Monday, June 27, 2005

Dwelling in my Dwelling

I'm feeling trapped.
I'm sensing things haven't gone my way again. The tide has, once again, turned away.
Am I destined to constantly repeat my history in this area? Is it always, advantage: "The Other"?

Sometimes the letters unreplied speak more, sometimes words unspoken hurt the most.

I'm scratching up a storm tonight. I think blood has been drawn on my back. Is this itch some sort of physical warning? (Retreat!) Or unconscious nudge? (Advance!) Snatches of old lyrics seep into my mind "I've got you under my skin."

The crickets are loud tonight. I sit on the back porch with a finger of Jameson and 3 cubes. I listen to their song. The sound and the smell in the cool air bring to mind memories of camping at Van Buren State Park, weeks at Camp Berry, nights at Lake Erie, and drunken smokes outside the house of my Childhood--staring at the moon with a heavy heart.

Who is Zilo?

Thin black man walks by under a back pack singing softly to himself. I nod and he actually says "hello," and I wish him a "g'evening" and a smile. I liked that moment. For a split second I felt part of a bigger picture; for one brief exhalations across vocal chords, I felt connected to the world.

Then I go back to scratching; attacking the blue-haired Demons trying to crawl out my pores.

Two girls laugh in the apartment across the street. A white lady walks by with her sleek black Doberman, talking on a cell phone. The crickets keep chirping. I scratch.

Sometimes, you can just sense The Goodbye is coming soon.

Down the block, the white lady yells at her dog to "heel!" as it barks at another dog. This morning at 7:11, my sleep got broken up by a man and woman and their squeaking/barking dogs. They discussed how he breeds pit bulls. They figure out through the conversation that her dogs come from a line from his dogs father.

The Neighborhood of a 1000 Basketballs and Dog Poo.

I have this urge to give all my belongings to charity or friends. Clean slate, start from scratch., let go of The Past. Release the symbols. Everything I own tells me a story. Their voices scream and clamor for attention; I can hear nothing else, at times. Ghosts hold me locked in their gaze. I need to go Forward. Kill these Demons once and for all. Kill the main and the parasites die soon after.

I want to write it all down. I want to help people before I go. I don't want this all to have been for Nothing. I want to mean something to someone.

I want to mean something to me.

1 comment:

The VelvetHellvis said...

You matter. Your words are powerful.