I could get lost in that room. I could never leave it again and the things that would come from there the colors that would shine from it's darkened windows and torn drapery would light up the world and cast color into the shadows where once only darkness lived. I could stay there and never come out again and lose my self to her and to him and shut the door on the cries of everyone.
Sometimes I walk around a ghost, just a shell of my self with a painted mask and puppet arms. I am not here I am in that room with the doors shut tight and drapes pulled closed so that only the glow of this computer screen lights up my eyes. So far away from home forgetting to enjoy what's around me locked with key in hand in here, in that room in the woods, the one that resides in my head, where the weeds grow tall and walls are bare.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
play time
i have left exhaustion behind and all that lingers now is this dirty haired, caffeine injected cigarrette smoking shell
i just want to be still
to sleep
and be in the quiet, just close my eyes and let the quiet in
hard now
to NOT want to just sleep for days and write and smoke
and sleep
it is hard now
to think
beyond my next fix waiting for me in the corners to come out and play
it is hard now
to move
to eat
to love
to feel
it all slips away
leaving the swollen eyed girl that can't cry
this is the hard part to move and be beyond just a few fragmented words that mean
nothing
beyond the shell of my own head
to leave this place and do more than just sit with you and type and drink and forget to eat
and forget to love my husband
and loose my children
to not want it
to not let it completely swallow me
to not stroke the keys and loose it all here
give of it freely ..... to you
the price to pay is to high
the need
to high
the longing to much
i just want to be still
to sleep
and be in the quiet, just close my eyes and let the quiet in
hard now
to NOT want to just sleep for days and write and smoke
and sleep
it is hard now
to think
beyond my next fix waiting for me in the corners to come out and play
it is hard now
to move
to eat
to love
to feel
it all slips away
leaving the swollen eyed girl that can't cry
this is the hard part to move and be beyond just a few fragmented words that mean
nothing
beyond the shell of my own head
to leave this place and do more than just sit with you and type and drink and forget to eat
and forget to love my husband
and loose my children
to not want it
to not let it completely swallow me
to not stroke the keys and loose it all here
give of it freely ..... to you
the price to pay is to high
the need
to high
the longing to much
Monday, August 30, 2010
most people travel on one long path one road with no idea where it ends and no concept as to how they got on it to begin with. i have never done that. i have always seen all of the other paths around me and sometimes when i get blinded by the other passengers on this road i forget to stop and look around me.
but this, this, was one of those days, one of those times in my life when i stopped the car and not only looked around but got out and saw the long horizon drawn before me. this road did not lead to where i needed to be, it had no happy ending or house with a white picket fence at the end of it and the baby in the backseat, carefully buckled in for her bumpy ride with me needed more than this journey could give her.
i stood at a crossroads and running on empty i had a choice to make. and that was the day the moment i made it.
that was the day that Scott was going to leave my life and the man-child that my daughter Sarah called daddy for the last 3 years was not going to be luggage any more. sometimes people need to see where they have been to get to where they need to be, and today we where turning around and taking that detour.
the bills didn't get paid and with winter threatening the autumn skies, the electric company had turned my heat off for the second time and it was back to heating the apartment with the oven. I couldn't pay the bills with out Scott's income, as small as it was it did make a difference and i had no plan on how i would survive this. his many months of getting high on blow where starting to take a toll on all of us and this was the second time his stupid ass lost his licence and the police came knocking with a warrant for a no show. so the fact that we didn't have heat and had no plan was ok, compared to his bullshit.
no, this was not where i was going to stay, we deserved better and i had glimpsed better. i had seen what love is supposed to look like and how a man is supposed to behave, whatever in the hell that means. i needed to be saved and i was going to wave my flag at the white knight that i knew would come riding in.
Jason and i have been working together for about two years now. and he has come to know me almost as well as i know myself. he was a friend and great fuck and he listened to me, he would just sit and listen to me talk about Scott and his idiotic behavior and Michael and how he never really left my life though i near destroyed him and left him with scars so deep i doubted he would ever recover. he listened to it all, he got my heat turned on when i needed it and sat with me when i worked late to make sure that i was safe. he even saved me several times on work mistakes that i made in my greenness on the job that i was deeply unqualified to do. he had been saving me all along but not until that day on the road when i pulled the car over could i see him there on the other path that led away from this coke in the freezer smoke filled apartment of the adolescent I still was and the woman I wanted to be.
on that day she came, she being his ex, the girl that spent all of his days at college with him and was the object of his affections up until about a year ago. her name was Marcy, she was attractive with an athletic build, and had long plain brown hair with a natural beauty about her. and when he looked at her i could see what love was supposed to look like and he was going to give it to me.
he was the one that i wanted the one that could love me the way i wanted, no, needed to be loved and he, was going to save me and when i looked down that road i could see where it ended up and that is where i thought i wanted to be. i needed the craziness to stop and i needed to move these burdens from my shoulders and his shoulders were broad and strong and could carry the weight of all i came with.
his black hair and large build loomed above me and made me feel small and protected. and when i did finally look into his green eyes i could see the love there that i would have.
but this, this, was one of those days, one of those times in my life when i stopped the car and not only looked around but got out and saw the long horizon drawn before me. this road did not lead to where i needed to be, it had no happy ending or house with a white picket fence at the end of it and the baby in the backseat, carefully buckled in for her bumpy ride with me needed more than this journey could give her.
i stood at a crossroads and running on empty i had a choice to make. and that was the day the moment i made it.
that was the day that Scott was going to leave my life and the man-child that my daughter Sarah called daddy for the last 3 years was not going to be luggage any more. sometimes people need to see where they have been to get to where they need to be, and today we where turning around and taking that detour.
the bills didn't get paid and with winter threatening the autumn skies, the electric company had turned my heat off for the second time and it was back to heating the apartment with the oven. I couldn't pay the bills with out Scott's income, as small as it was it did make a difference and i had no plan on how i would survive this. his many months of getting high on blow where starting to take a toll on all of us and this was the second time his stupid ass lost his licence and the police came knocking with a warrant for a no show. so the fact that we didn't have heat and had no plan was ok, compared to his bullshit.
no, this was not where i was going to stay, we deserved better and i had glimpsed better. i had seen what love is supposed to look like and how a man is supposed to behave, whatever in the hell that means. i needed to be saved and i was going to wave my flag at the white knight that i knew would come riding in.
Jason and i have been working together for about two years now. and he has come to know me almost as well as i know myself. he was a friend and great fuck and he listened to me, he would just sit and listen to me talk about Scott and his idiotic behavior and Michael and how he never really left my life though i near destroyed him and left him with scars so deep i doubted he would ever recover. he listened to it all, he got my heat turned on when i needed it and sat with me when i worked late to make sure that i was safe. he even saved me several times on work mistakes that i made in my greenness on the job that i was deeply unqualified to do. he had been saving me all along but not until that day on the road when i pulled the car over could i see him there on the other path that led away from this coke in the freezer smoke filled apartment of the adolescent I still was and the woman I wanted to be.
on that day she came, she being his ex, the girl that spent all of his days at college with him and was the object of his affections up until about a year ago. her name was Marcy, she was attractive with an athletic build, and had long plain brown hair with a natural beauty about her. and when he looked at her i could see what love was supposed to look like and he was going to give it to me.
he was the one that i wanted the one that could love me the way i wanted, no, needed to be loved and he, was going to save me and when i looked down that road i could see where it ended up and that is where i thought i wanted to be. i needed the craziness to stop and i needed to move these burdens from my shoulders and his shoulders were broad and strong and could carry the weight of all i came with.
his black hair and large build loomed above me and made me feel small and protected. and when i did finally look into his green eyes i could see the love there that i would have.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
It has been a long time since I have posted anything on my blog, not that the handful of followers would notice. This is more of a diary of sorts, than a blog I guess as there are no daily, weekly and at times monthly updates about my life, my writing, my thoughts....I do however have many, many unpublished entries on here that never make it to the publish page. They have been deemed unreadable by me and so therefore stay locked in the closet of lost drafts and random thought.
There are these long quiet times when my mind is so at ease that not a creative thought crosses it's path and then there are times when I will go days with out rest, without a quiet moment inside the confines of my own mind. When I will close my eyes and the colors will leap and swirl and combine to create an endless story but those times seem to come few and far between lately and I feel sad and lost without it, I am sad when my mind is quiet.
Always looking for something else, always searching for that one thing that may ignite my soul and let me get lost inside of myself. Always reaching for someone to understand the feeling that crawls under my skin when I can't, won't write.
Where does inspiration birth from, is it some captured memory like the fire fly in the glass, or does it move with the wind from place to place with me not far behind trying to catch it in my net? I don't know, I wish I had the answer, do you?
Tonight it is so peaceful here in the dark with only the glow of my laptop and the flickering candle. The breeze is cool and the gentle rain is lightly tapping on the roof of the canopy I sit under....I hate being alone, writing is an odd passion for someone that hates being alone. Even now with the company of the wind, the trees and Bob Marley I write to some imaginary friend, because I hate being alone....here... in my head.
There are these long quiet times when my mind is so at ease that not a creative thought crosses it's path and then there are times when I will go days with out rest, without a quiet moment inside the confines of my own mind. When I will close my eyes and the colors will leap and swirl and combine to create an endless story but those times seem to come few and far between lately and I feel sad and lost without it, I am sad when my mind is quiet.
Always looking for something else, always searching for that one thing that may ignite my soul and let me get lost inside of myself. Always reaching for someone to understand the feeling that crawls under my skin when I can't, won't write.
Where does inspiration birth from, is it some captured memory like the fire fly in the glass, or does it move with the wind from place to place with me not far behind trying to catch it in my net? I don't know, I wish I had the answer, do you?
Tonight it is so peaceful here in the dark with only the glow of my laptop and the flickering candle. The breeze is cool and the gentle rain is lightly tapping on the roof of the canopy I sit under....I hate being alone, writing is an odd passion for someone that hates being alone. Even now with the company of the wind, the trees and Bob Marley I write to some imaginary friend, because I hate being alone....here... in my head.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Selfish Mommies Club
The distractions are innumerable and the excuses well, they too are never ending. I used to, no, I still say "we make time for the things that are important to us"; that was generally in response to the fellow mom, inquiring with part cynicism and part awe just how did I make time to do the things that are for me, the things that don't involve my kids. They always wanted to know, mostly this came from a place with subtle disdain. Most mommies hate other mommies that "do things for themselves" they say they don't but they do, because it makes them feel like less, as it should. It reminds them for even the briefest of moments that they used to be someone other than just that....a mommy. That there was a time when their days did not entirely rotate around their children, the house, the bills, there was a time when they had dreams of greater things for themselves that somehow got lost in those messy ponytails, dirty little faces, dirty floors, and the needs of everyone else. They secretly hate the mom that flaunts her selfishness as a badge of honor just as proud of it as her son was of that cub scout badge or her daughter of her swimming trophy, all things she helped them earn while being selfish. We all, well, not all but most start out with this predetermined dream of what it is that we are supposed to want, kids, a house on a hill, two cars, and a husband that leaves at 6am and returns at 7pm with his big fat pay check in hand. This is what we see on TV in some variant or other and isn't this the dream the mini-van, or maybe you kid yourself by being one of those non-minivan driving mommies, whatever it is you drive you are here. When did you become one of the secret haters of the selfish moms club?
I am in that club and I do flaunt it like some imaginary badge. I wave it in the face of the mommies that sit at dance class and every week only talk about their children's allergies and what to do at the next girl scout meeting. I sit and I read Hunter S. Thompson, one week back turned to the chitter chatter of empty space. I write on my laptop and keep busy little fingers from touching the keys, I go and get my huge latte with it's double shot and between chapters check up on the three year old blissfully prancing away in her dance class. Every now and again I will engage them in conversation that always ends the same way with me bored and checked out in about 4 lines of dialogue. I usually stop asking questions at that point in hopes that their interest in me will fade....it doesn't.
I yell at my kids and make them clean their rooms and go on the occasional hike or walk with them. I don't really like the outdoors much, my husband likens me to a cat...I like to just sit in the big comfy chair in the sun, not really work up any kind of a sweat. They mostly keep themselves entertained and are incredibly self sufficient, and for that I am proud. If you are a mom then you know what a huge accomplishment that is. Most mommies at the price of themselves dote over, and involve themselves in all that their children do. Selfish mommies do this as well, just less and we know the art of turning helpless spoiled needy children into self sufficient, independent , well mannered, little people.
I make the occasional PTO appearance but for the most part when asked the answer is "NO" because I can think of about a thousand other things I would rather be doing with any amount of spare time that I create. Did you catch that? "I create" that's right selfish mommies always know how to "create free time" . Like right now, I should be doing the dishes, washing the floor, planning dinner, laundry, the list goes on and on, but what am I doing, I am writing I am doing that selfish thing, I am doing something that is only about me and by doing that it is all about them.
At the end of the day when I have had my selfish mom time I enjoy my Mommy time with them so much more completely, and can appreciate what they have accomplished on their own during my selfish time. I show them by doing that it is important to be true to yourself and that mommy is so much more than just "mommy".
I am in that club and I do flaunt it like some imaginary badge. I wave it in the face of the mommies that sit at dance class and every week only talk about their children's allergies and what to do at the next girl scout meeting. I sit and I read Hunter S. Thompson, one week back turned to the chitter chatter of empty space. I write on my laptop and keep busy little fingers from touching the keys, I go and get my huge latte with it's double shot and between chapters check up on the three year old blissfully prancing away in her dance class. Every now and again I will engage them in conversation that always ends the same way with me bored and checked out in about 4 lines of dialogue. I usually stop asking questions at that point in hopes that their interest in me will fade....it doesn't.
I yell at my kids and make them clean their rooms and go on the occasional hike or walk with them. I don't really like the outdoors much, my husband likens me to a cat...I like to just sit in the big comfy chair in the sun, not really work up any kind of a sweat. They mostly keep themselves entertained and are incredibly self sufficient, and for that I am proud. If you are a mom then you know what a huge accomplishment that is. Most mommies at the price of themselves dote over, and involve themselves in all that their children do. Selfish mommies do this as well, just less and we know the art of turning helpless spoiled needy children into self sufficient, independent , well mannered, little people.
I make the occasional PTO appearance but for the most part when asked the answer is "NO" because I can think of about a thousand other things I would rather be doing with any amount of spare time that I create. Did you catch that? "I create" that's right selfish mommies always know how to "create free time" . Like right now, I should be doing the dishes, washing the floor, planning dinner, laundry, the list goes on and on, but what am I doing, I am writing I am doing that selfish thing, I am doing something that is only about me and by doing that it is all about them.
At the end of the day when I have had my selfish mom time I enjoy my Mommy time with them so much more completely, and can appreciate what they have accomplished on their own during my selfish time. I show them by doing that it is important to be true to yourself and that mommy is so much more than just "mommy".
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Tommie and June
The timing could not have been more perfect and he could not have been more unaware of how so. She had been feeling that itch the one that builds under her skin and wells up from between her legs. the itch that carries her from her bed late at night to write incomplete, incoherent thoughts down in a blind half slumber. the feeling that makes her eye up every cock on the street and wonder if their wife fucked them last night and if they made them feel like they were the only man on the planet. the feeling that made her look at her children and her husband with a subtle discontent and dislike that disturbed her to the bone.
June was lonley in a world surrounded by friends and PTO's, and 3 car garages. she was lonley because though she had so many friends that loved her and children that needed her and a husband that adored her she was lonley because she could see them all for who they really were. she could tell them things about themselves that they chose to ignore and when they talked to her she heard what they really meant. she could see a huge world that stretched out before her and yet she could not move from here, she could not breathe here and while they all thrived in the falsehoods of there quaint existances she scratched at her skin and clawed at the insides of her head. she needed someone, someone that could understand the need to leave the place you are in, the need that you should be somewhere else, anywhere else. she needed someone to see her.
Thomas Zane, a writer from another world, was a man that lived in the place of yesterdays for her. He was the perfect mad painting that was projected straight out of some storyline of hers. He wrote what he felt from his balls and made no apologies to the people he sucked dry in the process. A man that appeared to live on the edge of experiences that gave him the high to let his fingers fly. But to the people he called family and though there were many that new Zane there were few he called family; to those people he was just Tommie. Zane was a whore for followers looking for any and all to read his written word and have it mean something, have it piss someone off or make them want to cum, it didn't matter as long as they read it and stroked his ego in the end. And so when he came across her timid post, the one that asked in a way that caught his eye "hey there, would love for someone to check out my words" she typed; he did. but it wasn't her words that he checked out it was her pics and her big green eyes that seemed to say a thousand things in them and her long blonde hair, well that is what interested Zane and that is how we got here. Zane's cock and his ego that is what led us to this place the one where two worlds meet and shift to accomadate the rotation of the other.
he could not possibly have known that when he sent that request, clicked on that button that he would be walking through her door, through a door already doused with lighter fluid and only needed him to ignite it.
she read his words first, as she had no idea who this wild eyed dark haired, slim hipped man was, she could feel right where they were written from, as if she had written them herself. She understood his junky need to get it all down and out of his head and scream at the world to "wake the fuck up" before it passes you all by. The drowning choking feeling he probably gets when the words won't come, which is likely not often. The need to stimulate that place that drives the words forth, to stroke it and make love to it always ready to come forth and spew out over the pages and fill the blankness with prose that scream out from behind his eyes. this she could understand and her stomach lept at the thought that at last in the vastness of this place we call home she could find someone that might, just might...see her. June needed him so much more than he could have ever known, so much more than he was ever capable of giving.
She knew then that the fire had been lit and that the pull of that, was more than the need of her babies or the love of her husband. he was her heroin and the junky that had laid sleeping for so many years was awake now and ready.
Their conversations were easy, not that they hadn't been easy with others before him but they t never quite fit the bill, but these were just a bit different they weren't just easy she could feel him, she could see him as he filled the pages of cyber chat and she could walk around inside his head and he in hers. they had known one another for a day, then two, then two weeks, two months and they were old friends, the kind that understood one another on a level that was unspoken. this is how she would keep him interested. there were no shortage of girls lining up and spreading for him, he had danced in there eyes and put on his great twisted writer performance and they would bow and bend over just to have any amount of him inside them. but she, she held his interest, she could write and he, could see where she wrote from. from between her legs, from some pit in her stomach that is never filled and likely never will be. he too could see inside her head and feel her through the sterile light of the computer screen as she stroked the keys and this, this, kept him interested...for now.
the weeks moved on and though there would be days without his attention she could always feel him there through the silence and when they did talk it was for hours, entire days lost in the words of one another. Every pore ached in June's body to touch him to see him and watch the veil that made Zane fall and see Tommie in his eyes. It wasn't until his schedule turned in a queer bit of fate, making there meeting a possibility, a trip to NY was in the future for them both and like the red sun on the horizon the need burned from inside them.
New York loomed in the near distance and as it approached he gave it little thought other than who to hook up with on his stay, and readings of his work that he would have to give at the literary conference that he would have to wear his Thomas Zane suite to. Until night when it was quiet and he lay down in bed and his thoughts as usual, were not quiet and loomed heavily over his bed. the smallest fears crept in and lay in his stomach. what if she did not see the man she cast in her tale, the man that made her write with passion and lust and desire, what if she saw Tommie and not Zane...the two were so much a part of his one now that he could not feel them apart any longer. Would he see disappointment in her eyes, would he see himself staring back, in her round green eyes, she could see him through the protective web of words between them and now to stand naked in the true light of day, what would she see staring back at her?
June's thoughts grew anxious and lay like acid in her stomach the deceit the lies she would have to tell just to get high on him for a day. to come face to face with herself, the self that would have been had she not chosen another, safer, path. Her life here was a contented one, the problem being just that, June didn't do content and while it was something that many, most strived for she did not like that feeling and longed for the thrill of the experiences that Zane embodied and this is why he was dangerous to her. this is why he threatened all she had come to know, everything that she was supposed to want.
she worried not just about what it was that she stood to loose, but more veinly about what if, the woman he met was not at all the picture he had drawn into mind. the image of the blond with hair loosely pulled up and cigarette in hand, leg curled up under her as she typed her sweet words to him. the woman that was less mother and more porn star. but the fact remained that she is a mother and she doesn't type with cigarette in hand she has to leave her home and hide in the corner of the house to light up so not to disrupt the perfect world she has built for her little ones. the fact is that she has had and nursed five babies and held them close to her warm body at night keeping them safe from the shadows in her own mind. her body had a road map of scars to prove it. she did write with her hair pulled up loosely from her neck and her leg tucked in under her and with a blind fury beneath her finger tips that excited him so, but would he still see that? who would meet her there in NY who would she see staring back at her. the gentle, polite, sweet Tommie or Thomas Zane the writer, artist man-child, who wanted to just bend her over and fuck the words right out of her?
the day was cold and and gray as most winter days in NY and NJ are nothing out of the ordinary other than the story book of lies she needed to tell to escape suburbia today. and though every pore in her body screamed with excitement and the fear of loosing it all she made her way through the day without even the slightest of hints at what may be coming for her later in the day. She made peanut butter and jelly and chatted with friends about there woes and cleaned up countless messes and met the needs of everyone around her today, knowing that the little girl that was locked up oh so long ago would be let out to play today.
It was Zane that had nothing to loose no reason to worry, no fear, no life to go up in dust and be lost to the wind, to meet her and see if perhaps he had met his match or maybe just maybe would she really see him, straight through to him to that empty place that longs to be filled...nothing more than curiosity, and perhaps disappointment. Tommie had an idea of what it was she could loose by standing there with him but Zane did not care.
June was lonley in a world surrounded by friends and PTO's, and 3 car garages. she was lonley because though she had so many friends that loved her and children that needed her and a husband that adored her she was lonley because she could see them all for who they really were. she could tell them things about themselves that they chose to ignore and when they talked to her she heard what they really meant. she could see a huge world that stretched out before her and yet she could not move from here, she could not breathe here and while they all thrived in the falsehoods of there quaint existances she scratched at her skin and clawed at the insides of her head. she needed someone, someone that could understand the need to leave the place you are in, the need that you should be somewhere else, anywhere else. she needed someone to see her.
Thomas Zane, a writer from another world, was a man that lived in the place of yesterdays for her. He was the perfect mad painting that was projected straight out of some storyline of hers. He wrote what he felt from his balls and made no apologies to the people he sucked dry in the process. A man that appeared to live on the edge of experiences that gave him the high to let his fingers fly. But to the people he called family and though there were many that new Zane there were few he called family; to those people he was just Tommie. Zane was a whore for followers looking for any and all to read his written word and have it mean something, have it piss someone off or make them want to cum, it didn't matter as long as they read it and stroked his ego in the end. And so when he came across her timid post, the one that asked in a way that caught his eye "hey there, would love for someone to check out my words" she typed; he did. but it wasn't her words that he checked out it was her pics and her big green eyes that seemed to say a thousand things in them and her long blonde hair, well that is what interested Zane and that is how we got here. Zane's cock and his ego that is what led us to this place the one where two worlds meet and shift to accomadate the rotation of the other.
he could not possibly have known that when he sent that request, clicked on that button that he would be walking through her door, through a door already doused with lighter fluid and only needed him to ignite it.
she read his words first, as she had no idea who this wild eyed dark haired, slim hipped man was, she could feel right where they were written from, as if she had written them herself. She understood his junky need to get it all down and out of his head and scream at the world to "wake the fuck up" before it passes you all by. The drowning choking feeling he probably gets when the words won't come, which is likely not often. The need to stimulate that place that drives the words forth, to stroke it and make love to it always ready to come forth and spew out over the pages and fill the blankness with prose that scream out from behind his eyes. this she could understand and her stomach lept at the thought that at last in the vastness of this place we call home she could find someone that might, just might...see her. June needed him so much more than he could have ever known, so much more than he was ever capable of giving.
She knew then that the fire had been lit and that the pull of that, was more than the need of her babies or the love of her husband. he was her heroin and the junky that had laid sleeping for so many years was awake now and ready.
Their conversations were easy, not that they hadn't been easy with others before him but they t never quite fit the bill, but these were just a bit different they weren't just easy she could feel him, she could see him as he filled the pages of cyber chat and she could walk around inside his head and he in hers. they had known one another for a day, then two, then two weeks, two months and they were old friends, the kind that understood one another on a level that was unspoken. this is how she would keep him interested. there were no shortage of girls lining up and spreading for him, he had danced in there eyes and put on his great twisted writer performance and they would bow and bend over just to have any amount of him inside them. but she, she held his interest, she could write and he, could see where she wrote from. from between her legs, from some pit in her stomach that is never filled and likely never will be. he too could see inside her head and feel her through the sterile light of the computer screen as she stroked the keys and this, this, kept him interested...for now.
the weeks moved on and though there would be days without his attention she could always feel him there through the silence and when they did talk it was for hours, entire days lost in the words of one another. Every pore ached in June's body to touch him to see him and watch the veil that made Zane fall and see Tommie in his eyes. It wasn't until his schedule turned in a queer bit of fate, making there meeting a possibility, a trip to NY was in the future for them both and like the red sun on the horizon the need burned from inside them.
New York loomed in the near distance and as it approached he gave it little thought other than who to hook up with on his stay, and readings of his work that he would have to give at the literary conference that he would have to wear his Thomas Zane suite to. Until night when it was quiet and he lay down in bed and his thoughts as usual, were not quiet and loomed heavily over his bed. the smallest fears crept in and lay in his stomach. what if she did not see the man she cast in her tale, the man that made her write with passion and lust and desire, what if she saw Tommie and not Zane...the two were so much a part of his one now that he could not feel them apart any longer. Would he see disappointment in her eyes, would he see himself staring back, in her round green eyes, she could see him through the protective web of words between them and now to stand naked in the true light of day, what would she see staring back at her?
June's thoughts grew anxious and lay like acid in her stomach the deceit the lies she would have to tell just to get high on him for a day. to come face to face with herself, the self that would have been had she not chosen another, safer, path. Her life here was a contented one, the problem being just that, June didn't do content and while it was something that many, most strived for she did not like that feeling and longed for the thrill of the experiences that Zane embodied and this is why he was dangerous to her. this is why he threatened all she had come to know, everything that she was supposed to want.
she worried not just about what it was that she stood to loose, but more veinly about what if, the woman he met was not at all the picture he had drawn into mind. the image of the blond with hair loosely pulled up and cigarette in hand, leg curled up under her as she typed her sweet words to him. the woman that was less mother and more porn star. but the fact remained that she is a mother and she doesn't type with cigarette in hand she has to leave her home and hide in the corner of the house to light up so not to disrupt the perfect world she has built for her little ones. the fact is that she has had and nursed five babies and held them close to her warm body at night keeping them safe from the shadows in her own mind. her body had a road map of scars to prove it. she did write with her hair pulled up loosely from her neck and her leg tucked in under her and with a blind fury beneath her finger tips that excited him so, but would he still see that? who would meet her there in NY who would she see staring back at her. the gentle, polite, sweet Tommie or Thomas Zane the writer, artist man-child, who wanted to just bend her over and fuck the words right out of her?
the day was cold and and gray as most winter days in NY and NJ are nothing out of the ordinary other than the story book of lies she needed to tell to escape suburbia today. and though every pore in her body screamed with excitement and the fear of loosing it all she made her way through the day without even the slightest of hints at what may be coming for her later in the day. She made peanut butter and jelly and chatted with friends about there woes and cleaned up countless messes and met the needs of everyone around her today, knowing that the little girl that was locked up oh so long ago would be let out to play today.
It was Zane that had nothing to loose no reason to worry, no fear, no life to go up in dust and be lost to the wind, to meet her and see if perhaps he had met his match or maybe just maybe would she really see him, straight through to him to that empty place that longs to be filled...nothing more than curiosity, and perhaps disappointment. Tommie had an idea of what it was she could loose by standing there with him but Zane did not care.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
dear diary
we've all got a story to tell some past that bit us in the ass and took a chunk out just enough to leave you who you are now, here, with me.
we all have shadows that go bump in the night and tug at our soul.
but some of us, some of us need to bleed instead of cry and some of us dance with the shadows that linger in the night.
for some the story never ended it never healed over to form a callous so deep that nothing else can get in. it never left your room or kissed you good night with a long deep sigh.
for some of us we can drive down the street and go to work and wear the skin that keeps one foot hold in the here and now for some of us we can get into our fuel efficient sub compacts and play the role and sleep soundly and not need to wake to empty the contents of your brain before it tears through you on its way out.
most of us can move through the day with the shadows at bay
but some, you and i, we dance here in the shadow we get high and sit quietly with them and find it hard to make our way back out to day.
we all have shadows that go bump in the night and tug at our soul.
but some of us, some of us need to bleed instead of cry and some of us dance with the shadows that linger in the night.
for some the story never ended it never healed over to form a callous so deep that nothing else can get in. it never left your room or kissed you good night with a long deep sigh.
for some of us we can drive down the street and go to work and wear the skin that keeps one foot hold in the here and now for some of us we can get into our fuel efficient sub compacts and play the role and sleep soundly and not need to wake to empty the contents of your brain before it tears through you on its way out.
most of us can move through the day with the shadows at bay
but some, you and i, we dance here in the shadow we get high and sit quietly with them and find it hard to make our way back out to day.
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