Best wishes to you on Halloween

She came to visit Halloween weekend.  To carve pumpkins, to scoop out my heart.
I took photographs of her outside under skies the color of muscle,  She held a long knife sitting in her undies,  pumpkin between her knees. These are memories on a hard-drive.The fucking on my red Ikea sofa, on the floor, the bedroom, up against the wall in the hallway.  I'd almost never remember any of this...if this wasn't the last time id ever see her again.

 But, she drove over 200 miles to tell me about how much she loved Halloween. How she was only doing this because she couldn't stay away from me, even though it wasn't a good idea for either of us. For some reason she can't let us go. maybe never could, never will,  no matter the circumstances. How are the circumstances now?

 There was someone else she'd run back to once she was done with me. The carving and fucking and scooping out of my heart.  I made a fuss at first. but she liked it to much when i got angry.  she was something i couldn't have , but did have..really, and confused i kissed her hard and pushed her on the bed. I fucked her deep, she opened up, like that way there is no description for, like the way when you're breathing your last few fatal breaths, you'll remember and have no regrets about life.  Because life was all about being inside her inside something that made sense at least for that moment. and now ....I get lost in the thought. I forget about what she took from me. How she will pack up and have her Halloween somewhere else, with someone else. but it was worth it wasn't it?. aren't we all better off now?  I told you,  i could handle the bleeding.

another Halloween wedding

 Three years married. Today. Here is some Art work she made for me and our upcoming ETSY site  Sugar Glow Club.  

whereabouts unknown

there was one halloween i put on a cape and mask, i was batman. another halloween a pirate, a cowboy, a biker, the grim reaper. there was one,  a long time later where we carved pumpkins in the back yard, sitting on the deck next to the swimming pool. pumpkin guts and seeds, she made a mess of things. i made a mess of things. we fucked on the sofa and in my bed and she got up in the night and told me she just couldnt be there anymore. she left and went to him. 3:03 A.M.  I didnt know it at the time, but i thnk she saved my life.
 
another halloween a different girl and we were married that evening, at midnight we drove into the night. she asked me not to stop until we saw snow or at least changing colors of  leaves. I kept the music loud, i kept my foot on the gas and my heart was anywhere we ended up and called home. october soiled in blood and birthday candles. littered with memories and the veins of fallen leaves. sometimes I fall hard for the think-back and want back and take back. here we are, here I go again.

Be good or be Gone

the other tragedy- I'm yours but hopelessly romanticize every situation.
at the grocery store i look into other peoples baskets and when i catch someone looking into mine i wonder if we all don't fall in love a little.
just between produce and dairy. the smell of candy, of fresh baked bread.
At check-out our carts lightly touch. her bug bitten legs. my chipped finger nail polish left on since Halloween. its my job to notice. its my story to tell. we browse the magazines while waiting our turn: new chewing gum, new fade diets, flu-scares, celebrity faces, horoscopes.
she pays. i pay. we go about our separate ways. our separate lives.
a quick glance, a slight smile enough to know it isn't just me.


it was who she was in the dark, cigarettes and mumbled sleep and a hundred other things nameable and not.

the devils in me. sadness. no reason- maybe the radio.
cellos. calamity.
maybe I'm not sad.
this could be calm.
this could be what soothing feels like.
this could be me without noise. i listen to my inside voice. no echo.
the vibrations are a hum.

the trouble with everything is how suddenly it could turn to nothing. every candy a toothache in a fancy wrapper.

a book filled with poetry and fuck stories. my lies. our lies. our nothing.
the devil is loose in my heart and she likes it rough. like it was in your room the night you let me stay. A sunny skied morning turned a starry night.
whatever she says. whatever god says.
whatever the darkness tells me to do.
after dreaming i write to her. i want to click send and open old wounds.
she fucked the words out of me.
bleed.
I'm sorry.
the vibrations are a hum. good bye again.
This is us. this is how we follow through.

Where to begin

i ran something over the other day and i don't know what. she calls me out of the blue and i wasn't paying close attention to the road. I don't think anyone does anymore.
im doing things and nothing gets done. does this happen to you too?

I said hello.
i wonder how she got my number. but, I'm easy to find she says and knows it's probably on purpose. i was probably waiting for this. it's what i wait for. Okay. fill me in.

I say, listen, here is what's new:
she's off the pill.
I make an awesome black bean taco.
after the best night of sex Ive ever had i was offered a frozen waffle for breakfast.
I don't just love the ones i cant have anymore.
I love the ones that love me.
dust and pornography have collected on my laptop.
I don't let the stories write me.
There has been to much coffee. not enough sleep.
Ive been hearing my inside voice more and more.
i like pumpkin anything and peanut butter anything.
you anything.
I don't lie unless you ask me too. I like when you ask me to.
Ive been bored with music lately.
I play piano. I drink beer and wine.
I'm going to Mickey's not so scary Halloween party at Disney World 10-31
I no longer eat meat (only fish) .
she likes when i tell her stories.
she believes she still loves me.
I believe in ghosts.
I can no longer find comfort in words.
I don't read what you write.
this is distance.
this is as close to silence that i know.
i think about you almost every single day.
this doesn't belong in the category of secrets.
i like keeping your secrets.
this isn't everything.
it's not far from the truth.

just one wish

What is waiting for worth?
What is worth waiting for?
How many miles are we apart tonight? the few are to many and covered with rocks and snow.
we rise to the same sun and fall to the same moon.
I probably remember it nothing like you. I write my story, you write yours.
I love it that way. dirty and repetitive so we never forget.


Birthdays come and go. there is always a build up that lasts until just about the time I wake up and nothing feels any different. I'd expect a quarter under my pillow if i had lost a tooth but another year comes and goes and I'm better off not to look in the mirror and compare last from this and the one before that. another scar and few more lines. if not desired, deserved.
I wish that If I still don't know any better about keeping you in my heart, at least make me experienced.

I'm just trying to tell you I'll be 40 in a few days and i can't fucking believe it. I'll say the same thing next year, hopefully in some better way. I'll make some kind of mid life crisis wish like I hope for any young girl to still find me a little awesome. but then, those are just words.



I bought a Halloween coloring book yesterday and found i could still color between the lines. She once asked me " Is that where you write too?"
What i colored was a haunted house. It was beautiful and gloomy and I wish I could live there. Dusty books and creaky beds. It reminded me of your room. The bed squeaked every time we moved our hips. every time I put it deeper into you.
you were my favorite scary movie.

When it flows

My own words on break or on loan until winter or until I feel like it or until she shakes me again. Until something does. I'm fine if nothing does though, more fine than ever.

But, i say it knowing you're probably reading this and then thinking just how fucking fine id be if you asked me to come over. how fine I'd be even if we never really do meet. anyway, when have words really said anything about us? when are they better than staring or better than dreaming, better than waiting.

I like these conversations we have in between the lines and i guess you do too. maybe your bored. maybe you really like me. maybe you'll hear cello's or fireworks or ice cream truck chimes. maybe someday I'll shake you.

i like your lips sticky , sparkly and sweet

-were only liars but were the best at it-

Once, when i believed in tarot, a lady laid my cards out on a dark wood table. I touched each one with my finger-tip. She told me she saw death by a jealous husband. I asked, "mine or his?"


I sent a text message to random numbers in my phone today. A mass texting. did you think it was to the wrong person? what it said, did it make sense? It's not supposed to. She used to send me messages like that. They didn't make any sense so i assumed weren't sent for me, but i knew they were. you know what i mean when i say - There are no accidents.

I'd send back a frantic WRONG PERSON, press enter - wait
wait. wait. for the lie. wait. wait. for anything. wait. wait.
then id look at my display screen again and wonder what the fuck "good i need it" meant.
No reply. No reply.
she wouldn't say. silly games. that's what she taught me. she's going to put you in your place the same way.

now i find myself doing it sometimes just to see. It's like my word tourettes. I can't help it, I have to. I have to say that i miss you. I have to tell you over and over that everything is fine. I have to separate truth from fiction and can you guess which this is?

You look better in my t-shirts than you do in his. (truth)


It doesn't mean i don't love you, the whole text thing. Now you know if it flashed and buzzed and you read it and it didn't make sense. I sent you something i sent to everyone. you re not so special. Then again, neither am I.


- I shouldn't, but i do -

and so i will watch you from afar

Pretty girls make graves. It was playing on the radio by her bed. Autumn- leaves burnt brown and orange falling through an open window. She told me she cut into her skin to feel something. i wanted to make her feel that something. I laid beside her watching her bleed. I found her funny and overly dramatic. we stayed up late. let me put a band-aid on it. let me fix you. I'd say.
I slept over almost every Friday and it was inevitable she would get up to pee or go flip over the mix-tape an bang her toe on the night-stand. Every Time.
I loved her little voice, her big profanities in the darkness.
fuck- fuck- fuckity face fuck. Christian stop laughing i know you're fuckin laughing it's not fucking funny.
Pressing a pillow to my face i'd say-
nu nu I swar im nut..mrph..mprh.
Her dirty mouth.

We were to young she said but, i would have married her that night. I asked. She told me I was silly and sweet and I wasn't the girl you marry. I'm the girl to put you in your place

I would have driven you anywhere. I would have taken my car and crashed us into a guard rail or into the deepest lake. I would sank to the bottom for her. I did. I wanted her to feel me. my words caressing her rusty mind. my body pressing against her body. alive or lifeless. Feel something, even if it be our dying moment.

I kissed her scars and mouth like it was our last kiss. she played along so sweet. she let me touch everything deep. it was only when i reached for her heart that she would flinch. grabbing my hand and whispering. NOT there.

She let me as hard and as long and as violently as I wanted, as I needed. I needed it. the feeling of something too. i loved her like it was my last love and maybe it was..... she ruined me for everyone else. Everyone has someone like that.

kissing bruises setting bones

It's been just short of a year. I developed the theory she wasn't really dead at all. Some nights i get shivers that run up my spine. I sit up in bed eyes still closed, fingertips to my temples. I pronounce in clairvoyant fashion:
she is watching a movie right now but she isn't paying attention- wait- she seems to be anxiously awaiting a text on her cell phone. there is a glow from under her seat. she is fumbling around in her bag. then the picture in my head goes fuzzy.

maybe i should call her. I still have the number programmed in my phone. Is it something i should delete because she's gone? I just creep myself out hoping i see it flash one day. the fact is: I've always had an open invitation to ghosts and I half expected a haunting already.
I press the call button but quickly cancel.

I want to go back to where she's buried just to check. but, what if she sees me? I'd hate for her to think i miss her this much. And the reality is I'd seen her dead. Her face beautiful and pale. Her hands balled into tight fists. As if to say "I'm done with you here, but where ever i end up, I'm ready to punch you till you pee blood"

this is a big risk but I think we were meant for each other. I pack a shovel and flash lite. so what if she finds out I've been missing her. isn't that what she would have wanted? some tears, a few heart- felt mentions in my blog? Of course.
At this point, who is she to think I'm being creepy. I'm not the one with 4" long fingernails and a plasma deficiency.

In the living world she told me not to wait for her. I didn't but i did. like it or not that's what living is. a lot of time spent waiting.

It's different than last time. We'd joke about faking her death so she could run off with me to parts unknown. Now, I'm waiting for her to make me a zombie too. I wonder will it be a bite? a scratch? will it hurt anymore or any less....like before?

it's not going to be the same kind of car crash. I promise you. this girl said she'd be awesome but i never thought this awesome. never thought a silent film. never imagined she'd be my favorite kind of monster movie, a sound track on vinyl. baby, you make me so alive that you can never be dead. i know where your heart is. dig through the dirt. reach for my hand.

i can't explain how i spend my days - I'll show you.

i said this: i miss you.

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

dirty smudged
pages that
you wouldn't read

there was a story
i wrote
about us
about you
about me

a summers end a good winter

night driving
burning drowning
leaving

you ended up writing horrible things about me
and i returned
the favor
in less clever lines

i said i fucked you
i said i loved you
i whispered
every rude word i could think of
in your ear

there

are pieces of me strewn all about

and they don't
fit

without
you

when sparkles taste like stars

Now

I told you once when we were young that
we would someday meet again.
Now, the years flow past, the letters
unwritten, I am not so certain.

It is autumn. There are toothaches hidden
in this wind, there are those determined
to bring forth winter at any cost.
I am resigned to dark blonde shadows

at stoplights, lost in the roadmaps of leaves
which point in every direction at once.
But I am wearing the shirt you stitched
two separate lifetimes ago. It is old

and falling to ash, yet every button blooms
the flowers of your design. I think of this
and I am happy, to have kissed

your mouth with the force of language,
to have spoken your name at all

by Greg Watson

Everything that happens is from now on

"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth."
-Oscar Wilde


I bring the Halloween decorations out from the closet and garage. the stores are filled with candy and costumes. have you been? did you see?
I like this time of year. I like you here. I like it getting dark outside sooner. I like the blankets pulled up high in bed, and you wrapped up in them.
pumpkin spice latte's and hot muffins. making cupcakes with black frosting and orange sprinkles.
the carving knife.

she won't be the witch. she'll be the bride.
Me, i don't know what I'll be. married on the 31st. more the wolf than prince. more the dragon than the slayer.
she is the slayer. her words, her laugh, her
smile slays me.
there many reasons to hide within the safety of strangers. when you are that stranger.

blood on her paws.
sure, the moon in her eyes
and cake fights.
love is creepy.
but i can not shake this. I can not shake her.

tradition has it that i do a table scape for every holiday and this is my most favorite. I'll post it up on my deviant or tumblr when it's finished.

credits:
snailbooty

spiced cake and pumpkin guts

Dinner and a movie:

the wine will be like blood tonight.
For dinner: pasta and a homemade spicy Sicilian sauce, vegetarian meatballs.
she'd tell you I'm a decent cook, with my best being food on the grill. I can do pastas too, and not just because of an Italian last name. or maybe.

and I've tasted some of the best wines in the valley. I've kissed lips, touched skin, shared laughs with the finest of women. that's not bragging it's just to show you how very lucky I am. brown eyes, green eyes, blue.
I want you to know this because i know this. she went and shared parts of herself with me and i probably can't forget it, i probably will never escape it. You become one of the ghosts i talk too, that i write about, and I'm going to miss you as much as you do me.

Ive watched blood flowing from her vein as if some kind of test.
i am constantly passing and failing her. my
resistance so often being futile. i pull my car over to the side of a highway and think about you on top of me. there is a pumpkin patch just over the hill. there are no tears , only leaves, bright orange and falling. October. month of my birth. month of witches.

she is better cooking breakfast than dinner. That's why i asked her to stay the night so often.
she sleeps to my right, soundly with soft shallow breaths. she'll let you touch her in the night. your chest to her back. her shoulders get cold. she likes the blankets pulled up. but, who doesn't and isn't this exactly you too?

it's not all magic. the movies, music, books and our little inside jokes. not even the scents or saying "baby" or adding "bear" to the end of your name. it's not so you remember me. time is both beautiful and cruel that way. you won't. I know that too.

this isn't a trick
this is what people do to win your heart. to steal your soul. to keep you. ruin you.
letters in the middle of October become secrets and wishes and candy. Tell me. What is sweeter than that?