maybe not cathartic enough, but I hope it’s good enough


May everyone find the kind of comfort you always find in ice cream.

Either you’re already asleep, or my last few weeks’ of insomnia has been contagious.

I did nothing today, so I promised myself I’d do something tonight. Writing comes a little harder than usual these days, but it’s a special day, though regrettably, I am not around to help make it all the more special for you.

It’s this distance. This distance that, for years, we’ve tried to compensate for: voices that try to talk about the day (for what it’s worth on my part, as I doubt anything can be more exciting than listening to someone talk about how they’re only halfway through the taxation law coverage), pictures of the food, of the cats and dogs. My God, the cats and dogs. Enough cats and dogs to turn anyone into a blubbering “doggo doin a boop catto doin a mlem” of a person (who minds, though).

But of course, we keep at it, this routine: sometimes infinitesimal in what changed within a given day, sometimes going on random shenanigans just to shake off those emotional cobwebs that drudgery tends to leave to gather dust over several weeks. A movie there, a buffet there, retail therapy, therapy sessions, baking a batch for spreading joy and shaking off others’ cobwebs.

And (perhaps the most importantly), we grow. I’ve always had this notion that I never wanted someone which my world would turn around, a sun in the system; rather, I wanted someone who would sit with me and watch the world turn, a fellow planet. Circumstances have forced us apart, but I feel like the fortunate consequence of all this is all the space we have: to pull our own moons together, to orbit along our paths of least resistance. Progress, while a straight line, isn’t prevented from also having its cycles anyway.

And maybe, just maybe, we’ll grow so big that not even this distance will keep us apart. Or at least, we’ll have grown enough (and this I see whenever we have our precious alignments) to make gravity pull us towards each other, eudaimonae who are whole apart but fuller than whole together, rather than incomplete when apart and wholly dependent on the other’s light just for life to exist on their skin.

Until then, let’s keep growing, but work off the carbs and sugar every once in a while.

I love you, dear. Happy Birthday.


black vest

I wear a black vest
You can’t see, but it’s there
It’s got weight on the chest
But its shoulders are bare

It’s odd that it’s heavy
Though there’s nothing inside
Just a spot where little
Dark things like to hide

Even when I feel light
It’s always around
Waiting, just waiting
To drag my chest down

When those times, they come
Things get really rough
I stay in bed all day
‘Cause I can’t get up

The dark things pile on
Like used, dirty clothes
It gets hard to breathe
Under such a big load

Sometimes it’s so heavy
That I want nothing more
Than to fall, feel weightless
From a thirty-ninth floor

Or when I am walking
Or crossing the street
I think that getting hit
By a car would be neat

When these moments come
I have to tell myself
To just keep on breathing
And give myself some help

And so I will struggle
To get out of bed
Just to keep the dark things
From hitting my head

I go for a walk
Surround myself with green
Eat my favorite food
And then go for ice cream

I call up some friends
(Texting is fine, too)
To join me for dinner
And a drink or two

I listen to music
Or read a good book
Anything to shake
The dark things from their nook

The doctor told me that
The dark things make me sick
She gives me medicine
Sometimes it does the trick

But when they pile again
I just have to say
That I can live through this
For another day

I don’t think the dark things
Will ever leave, you see
I just have to live
With them around me

And I just have to say
That I’m stronger than them
And do my very best
Until the very end

I wear a black vest
You can’t see, but it’s there
It’s got weight on the chest
But its shoulders are bare

It’s odd that it’s heavy
Though there’s nothing inside
Just a spot where little
Dark things like to hide

l’esprit de sombre escalier

People think trigger warnings are effective disclaimers, when all they do is make some all the more curious as to whether they see the same darkness as the artist does: gazing into a Nietzchean abyss that gazes back, until it’s Musashi’s void inside you, but without having mastered anything. Sharing darkness is, after all, forbidden fruit which has to be hidden from the bright gaze of the social God, lest one be cast on the goat hand even before judgment day.

facade // fade

These days, I think about dependence. Society has transcended the social contract, evolving into social symbiosis: the survivalist’s reliance–“I need you”–contradistinguished from convenience–“I want you”–a point of focus in an environment where spheres bleed into each other. In rebellion, thus, people assign spheres to relationships: for richer, for poorer, fair weather, liquor before beer, you’re in the clear.

But what when mis-assignment/mis-alignment occurs? One attempts to traverse the bounds of their sphere, and is aptly chastised: the sight is of a popping bubble, an iridescent field returning to molecules; the sound is of anything from glass breaking to dragged footsteps to “get the fuck out of here”–either climactic or denouement, but always punctuated by silence.

There is also the issue of loss, or rather, its inevitability, or rather, its response: people are not institutions, people tend to forget. Facades wear away through time, over time–some decades, some mere minutes–revealing bitter, pitted cores: hard, dark, inedible, to be discarded for inconvenience. No matter, there are enough skins left in an average city to feast on: it is enough that there are enough to need, no need to be enough.