i did this: woke up and started again, read some of a new book, made her dinner, rubbed her head, a song left me speechless, a puppy stole my heart, forgave myself, said fuck, had ideas, looked at her picture, found pictures, stole pictures, stole music, stole art, made art, made love, fell in love, imagined, fell asleep, woke up, thought about you, used blue ink, spilled wine, cleaned my glasses, cleaned her glasses, kissed her goodnight, kissed her goodbye, watched her sleeping.
I wrote things down in various places and they looked like this:
- i used to write things here. now i don't get it. now it's like why? but then again why not? even when she used to read this. it's just ill communication. (i can't believe i just used a beastie boys term)
-my birthday is the 14Th, I'm getting married on Halloween. Ive always liked October. the leaves don't change down here in florida. they don't fall. only me
- i feel pretty good after all, at least i know Ive inspired someone. a little her, a little him, a little you. that means a lot to me. why is once never enough ?
- when someone likes you the littlest things you say and do mean something. mean everything. I remember when the buzz of her phone made her jump with excitement because she knew it was me. I wonder if someone calling her now means as much. is the shiver still there? a quick fix is all it takes sometimes. just hi !. that's it. then we are good for awhile. just words through space. just words through space placed on page. i can feel when she thinks about me. it's not jedi magic. or some disturbance in the force. It's okay to miss the good things once in awhile. just thoughts for a moment. lay still, lay stolen. it's normal. just something to blink before your eyes, until it's gone. I think it's fair that i let you use what you need. this life is far to short, the people here are large in numbers, but few enter the vein. fewer still enter the blood stream. however far you'd let me reach, it's the least we can do for each other.
- my mother always told me my biological father was a preacher. my grandma told me he was an artist. are you anything at 18 years old? isn't everyone an artist and preacher? I'd like to think i am.
-I saw my birth certificate the other day and it's bizarre to read my mother being only 16 and him only 18. in 1969. It's strange to read his name, of someone you've never met, but is genetically linked to you. It's just that everything always appeared to be clouded in some kind of mystery. As a kid i could imagine him being all kinds of things. And me being a part of him having all kinds of wonderful powers handed down to me. i have been a mutant, a super-hero, son of a rock-star, preacher, artist, in the mafia, and even a prince. I've never thought of anything less than that. Even after all these years, my expectations remained high. i am living proof that " somethings are better left unknown."
- i looked him up the other day, with everything i do know and the internet being what it is. (god and the devil). I did it on the premise of finding out about my family medical history. Anything i should be looking out for?, Had he already suffered a heart attack at a young age?, balding? I mean, when can i expect to fall apart? That kind of thing. I only looked though, i didn't make contact , didn't interfere with his life that he wanted no part of me in. Though i might have half sisters\brothers somewhere out there. more to imagine i guess. Christina Ricci my half-sister? That would be strange. His parents are pushing 90 and both still alive so that kind of answers my question about the the medical thing. He lives in an upscale part of California. Owns a marketing agency based out of Santa Monica. So i guess he is an artist\preacher after all. Long way from rock-star, super-hero though.
i finished with this:
there are pieces of me scattered all over
you wouldn't read
there was a story
a summers end a good winter
you ended up writing horrible things about me
and i returned
in less clever lines
i said i fucked you
i said i loved you
every rude word i could think of
in your ear
are pieces of me strewn all about
and they don't