2004-03-14
Ring me dry in candlelight
Lethargic day with mystic daydream clouds hanging about my head--cover my tired eyes and permit me sleep.
I wanted to call Paul so that we could go to the beach--it would be like old times. He would spend endless hours rambling on and on about how much he loves Silvana, and I would be there--listening, and trying my best to digest it all so that I may spit out a few words of wisdom for my young, Irish friend.
There is a problem here--I have lost control. Like rubber tires skidding off the wet drenched road, I live my life. If I could just care again, but I feel tired.
At six in the afternoon I turned out the lights and wrapped myself in my blankets after taking a shower. The dripping hot water dancing about my skin provided only temporary relief. Thus, I went to hide myself in that sea of off-white blankets.
Close your eyes and don't wake up until the problem is solved...but this is a whirlwind, and I can't stop it. My eyes closed for a bit, and I was awakened by my mother's presence as she stood over me--studying me. Her worry subsided after she saw that I was breathing and that my eyes were open. Ever since "that day" she's had subconscious worries about my committing suicide by stuffing my mouth with pills--not in this lifetime...
I have failed so miserably. My disappointment cannot be subsided by glasses of wine and the artificial nights that I make for myself on countless occasions. What does happen to a dream deferred? It rots like meat and then explodes, sending debris into your mind at imponderable speeds. My soul, no longer impregnable, becomes tainted...so tainted.
I'm a "good" writer, but there are so many others "just like me". Sometimes I repeat my own name several times to see if I can find some sort of truth, or to see if the name itself evokes a far away muse...it's just a damn name.
Libet--failure, writer...a writer who is a failure...
I ran out of wine, and my mother does not want to open the new bottles...we must wait several more years for that.
Rain...just rain, and I can articulate this mood that lingers amidst the damp fog in my soul. Golden sunlight trickle down and ring me dry--DRY...I want to be dry...
Light candles, give in to darkness, sit and look out of the window, press your forehead on the cold glass, see the world...
Ring me dry...