Fragments

It’s hard to pinpoint anything about my life.                                                                                                              It’s hard to say if any of these things are really “about my life”.                                                     Everything I say lines up with a moment, a particular, that I am                                           when I say it.

Now though, when I go back, to agree or disagree, to say it louder, as though that is what I am, so often I find that it seems like a lie.

While I know that I only ever say things if I think they are true, I become confused, and do not at all times know who I am, or what to trust, because if I am not what I said I was, then what was I when I said it? What am I, if what I once said and what I now say, regarding who I am-  isn’t right? What if the best answers I can think of do not fit with what is inside me on more than a surface level?

.*.*.*

I either love people too much or not at all; I thought this yesterday. The same people, often. I want for them, to hear of their lives, and more often, to balance conversation about my own life off of theirs- to hear them agreeing, connecting, caring, and being made of the same flesh as I [seem to be].

That is one side, and the other is not feeling that anything I say is expressed in the same human words as they can hear, and feeling that my own knowledge is separate, because my connections in the world are not in other people. They are in life,  god, the spirit, myself, but not in human beings.

I don’t believe this is a wish to distance, I think it comes to me as the only way. But again, there is a second distancing; this is when people don’t interest me, and I feel that I need to be away from them… I don’t know what I want anymore, and the only thing I can truly decide is that I am alone, that my state of being is with myself and as myself- that I’ll never be accompanied by anyone. To look at it in a real way, I’ve always had more acquaintances than friends, have only known a few real close friends.

I don’t think this is because I don’t know who I am, but rather, that it is who I am. I have people on some sides of me- friends, I suppose, are there, and they offer something; but so often what it is they offer is a way to go outside of myself, and be something there, enjoyable, real, but not full.

Often I look at what I have just said, because I repeat it often to myself, and sometimes aloud into the world, and I hope that one day I will find a balance between the solitude of my own mind and soul, and the worldly fun and happiness of friendship. Between introversion and extraversion, to simplify it.

See, at the same time as I feel essentially alone, I want that to be proven wrong. I believe in soul mates. I believe in the thick ties of friendship. I believe in the happiness I feel when laughing, in groups, in the flow of conversation. Conversation with two lives that connect and have much in common and feel good [with each other] – myself, and another whole person. There is one friend whom I have, a best friend, it seems. At this moment I would say he could be in my life for its whole foreseeable future, knowing everything of me, both of us creating energy from the other. I would say so, except that every day there is a stronger wall of hopelessness surrounding him. I would say so except that I don’t know who he is sometimes, and I don’t know what to do. I would say so, except that I want to be happy, and much as I love him, I do not want to fall after him. [I have been there].

*.*.*.

This kind of thing- do I need therapy or not? I have days- weeks, ages, it seems- where I’m high, but it isn’t high in a ‘manic’, out-of-control way, is the thing- it seems natural. In that time, those periods, I feel as though I know my purpose. I feel connected to god, and more than that, I feel connected to myself, like I am all I need, and being in my alone state feels right. I am myself, everything is right in me. I am my own god- the world is going through me [as a vessel] and coming out in my way, my coloring. That is what is right. I feel blessed. The infinite world, the universe, and its soul have given me so much- understanding, strength, the ability to hear what it is saying and use it. I don’t feel I am god, or a god, or God, but I’m thankful to god, for what god is, what that makes me, and for having him inside me. Giving me this and blessing me in this way. God, to me, is an essence, an element, a being both larger than the universe and a piece intricately twined into it. Looking at myself as well, I am a miniscule piece of the universe; and yet, the entire universe is embodied inside me- breathing through me- possible within me.

I lose sight of that sometimes, but it is always true, and it always comes back, falls into place as the right part of me. Makes everything right. It always comes back… I’ve been told that my sadness comes from not being able to hold on to my happiness. Not having a grasp of that feeling.

Or I feel as though I am called to something: to pursuing gender studies, and pushing towards a more openly possible world gender-wise; towards the kind of equality that is doing what you want. There was a period when I was drawn, forcefully, completely, towards police work, towards service in the field- and to think that now, I’m shy to admit that, as though shameful- because it isn’t a part of me, of a large enough part of me, anymore. I feel like I can’t make decisions about anything, anything in my life, because I don’t know if by the time the decision becomes reality, I’ll still want it. Some things make me anxious- things that I once wanted to do become uncomfortable, things I can’t go into because they aren’t me, they aren’t what I want. I wonder, then, whom I’m letting make my decisions. This is why I feel like no one knows me, as well- because I don’t know myself, because I am not anything, or because I can’t remain as anything I am; I’m not one thing, and nor am I anything I was in the past, and nor does who I am now giving any indication at all of whom I’ll be in the future.

I’m not female. I could tell you that at any hour of any day. There are some things like that, like how I know that love is being glad someone exists. When we die, we exist inside a manifestation of our souls, age backwards, and then reincarnate with a stripped down version of the same infinite soul. Everything, every possibility in the universe, is inside a person’s soul. Every person is a tiny piece of the universe, and each action contributes to it. Consciousness came into being to fire a higher form of energy, to power the universe and all existence in a meaningful way, [a way with choice]. Irony is a kind of human beauty fashioned after natural life, that never ceases to be beautiful. These, things that I know, that a squared plus b squared equals c squared.

Most of what I know in a true way takes place in a scope and measure of the world that most do not have the same awareness of- that doesn’t affect working and breathing or the access of money, food, health, shelter, water, comfort, and love.  Most of the things I know take place in a world that I want to be a part of, but that I currently am not familiar enough with. Most of the things I know take me away from the world… and often leave me breathless.

There are many fragments of myself. Divided firstly into the four quadrants of any human being, there are the mind, heart, body, and soul. Divided then, forevermore, inside me, in ways that manifest outside me. That is my way of saying, I am here. I am real. I exist. I connect and react. I think, I feel. I go on.

That is my way of saying hello, if I am ever able to do so from the bottom and the peak of who I am.

(13.08.13)

15.03.28 Dream

I had a dream last night, reminiscent of other dreams that I think but am not certain I’ve had, as though I’ve been dreaming dreams beyond my dreams. In them, there are multiple dimensions, and people can move into a different dimension where they steal into a new body, and they move with this new body back into my world, and act as this new person. In this dream, there was a house, an old relative’s, and my family and two close friends were with me in this house. The two friends and I had discovered that people were doing this, taking over other people; there was a second Adam to the one I knew, and could have been many others infiltrating the world around me. We were rushing this mystery, clawing through it to sort it out. We pulled a board game out from under the dresser in the neatly made up patchwork bedroom, dusty and decrepit, and what it told us was haunting. At the end, once the issue that been dealt out, settled, there was only one Adam, thank god, and I loved him, my family sat for pictures and the photographer asked, how many of you are Great Aunt, and both my parents and my only brother raised their hands. I was surrounded by people who weren’t my family, and I felt betrayed by them for being not them. This doesn’t mean anything to me, but I want it to.

This fever hasn’t broken yet

Thinking about how if this were then there’d be ants swarmed in the sticky dregs of ice cream and I might be standing on my bed right now yelling because the roaches were fucking everywhere

But it’s one of those things that’s been magnified through time, like the acidic gasoline rainbow heaves of us and the way the calm tastes as sweet as lucky charm marshmallows, which have never failed to burn my teeth and make me feel like too much sugar was the way to kill kids’ brain cells and have them like it

And I’m sitting here like I did once last year, and the year before, on those days I always seem to forget, that come back like pH paper the same shade as before and I’d never know except in the beating of this cold room with my legs cramped up in failure yoga and my ears zinging in that way that makes me feel like the world is still turning even though this morning my heart was ticking, it was more like the sound of cogs turning and far less like the easy thunk of a drum where the dancers gyrate and my heart goes out to orgasmic bodies and I decide I’m a lesbian, a thought which I will refuse when I become my real gender and one which I will refuse again when my past self tries to feel it because, as I will tell this urgent and well-meaning past, I do not think that was what I meant, because the way her body shook a month ago did not fit into my own world and was not intricate and sensual and I didn’t need it in the way I have needed the eyes of men in my fantasies and have spread my body wide and released it like money in a bank transfer for the use of veined arms and deep voices and thick cocks that whisper forcefully into the their blood

I see you waiting at the window and you watch the slick pane as I wander away down the path to the trees, through the trees to the river into the river downstream huffing water and choking as I reel myself back to the surface and my weight is flip-flopped and I’m like oh, that’s what that warning was but I will, I swear, grab onto the rust metal railing that will tear my skin and I will hiss and drag myself ashore and smile and tell myself I’m a fucking idiot

But no one could be me but myself, and I’m glad I am my own owner my own charge the miscreant who has to deal with the blood I will lap from my hand and the why? feeling clogged in my water-logged heart as I sit there and smile and know I better go back soon because there are people who love me whom I will tell the story, even though the magnitude will be lost to the zing of the instinct moment, and they will only have warmth and big eyes to let me know: they want me in this world, even if (though) I’m not made for it.

[15.03.27]

testosterone / injection

testosterone / injection

Here, with my veins
coiled in skin
muscles pulsing
      slow, slick ricochet beat
these cluttered rat-pack cavities
pipelines hoarding
tissue, blood, and juicy hormones
this surface form,
a smooth pale carving
illustrations, scars roaming skin
penned through weeds of hair.

This movement, motion, trau-
matic difference
reorientation,
this skittering substance,
this drug a worm
through
blue light, blinding blood
      a serious, vital act.

Magniscopic clarity
familiar reality,
startled white legs, wrinkly dark briefs
this bottle,
its red safe container stacked
on
      Social Deviance and poetry.
20– 23– needles
      3mm syringe.

Incense colours my room,
its breaths, of a soul
and I’ll sleep here tonight
      patience running, my heart
not knowing which way’s up
there, with thrusts through compact ribcage
‘til I hush it to our sleep.
Rain, one kind of tingling
there’s another that strums
      capillaries, inches
and fires in my brain.

Swabs of cool alcohol
air sucked up plunger
tip the bottle, liquid bubbles down
insert, press
needle drinks in this week’s dose
      alcohol circles
rub that bite, instinctive fear
suck in strength, for
silver lightning at my thigh.
Bring it close
rear back, and breathe
press down, shot
through warm flesh.

Here, needle, liquid
easy knock at body’s door
sword straight from mount of leg
pulse the plunger back,
forward.

      Molten in my muscles
thickness through my leg
      satisfaction in my blood.
Nerves shake, rear up and numb
soothed like fluorescent light hum
fingers splay, tender,
cold press,
and pull the silver out.

I’ll sleep here tonight
      patience running, my heart
not knowing which way’s up
there, with thrusts through compact ribcage
‘til I hush it to our sleep.

Rain, one kind of tingling
there’s another that strums
      capillaries, inches
and fires in my brain.

Testosterone
coursing through a river now
coalesces,
      becoming mine.

(15.02.09-10) (15.03.04)

Dawn [Message to Adam]

[Message to Adam]

I haven’t been good to anyone I care about, and I don’t even feel truly wanting of communication about this right now, but I wanted to let you know many things have been doing downhill in recent times – as in, the last 2-4 days. I’m needing time, at least another two weeks, to look back into the last few months and pick out what’s been going on. As well, I’ve decided to look more thoroughly into my personality and mentality, because the relationships I’ve started this semester (Lydia) have led me to believe it would be beneficial to gain feedback and assistance with social and relational aspects of myself. I don’t know where we’re at, you and I – by which I mean, I don’t know where I’m at personally, and am unable to envision and clarify the relationships I have before I deal with myself. Lydia has reached a point at which she needs feedback and evidence of my emotional investment in her, and given that I am mainly unavailable to give that currently, I fear our relationship may end; following this subtle realization, I’ve fallen into a place of numbed pain, assuming the reaction of this possible end. My last emotional action, following the excitements of Lydia, alone time, and time with extended family on various levels both negative and positive, has been to cut my skin in five places, with depth and breadth across my body. Again, this is to give you an overview of my state for the last while, though I feel unable to offer anything that may symbolize a relationship between us. I’m sorry – for what, I’m uncertain, but I offer this to the world affected by me, and very deeply for myself, comprehensively over the last four months.

[14.12.28]

Figments (reflection on the imagined future created in the past, brushed off by the actual present)

a-i.
last year, I glanced her with tucked shirt, saluting, sauntering, cacophony sounds

yesterday, unbeknownst to
figments of the past
in
blurry mem’ry cold,
she lay
wound around me
lacing with me

first bright hazy hazy sighting
greeting, turning away,
igniting
startled, swallowing
the thought of her, down my throat

coming up now,
to the present, to the air
arms round ridges, body senses
written universe
sculpture scene
our lines, our body twined,
merged
synesthetic entanglements
then forgotten
soothing, hair stirring passion
and gone

a-ii.
not each other
outside each other
without each other,
pressed to–
begging sighing warmth, folding blankets of –each other,
rising, pressing
clock tick heart,
minutes turning over
fusing

b.
structures non-existent ’til I met her, that existed nonetheless

hands on handles, handles turned,
before they came to be,
before my knowing
with I, to need
to give them purpose

now here, now aching, now
witness to her vibrancy
brushing silt sand skin, my foil
lighting
colour definition
display
window eye frame
raveling, drawing me
out

a-iii.
threshold
aligning, drinking
in
drunk now
dreaming

c.
once realities
undone by reality
coming
red wash thick paint
o’er clever made up fantasy
weaving unwoven diluted refigured

higher
cloud choking, airless heights
blinking unreality, impossible, unfathomable
shrinking views, the breath of your name
mystic marrow madness

cacophony sounds

[14.10.11]

Symbiosis

What I most simply want in a relationship is a friend.  I see it on a hierarchy of needs, a spectrum of social interaction, where connective friendship precedes intimacy, and the feeling of intimacy is more important than physicality.  I won’t feel fulfilled without people to talk, connect, spent easy time with in my life, before I’m concerned with romance, or even just touch.

Perhaps it is because there have been limits to my social contact, the relationships I do have are incredibly valuable.  What I’m afraid of is apathy.  Lack of feeling, of investment, of real connection.  Related to this, I don’t like the idea of dating; it seems to me like an experiment rather than [the basis of] a relationship.  Dating is drowned in expectation, but there aren’t necessarily connections between the two people, and it’s in such a setting that they don’t have to be part of each other’s lives at all.  I don’t want that.  I realize that this seems controlled, maybe too bound up, but physical or sexual connection isn’t important unless it has an emotional basis.  The good part is the feelings; everything else just represents those feelings, and brings them to life.  Romantic relationships have the same meaning as friendships, it’s just organized and manifests in a different way.

I’m aware that instant attraction can happen, can cloud every interaction when relating to the person, can catch you off guard in the middle of a conversation, can make it so that when you’re across from each other, you don’t know how to both look at them and talk to them because you forget your words and then you’re thinking of how not to make it awkward – meanwhile you think they would make a good friend if they weren’t so… like that.  Admittedly, she’s like that.  Admittedly, it’s confusing.  But to go back to the original point, what I find most pleasing about her is how we talk when we don’t talk about us.  We aren’t friends, right now, but it’s that possibility I… depend on.

[14.10.14]