room, no matter how much you or I or the world around, tried to avoid or ignore it. In any situation, I knew you and I could talk about the Elephant, whichever one it was that day.
Everyone in the world seems to ignore their Elephants. I think the reason why I am unashamed of talking about mine is that you taught me not to be. I wish there was still you that I could take my Elephants to, and splurge them, and have you veto or okay them. It always turned out that they were really mice, after then. I think I am some people’s Elephant. Well, they think I am. Truth is though, as you well know, I am but a mouse.
True, life and you have taught me that in dealing with the Elephants, they do become mice. And thus far, I have been able to, with time and splurging, been able to handle them.
But, some days, I want your Elephant Taming Skills. And your teeth-breaking chelsea buns, and for you to look at me over your glasses and say:
‘it doesn’t matter anyway’.
I want you to know that Cameron’s favourite bedtime story is “The Owl and The Pussycat”.
I bought that book on that same day, and kept it. I didn’t go and seek it out. It, literally, found me. Like all the good things that you told me would come.
Oh, and just so you know, I do get your feathers.
I kept it in vain hope that you would be able to read it to her, but knowing that it would be me to do so. I went home after that, sat, read it and hoped against hope that the truth in my brain would be wrong, and that the hope in my heart would be.
It wasn’t.
We found that out a few months later when, I was standing next to you, and kissed you byebye for the last time.
Every night, just about, she takes it off the bookshelf and says “mommy, the kittycat story”.
For you, Dadadad, I read that story and Cameron and I sail away on a “peagreen boat”, before she goes to sleep.
Somewhere, I know, you too, are dancing, “by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon”.
x.
P.S. tracy told me this morning that Cameron has your eyes. I’ve never seen it that way before but she’s right. She sends all her love, and you know she’s pregnant too now? And Sarah. And Jo, as you remember, has Crystal. All the girls. How we have indeed grown.
P.P.S. Keep sending the feathers.
thinking of you.
you know who you are.
i have no other words.