Friday, March 14, 2008

the road to awe

Yesterday I died. Tomorrow I will die. Vacuous lapses of time in between dreams, sleep, and sadistic sex. Stolen idols, broken libido, a divine cockroach stare – darting eyes and skeleton smiles. Things fall apart and the center cannot hold... and I so long to hold the rotting remains of you so tenderly in my arms and hum you that Russian lullaby you softly sang to me one snowy day long ago when I almost died.

It seems as though every night I dream of Xibalba. I vaguely remember excited voices around a crackling fire casting shadows into the howling jungle all around. The canopy above echoing with the shrill shriek of demons and above these demons a jealous moon carved of ebony and tears. Blood-red rivers and lakes of pus, and a forest of writhing bodies impaled on sheared bamboo and….

My god what became of us?

You and I were a fairy tale - a beautiful fable. Except fairy tales are supposed to end differently then we did. The princess did find her prince and the prince turned out be a cancerous fucking coward.

I miss you. I do.

There is nothing left of you now except the part of you that resides inside the solitary tree which grows in the recesses of my distant memory. And my eyes turn upwards to the sky, to an approaching star which is dying by the millenia, a sparkling nova cast in shades of yellow and brown - the Mayans named this place Xibalba.

When I reach my destination I promise you I will find you so we may be reborn as cats….

Thursday, March 06, 2008


Sometimes the sound of goodbye is louder then the waves which crash on black rocks on a forbidden coast somewhere in the expansive archipelago of distant memory. And out past the rocks, beyond the coastline, the waves undulate in constant rhythm expanding and contracting like the chest of a sleeping titan. The monster rests, indeed, he rests… this kraken deep, deep below the red waters buried in sand and covered in coral. But as my world approaches conflict, as the drums of war hasten their beat growing louder and more oppressive, he stirs.

I know she has returned. Wherever it is she went she has returned and I don’t know how I feel about this. There have been sightings, although brief. There have been rumors, although unfounded - fragments of information. Someone's brother's roommate saw her at the mall. Insubstantial gossip perhaps but rumors nonetheless. And every lead I get brings me closer to the choice I will inevitably have to make. I am so lost. So… torn. I know I need to let go and in fact I thought I had – years ago. But what one thinks or one intends and what one actually does, in action, differ as day does from night. I still need her yet at the same time I need to continue to be alone.

It has been said the Roman poet Catullus wrote over twelve thousand poems all devoted to one single woman. and yes after all this time I still need my tuzik.

Life is a blur. I lose track of time and stumble through my daily routine as a small child wanders through a store oblivious of others around him. The sun shines more nowadays and the chrysalis is beginning to crack. My cousin is excited for the summer as this will be the first summer in a long time we will have motorcycles again and I will be free to join him in renewed adventures. I tell him it won’t be the same and he smiles and tells me with a twinkle in his eye, “ but it can be.”