down in me

As a way to become more aware. Self discovery, awareness. The key to this, to everything.

Listen to me, okay? You have to listen carefully. LISTEN! I know who you are, I know what you’re on about, I know what hurts, why and how it does and for who. I know. I can’t tell you how I know but just know that I know. This pain, I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but this pain, it never relents. Never. You just have to learn to live with it, okay? I know what this sounds like. Just trust me. Learn to endure it as best you can and know how because it’s not going anywhere. It goes where you go. It sees what you see. It touches those you touch, so if I were you, I’d touch no one. It’s there, it’s here. Forever. So you just do the best that you can do and you don’t run, okay? The best that you can. That’s what they advise and that’s what I’m advising you now. There’s nowhere to run so you don’t waste energy on running, you understand me? You escape only to be brought back kicking and screaming so don’t fight. Don’t waste resources, they’re limited. What you have to do is much more simple. You just sit tight and in pain, tight and in pain. Tight. And in pain. And then one day, one day when the last thing you expect is to never sit tightly, that day… that day, as everyone says, that day you’re free.

But only if you listen to me. Listen to me and do what I tell you to do and don’t look anywhere else. Don’t trust. Nobody’s here for you. They’re all here for themselves. You just listen. To me. Do. What I tell you. Awareness. It’s key.

What’s that? LOOK OUT! Behind you!

Dear Ex-Boyfriend,

I sincerely apologise for not replying to your urgent missives sooner. Unfortunately for you, you are no longer the centre of my galaxy.

Now, in response to your indecorous request, the answer is most assuredly a resounding no. I certainly will not ‘get into the spirit of the season for a hand job’ as you so festively described. You should have considered that before gifting me a blender in 2003.

Forbiddingly yours,

Your (uncharacteristically seasonal) Ex-Girlfriend

This is us. Who we are as well as what and where we’ve been. This is what happens, the way I see it, the way you saw it. That’s what I’ll tell them when they ask. And they will ask, of course, they’re very inquisitive. I’ll show them this one and this one, and that other one I like so much. And I’ll squint and recall and proclaim, isn’t it beautiful? We were young once and wise once and childlike forever. Fragments that would likely go unnoticed were gleeful moments that we lived eagerly and urgent with a perspective that only comes from being that particular you, in that particular space, at that particular time. This is us finally safe and free, and we weren’t the only ones. There were others and in consonance we spun rare wonders from trees and lead, dust and colours, ones and zeroes, found objects; extracting every ounce of glimmering beauty from the edge of one world to the core of another. This is us. In a time of upheaval, a time of war, of great heartache both personal and universal, specific and widespread, ephemeral and everlasting. We’re drawn with a simple picture, chained by a string of letters, exhaled in the same breath. Interconnected by seeming happenstance when in fact, we were foretold by million-year old stardust, the same stardust that now flecks our wandering eyes. And you, you will get to see it all, you will watch the universe’s story unfold before your breathless presence. Not precisely the way it happens in bits at a time, interrupted stops and starts, pain and separation and grief. You’ll experience it together, full, complete, unfettered by perceived limitations of time and space, undisturbed by reality. This is us, I’ll whisper and I’ll show them those and maybe some of these, too. And they will ooh and aah with large eyes wide and their gently pursed lips will mouth our words in past tense while drifting toward their future dream, just as we did.
This is us. And we will be them.

Come, come with me, I promise you it will be fun. Come play with me and you’ll have the best time and twenty years from now you’ll still be sitting around reminiscing about what a great time that was, the time that Ani Smith invited you to go out with her and you were reluctant at first and, oh god, was that a big mistake because you hadn’t the faintest idea what a wild ride you were in for and how the next day, after watching the sun come up, because that’s what Ani always does after amazing nights, you thought to yourself, wow, am I ever glad I decided to ignore my inhibitions and just follow Ani blindly off the cliff because I know as I sit here holding her hand right now in this moment that if I live to be the age of sea turtles, no matter what happens or who I meet in all those years, I will never ever regret the decision I made which led to this small but terribly significant moment in my terribly insipid existence. Or you know, you can sit there eating Cheerios and watching bullshit American sitcoms in your underpants, pretending to laugh while milk slips from the corner of your mouth, thinking nothing, being nothing, acting nothing, talking nothing, blank blank blank. I won’t be upset, I promise you, whatever you choose in this moment, I am going to

I am going to. I am going to what? I sat here for ten minutes thinking of a suitable way to finish that sentence. I’m going to what? What am I going to do? I wracked my brain but my initial excitement had waned rather quickly. I got up and went for a walk and thought.

I can’t make statements of action. I can’t even write them and pretend it’s fiction. This character, Ani Smith, she tries you know, sometimes. People even believe her, you know. Sometimes. But I’m dragging her down, I’m holding her still, we’re chained together in a cheesy comedy where someone lost the key.

It’s like the most dissatisfying orgasm which begins so promisingly with the right tickles and tingles moistening all the right places and you’re thinking to yourself yes, yes, here comes the big one, but then it kind of half-assed bucks and fizzles and you’re left all, is that it? And so you try for another because come on, there’s gotta be some more in there, but now you’re ashamed for being so greedy and nothing comes, no one comes. No one comes.

“Damn, you look good. You should always dress like that.”

“Why’s that?”

“So I won’t have to look elsewhere.”

This isn’t for you, bitch, fuck off. Let’s dress you in a skirt and make you teeter on your heels. Now turn around, fucker, I’m going to put you in the position you so often liked to see me in.

Our relationship was sullied by the bank notes that passed through our hands. Transactional exchanges of the soulless. Now that I’m in a position to pay for your services, though, you don’t seem to enjoy the art of negotiation half as much.

You taught me the value based solely on monetary worth and now that you’ve squandered the green, you want to switch up the rules. Not for you, bitch. Show me that sweet virgin ass and I’ll show you my business end.

Perhaps a barter is more your style today? My self-worth for your self-loathing with a side of dignity, in the spirit of fair trade. We could shake on it but we both know the value of your word, so instead we’ll seal this deal with a kiss.

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