Your hand in mine...

I'm afraid; terrified. And, for once, it's not because of what may happen, but it is the fear of what may never develop.

All of my life, I've watched everyone do the same things. Reaffirming their ego, reaffirming their projection of who they think they are and should be, reaffirming the image that they want to place inside of other people's perspectives of them. We are animals in that sense: no matter how complex and nuanced anything is, it is almost always broken down into a territorial battle between selves. Everything is done so that they can think of themselves in a certain light. I've always thought that Man was selfish for this reason alone.

I've seen relationships fall away for no good reason, or for horrible ones. I've been at the center of those terrifying things, and I still and probably always will regret each loss. I will always think in that light and I will always want to be more than I ever will. The controls that we are all slaves to, to at least some small degree... the way that life controls us is the only real venom to be afraid of. People convince themselves that their fantasies are true, that they are as important as they think they are, that the world has them as a centered pivot. I am always left alone because of these things.

And now, I may have the chance to become something more. I am in love, to the deepest and highest meaning of that emotion. I think that I have found my soul mate, and I think that I have found the light that could easily cover me for the rest of my life. I may have the chance to be happier, and to make someone else happier.

I am viscerally afraid. I am worried and choked up and lost and hopeful and dying and in awe, all at the same time. But, mostly, I'm in awe. Well... mostly, I'm worried.

The largest parts of my life have always been like this. I am pushed back against a cliff, with nowhere to go, and I jump. I jump right into these arms that await, opened and ecstatic and loving and wanting. They want me to jump right into them.

That is what I am getting ready to do: to jump and scream and plummet and envelop and tear apart everything I think is concrete in my life. It always scares me.

And, at the same time, it is a new, tender experience. I am in the first throes of something grand, something grander than I would ever think was plausible. I may burn myself down, I may compact my own organs until I am crushed alive. I could see the most valuable parts of myself flounder. Maybe I will come out of it all being seen as a child with unrealistic dreams. Maybe I will come out of it a loser, a victim or collateral damage personified.

My entire life, my entire life I have been waiting for something like this. There has never been a companion in intensity or beauty to my heart. I have always been so close, and I have been impaled painfully every time. I've lost everything a thousand times over, every day for the last twenty-five years. I was empty before I knew what being empty meant. I comprehended nihilism before I realized that it had become the core of my being.

In the last few weeks, the bloom inside my soul has terrified me. The way that I feel when I hear your voice terrifies me. The warmth from thinking about you is too much to bear a lot of the time. These are the things I take too seriously, the romantic beast that has raged since the first day I ever heard another person call out to me. And, now, I have found someone that I believe is the embodiment of life's grace. I fall far too short to live up to deserving such a thing, and I know this all too well.

Regardless, I want you. I need you.

Regardless, I will jump.

I pray that I have found that something to jump into.

I am a wreck, a shattered being, a stranded sailor. You are my guiding light, my beloved, my whole.

All I can think about is how I'll fuck this up. And, all I can think about is how wonderful this will be. There is so much darkness inside of me. I think of you, and there is so much brilliance ignited. I will do anything to make this work, I believe. And that terrifies me, too.

But I will try. I will try. I will try. I will try. I will give this everything that I have. I will try.

I can't wait until I see you.

I can't sleep, I can't think, I can't breathe, I can't stay calm, I can't do anything but play and replay the feeling that my heart gives me when I think about what it will be like to see you.

Lead.Me.To.Heaven
The.Stench.Makes.Me.Sick.Of.Conception
The.Factory.Is.Underneath.Our.Skin
Working.In.Coniptions

Chained.To.A.Movement
The Paradox.Of.Being.Complacent
A.Lullaby.And.A.Reveille
A.Formative.Exception

Hold.Me.By.My.First.Breath
Impale.Us.On.The.Crescent

How many times do I have to live through the same death?

How many times do I have to fall off a high precipice?

How many times do I have to let my hopes fall?

How many times do I have to watch self-destruction?

How many times until I've had enough?

Moj Kochanie

In darkness I am far unwoven,

thrust against and into grain;

fostered unrelentingly.

To listen, to choose:

I've none but destiny;

the pull of blood

from in my bones,

it calls to me.

Sugary sweet, but tepid ahead

are the visions that I create.

And soft, unspoken emptiness

is ice; restraint.

But forward holds a different place

from anything I've seen:

Hollows filled with browning leaves,

ageless whisperings,

dug firmly into place;

crushed solely from these things.

Mirage or freedom: both are here,

both are underneath;

both inundating, still;

both are willow trees.

In spite, I palpitate your name,

I writhe and fall and seethe.

In spite, I throw it forward still,

to hope for everything.

And I laugh at the absurdity,

at every luscious following;

the painted, prismatic breeze:

the way you call to me.

Sit on my throne...

Things become irreversible.  That is what life is.

There is no closure, no empathy and no reversal.  There is only forward.

And when those things fall into place to be a palsy on our memories and a sting in our being, we learn then what it means to be irreversible.

I've seen the downward slant, and what it would ever take to re-right that decline.  There is no amount that exists, and there is nothing that can ever be saved.  To be Human is to constantly lose, to atrophy and to degenerate, until you are nothing, filled with the emptiness of what used to be there.  That is how I view life.

Mistakes are not given life to be learned from.  The real mistakes are what give us tremors at night, leave a bitterness on our tongues; we fight the slope of loss.  And we never regain anything.

The visionary lies to himself.

And so, we live.  Wrapped in lies, in fantasy and in emptiness; passing every closing watergate with a want to return, to be whole in the past.  But, there is no completeness, because even then, we wanted something more.

And so, we live:  The kings of emptiness, the rulers of futility and child-like terror.