On my way to uni this afternoon I saw two teenagers chasing each other, the girl ran behind a give way sign, the boy dived at her, she went the other way, then they ran for a while, she stopped and they threw their arms around each other and hugged.
I know its bitter but that really gets to me, I should feel happy, delighted, but I feel envious that I never had the chance at that. As soon as I found a boy I liked that much it was all over, now years on I still can’t let go of that minute time with him when it was wonderful.
What I do want to do is tell them to go at each other with everything they have because it won’t last, fuck caution, appearance and duty. Forget about your reputation, what your parents say, or that you might get hurt, all of that is so worth it.
I was listening to Forty-six and 2*, that didn’t help.
Later on, after the black clouds had settled around me I thought haven’t I given up fast? Is this where my story ends? 184.108.40.206.220.127.116.11.25 that’s my puzzle, at first it has an element of sequence, then it gets much harder to understand, although by that stage you have all your data, you stare like Hurley at the dash of a Camaro and are appealed.
Fuckery, this stared with young love.
Stop, step back, reassess, you’re not that much older than those kids, eight – nine years?
I’m a summer girl, winter, solitude and vicarious thoughts depress me, I look across the tram to an older lady, seventy maybe? She looks out the window with the same look on her face, something lost, something past, leaden to her, a whispish hint to me, but I see it. Her age spotted hands, delicate in their way, wrapped in skin like badly made rice paper roles, they tumble around each other, past, present, need and that uncomfortable knowing that its a vain desire.
In the absence of motherly wisdom’s to break the spell I remember sermons on the couch.
Regret is an anchor, let it go, let it go, let it go
Says Buddha in Calvin Klein. Sometimes I think its worse that I listen, but its only wounded ego talking there. Funny no matter how much you punch these things they only get stronger for the acknowledgement of them, This is something i say to people when I want to impress on them how wise I am.
“God you’re so together, I can’t believe you are so young.” A year older now, I wonder how fucking old I’ll have to be until someone just says – true. I wonder if they say that to the old lady. I bet she knows what I am feeling and why it hurts to look at those two, why I’d rather look at a car crash. Maybe?
Let it go.
“Killed by the husband” …
“Drowned by the ocean” …
“Shot by his own son” …
“She used a poison in his tea,
Then (she) kissed him goodbye”
That’s my kind of story
It’s no fun ’til someone dies.’**
Is the ides like this for everyone? Significant things happen in the middle of the month, I go through my pre-launch sequence and shush the doubts, lingering blames and consciously pull the anchor in.
Another year in the life, one less I will get back, one day I’ll look back to this and regret it if I don’t do something with it. My mind plays on the rough bark of a tree and a boy’s breath on my neck, some people never had that, remember it as light not dark, re-asses, re-file, it’s harder to code than C-Triple-plus, not that i have.
Behind the lady, to the back is a boy, maybe 17, in a duffel coat and black jeans, he has heavy metal runners on and thick curly hair made unfashionable by rain and lack of confidence, I look at him square on. He has deep dark eyes, skin as pale as mine, like all of his ilk he hunches, so he won’t stand out, be noticed. He has bum fluff, what we call that wispy hair men get on their faces before they can actually grow a manly beard. He was staring, now I am, his eyes run away afraid and autocorrect straightens my back. He’ll sweat for the rest of the trip, face the ground, fiddle with his play list, occasionally it’ll give him the balls he needs and he’ll flick a stare.
“Boobs out, buttons in,” thanks for the iron mum.
‘Learn to swim, learn to swim, learn to swim.’***
Funny how you can see and easily fix other people’s flaws, funny how they kick a person back into gear.
Everything that kills you makes you stronger. He reminds me that most people die at the first hurdle, give up, one punch in, fall to the floor and get the shit kicked out of them, I never understood that. Sure I did what I was told but at least I had to be beaten first, I know what hurts too much to do and what I can suffer with a smile. Poor boy, I wonder what it was, some girl at school, who laughed in his face? Domineering mother, father? Being on the outer, other guys? Or was it that he has too much in him that he can’t let out.
I feel vicariously stronger, I realise I am staring at him, its making him very uncomfortable, I can tell because he shifts so much, stares too intently at nothing and snaps his gaze this way less and less longer but more frequently. Bitch that I am I enjoy the surge of power and run it over my knuckles, I run out of bitch though and its my stop, I walk over towards him and run my hand up his arm.
Despite the fact he flinches like I was glowing red steel I know he’ll pleasure over that far longer than I will remember. And there is the grey of our lives, not good not evil, gifts that look like stab wounds, depending on where you stand. At the moment we are weakest, most fragile and like to break like the most delicate crystal we are hard as sheet carbon, dazzlingly, hauntingly, monstrously unbreachable.
Two worlds collide and out of the gloom a bauble is created, one becomes slave to it, the other forgets it instantly.
*Fourty-six and 2 – Tool
**Vicarious – Tool
***Ænima – Tool