Sunglasses in the mirror
Thinking of that rest at home she should get just by throwing her bag on the floor. Just getting that shower, should it be cold or hot, she never decides until she's actually in there. Thinking of what movie she should see tonight. Thinking of that cold AC she would turn on even though it's still February. Thinking of that new place she is at. Of her parents who won't speak to her. Of her office that she just started decorating. Of her new painted white life. But why did she think whit, ohh gee why white. Know she is just thinking why she chose whit. Because it's not tainted, it's dullingly babingly newingly white.
Setting her sunglasses in the mirror, are they right one for me, are they too squared, maybe too rounded, maybe too black. Black, if it's all white then why the hell she is wearing all black and don’t tell me because of that freaking meeting I was at, she thought. Adorable is that taste of winning them over with her charm; adorable is that feeling of being on top, especially of men.
Fine fine, she thought, the sunglasses are just good enough. Just one last look in the mirror and I will be on the right track of that bridge. IPod tuned, cigarette lit, and finally one last look in the mirror for that black sunglasses, just to make sure they are not see through.
Fuck!!! Is that really him she thought, noooo it can't be, he doesn’t drive the same brand as she does. Is that him, smiling at her? Keep it still girl she thought. Don't you dare smile back, it’s a no see through glasses he does not know you are looking at him, that's just a random guy; he is not him, that's not your boo, ex-boo I mean. Just keep it still.
Should I be lighting that cigy she wondered. Well he doesn’t know I'm back to smoking does he? I mean who would have told him, I don’t speak to know one anymore, yeah and her thoughts turned gray. I don’t actually speak to know one anymore. Well to hell with him I am lighting that cigy.
Fine by me, I will just drive and enjoy my ride. Who is she kidding, she is not doing that!!! If so she would be looking at the most elegant car to drive next too, preferably if a guy was driving. She wouldn’t have let cloud no. 9 be playing, definitely should have changed the song. She wouldn’t be putting the cigarette inside the car and not as usual flipping it in the air. She must have believed that it's him, that boo of hers. That mind of her is definitely playing games on her. Tricky tricky games.
He must be watching my every move now. He sees right through me. He just took another turn, why did he do that? Oh, where did he go that sun of….
He knows the way and he is going to surprise me by at the entrance of the house. He is going to get me flowers. He is going to propose. He must have seen right through my eyes, into the depth of my souls and knows how I'm dying to get married and over with. Opps did I say marriage. Did I betray the sisterhood of freedom? Did I just realize that I want to get married and have damn kids and a home?
She unlocked the door of her one room flat and through her bag and lay down on that gray sofa and sighed.
He didn’t see through me. I said to her. He didn’t see through you baby. He never did, he is not coming to propose he doesn’t know where you live now. He doesn’t know you left your house and got a home. This is your home. This is you seeing through those black sunglasses, he doesn’t ride that car, and in fact he doesn’t have a car girl. You just have to realize that all those moves you were trying to make are not yours anymore; it's been ages now dear. It is over. You see through you, I do, he doesn’t and never did; remember, never did and that's why you walked away. You said walk away, walk away and never look back. Now you see through you. I do. And this home isn't all white, and you aren't all black. You're just as pinky gray as the next time you're going to see a show.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
when the wheels come down
When the wheels come down
There was clarity of an urge, for something, of apparent suicidal attempt, like a hanging laundry that flaunts its underwear in particular other than everything else and even her prayer gown…on her face. More likely in your face that attempt has been telling her over and over again, in your face I will be; not in the bottom of your bag, or the lingering flickering shadow of yours or even the prints of your footsteps, but in your face. She has a fear, a clear one of that urge, for split seconds she stands tall and refuses to cut herself, all the other long seconds of her days of the 60 seconds in 60 moments in 24 hours launching 86400 blunt raisers in her wrist minus few seconds of life. Those 86400 minus seconds she takes the blunt raisers and goes slowly towards her wrist and smashes a thin pink flesh and aahs and just moves on and comes back, over and over and over again. She licks the blood and chooses a long sleeve shirt and aahs and out she goes, in a mesmerizing state of ache. That's what she thinks this is all about, to be mesmerized with ache, to love the pain and love the painer. She relates her own inflicted pain with the pain of what he has done, how many moments have she suffered for him for what he has done to her, rapping her of her life and out of his he pushed her. Curtain he said and that was the end of it all, curtain he said and she was left in a casket in hospital room, curtain he said and he vanished like the dust in the wind. She is trying to curtain him but just cant. That moment was the life time to her. Just before the curtain, just before the ending scene; she thought that stupid girl that this was the opening scene, how dumb she must be and those gods must have played her stupidity for their own amusement, for the winner takes it all and the loser stands small. But then, when she really thinks about those gods they must be really amazed now that there is no winner, yes she is standing small but he is not standing at all. She went out of this ending scene with a limp but he is not getting out. He said curtain and left, where can she look for him is not an option, he is everywhere and nowhere, he is in the air, the sky, the fire and earth. He has casted a spell on her without even leaving her a mourning stage. He maybe the beast but definitely the beauty of the farewell. he existed her life in grandeur just like the entrance with a bombing and red war of lashes crashing on the ground, to each his own but not his, so grant and scattered…and she has limp with seconds out of the 86400 of her day.
There was clarity of an urge, for something, of apparent suicidal attempt, like a hanging laundry that flaunts its underwear in particular other than everything else and even her prayer gown…on her face. More likely in your face that attempt has been telling her over and over again, in your face I will be; not in the bottom of your bag, or the lingering flickering shadow of yours or even the prints of your footsteps, but in your face. She has a fear, a clear one of that urge, for split seconds she stands tall and refuses to cut herself, all the other long seconds of her days of the 60 seconds in 60 moments in 24 hours launching 86400 blunt raisers in her wrist minus few seconds of life. Those 86400 minus seconds she takes the blunt raisers and goes slowly towards her wrist and smashes a thin pink flesh and aahs and just moves on and comes back, over and over and over again. She licks the blood and chooses a long sleeve shirt and aahs and out she goes, in a mesmerizing state of ache. That's what she thinks this is all about, to be mesmerized with ache, to love the pain and love the painer. She relates her own inflicted pain with the pain of what he has done, how many moments have she suffered for him for what he has done to her, rapping her of her life and out of his he pushed her. Curtain he said and that was the end of it all, curtain he said and she was left in a casket in hospital room, curtain he said and he vanished like the dust in the wind. She is trying to curtain him but just cant. That moment was the life time to her. Just before the curtain, just before the ending scene; she thought that stupid girl that this was the opening scene, how dumb she must be and those gods must have played her stupidity for their own amusement, for the winner takes it all and the loser stands small. But then, when she really thinks about those gods they must be really amazed now that there is no winner, yes she is standing small but he is not standing at all. She went out of this ending scene with a limp but he is not getting out. He said curtain and left, where can she look for him is not an option, he is everywhere and nowhere, he is in the air, the sky, the fire and earth. He has casted a spell on her without even leaving her a mourning stage. He maybe the beast but definitely the beauty of the farewell. he existed her life in grandeur just like the entrance with a bombing and red war of lashes crashing on the ground, to each his own but not his, so grant and scattered…and she has limp with seconds out of the 86400 of her day.
withdrawl tears
Withdrawal tears
I saw your picture and I had this ache in my heart. I wanted to write to you and say it s over, but then whose choice was it, it’s not about who acted the last ending scene. It was over before it started. It was not over when I stopped calling you, it was not over when I stopped telling you my heart’s every beat, and it was not over when you answered and life seemed so sarcastic and I so lame. It was over before I did all that before stopping all that. It was over when we first met, in that wedding, how clichéd that is? I smile when I remember, I was not even yours that time and never was and never will be, but you were mine for split seconds when your walls went down, and you gaze. Your smiles don’t make sense, fake, they say I believe that now, not innocent they say I believe that now, dangerous they say and I believe that now. I have lost my faith in everything but how ugly I want to think you are. Silly man, why haven’t you fought for me? I know you naked and dressed, beautiful and defaulted and lying and truthful, except I don’t think you ever were any of these. I read a poem and answered with nil worlds. I had tears in my eyes just for remembering you, but these are not farewell tears they are just from the smoke of my cigarette burning my fingers as I type this. I smash the cigarette softly in the ash tray thinking it’s you, burning your heart; though I have no desire to burn that heart that I carry within mine. I burn the cigarette and pause, what s next? What should I write, this is not written for you!!! This is written because I have nothing else to do as a closure, I had so many of those I can’t do it anymore. Maybe, just maybe because I don’t want to have a closure or “this” kind of closure. I want my hopes to remain the same, I surrender, I want to have you and I know I never will. Keeping you within seems the best I can do; knowing that now all this fakeness is over is not relief as much as surreal reality I don’t want. I will have my withdrawal ash tears and keep you within.
I saw your picture and I had this ache in my heart. I wanted to write to you and say it s over, but then whose choice was it, it’s not about who acted the last ending scene. It was over before it started. It was not over when I stopped calling you, it was not over when I stopped telling you my heart’s every beat, and it was not over when you answered and life seemed so sarcastic and I so lame. It was over before I did all that before stopping all that. It was over when we first met, in that wedding, how clichéd that is? I smile when I remember, I was not even yours that time and never was and never will be, but you were mine for split seconds when your walls went down, and you gaze. Your smiles don’t make sense, fake, they say I believe that now, not innocent they say I believe that now, dangerous they say and I believe that now. I have lost my faith in everything but how ugly I want to think you are. Silly man, why haven’t you fought for me? I know you naked and dressed, beautiful and defaulted and lying and truthful, except I don’t think you ever were any of these. I read a poem and answered with nil worlds. I had tears in my eyes just for remembering you, but these are not farewell tears they are just from the smoke of my cigarette burning my fingers as I type this. I smash the cigarette softly in the ash tray thinking it’s you, burning your heart; though I have no desire to burn that heart that I carry within mine. I burn the cigarette and pause, what s next? What should I write, this is not written for you!!! This is written because I have nothing else to do as a closure, I had so many of those I can’t do it anymore. Maybe, just maybe because I don’t want to have a closure or “this” kind of closure. I want my hopes to remain the same, I surrender, I want to have you and I know I never will. Keeping you within seems the best I can do; knowing that now all this fakeness is over is not relief as much as surreal reality I don’t want. I will have my withdrawal ash tears and keep you within.
The wine of your birthday
Shimy el yasmine my love…it was last year, the last day of the last month of spring, at the southern of my life. I am back now to my northern ordinary life, and it's just a letter to tell you about the wine of your birthday. I remembered it just today, with a glance of wine over listen the song "shime el yasmine"…have you listened to it? I am going to send you a music file with the email; I like to call it letter because it sounds more romantic. I couldn’t make much sense why I should listen to it, you should be listening to it.
I know this might sound like a patronizing way to put, but it's just a letter to you, and who are you except my love, or so it seemed to feel; anyhow I listened to it, I really listened to it and you made me feel this way. I was too much of a girl – subordinate this makes me, damn it I don’t care- in love with you and for you would hurt and tremble. If it took me to clean your house and make your babies I would have done that. But remember the wine of your birthday. Sweet wine, she got it with her from France, so what if she came from France, I live there, and I got you the strongest perfume I could find.
I got drunk, I saw myself getting drunk, I saw me getting myself drunk, I saw me sipping that wine, I saw the drops running down on my chest and into my curving bosom. I saw him looking at me, you looking at her. Some parts of us were happy, I can tell you that, but did you ask yourself who she was looking at, who made her happy as you were filling my glass while shattering its' smudged tip with your heavy finger prints. You got me drunk, listened to me and kissed her. That was the first day of the summer of her life. That wine of your birthday, I didn’t drink from it in your health, I drank to drawn my non existing presence; it was tainted wine.
Are you happy now?! Confessions pouring down my lips running like salty water into your deaf ears and down my hollowed pours… were you smiling then, I wasn’t; but your eyes twinkled with pride for the victory over the old hag giving in and drawling dog barks over the new lamp shade to your stunned artificial organic pumping blood machinery… you smiled, but I didn’t. I didn’t smile as I said it all to you and you said it all to her; my wordings and pains and masochistic willings of love offerings and dumb lastings… everything love, everything.
I would not have done that to you, I would have hushed you up. Remember how I sipped the wine of your birthday, I wish you were that wine, I wish you making me warm and strong not to humiliate myself fearing acid burns to my twined guts. I would have picked you after you fall only to tuck you in a tub full with hot stings of fetish feelings, would have given you my humiliation in humble captured looks waiting for master's appraisal.
Remember that wine of your birthday, it crippled me and castrated you. That wine of your birthday, will always make me sing "itzakar tensany….remember to forget me"….but it will always make you sing "itzakar…itzakar…itzakar… tezkourny….remember, remember, remember to remember me". See now how skeletonized we both will turn up to be in moments to come.
Give my love to the family
And farewells to you.
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