Donatien

I’ve been silly for a very long time.  I’m not entirely sure why it has been so difficult to say it, but I think it had something to do with me trying to pretend I wasn’t.  I can’t figure out why I started pretending that I wasn’t silly, when I so clearly am.  In secret, for shame, I have been hiding this part of myself from everyone.

Well, fuckers.  The time is now, as they say; and that means that you will not be able to shield yourself from, fight off, or in any way avoid this assault coming your way.  I’m done with IT dudes.  Really fucking done with IT.  And those that know me, think they know me, knew me, or think they knew me should know what IT is.  And those that never knew me, still don’t know me, and never will know me – all the better, because IT wont ever occur again, so I feel no need to explain myself.

I am looking forward to the FUCK YOU CREW.  I am looking forward to my basement apartment.  I am looking forward to walking to school.  I am looking forward to my coffee.  I am looking forward to dancing with a blindfold on.  I am looking forward to being ok with things I can’t control. 

There is no turning back now.   So, I will make YOU this pledge:  I will not waste your time, nor will I accept you wasting mine.  I’m out of patience.   Do or die.  Yes or no.  Be. 

I’m breathing fire, I’m shooting lightning out my eyes, I’m eating a hearty breakfast – and I’m READY – TO – GO. 

I have made a decision and I think that it is the right one at this time.  I’m coming back for school – and I will live on my own in the city.  The confusion was overwhelming for a while, and I could not stop teetering from one to the other.  Staying or going, staying or going.  Each with its own advantages, but ultimately I am happy with my decision.  There is something in the city that draws to me, a sense of possibility in the chaos and in the sheer size of it.  Things here are much too quiet – and though it is precisely what I wanted for this time out here, it is not what is needed for the next year of my life. 

I need things to be happening.  All the time.  And I need to be surrounded by them.  I am excited. 

Meanwhile, I do still enjoy this city very much.  I am still in the process of discovering something new about it every time I go out.  I went to the Autechre show night before last, and it was absolutely brilliant.  I was seeing blue and white, my mind drifted into some kind of half sleep.  It was completely raw and open and heavy.  I have never felt base like that, filthy to the ground, base.  Snd opened for them, and they were just as good.  It is so thrilling, and almost ticklish, when a band is just that much better live. 

I have also quit my job.  In preparation for the move, I have found something that pays more money, and that is less strenuous on my back.  I am still keeping Bombay as part time, for now, which doesn’t really decrease my workload, but all money is welcome. 

There are also certain people that have been confusing me, and certain emotional responses, that I am having, but not quite understanding.  Most of the time, to be frank, I am out of my fucking league, when it comes to any kind of mind game scenario.  I just don’t handle it too well.  Perhaps I lack some intuitive skill and being conniving or strategic, but most of the time I find it simpler to lay things out flat and clear even at the cost of being hurt by that very act.  Then again, I have been told that I play the tightest game, because of that exact mechanism.  Who ever really has the upper hand, in those situations? 

And talking this over last night, with someone that I at one point thought I was dating but now it seems I was mistaken, and one of his friends that has recently become one of mine as well, was strangely upsetting.  I actually blushed to the point of overheating.  I started to sweat and feel woozy, and at one point even had to struggle to stop from my eyes tearing up.  It just seems to dirty, so filthy and whorish.  This kind of female/male interaction where it is all about the exchange of goods and money for some kind of status symbol or reinforcement of one’s own self concept of power.  Apparently I can get my tuition paid for.  Apparently I can get a new wardrobe.  Apparently I can eat at Provence every goddamn meal of my day.  Apparently every girl can.  I guess it is easy, and I guess it would be easy, and I guess everything else would be after that.  But is it good?  Is it right?  At what cost do I really want these things?  I can’t think of anything that I want that badly. 

I really am a fool sometimes.  And I really do give way too much of myself.  For nothing.  But I’d rather that, than to be part of the alternative.  And it is a much tighter game, that way. 

It certainly would be nice if people who you though you were dating, but as it turns out were not really dating, but who know that you think you were, would tell you as much.  But a lot of other fantastical things would be nice as well.  I guess, sometimes I choose to forget all this and expect better from people.  But that’s ok.  I get to be surprised all the time.  And who doesn’t like surprises?

I think of you in gray, my love.  I think of you in the tones of rainfall and cement.  I think of you in caged embraces, with hands clutching dusty air.  I often think of you from a distance, so that I can barely make out your face, and you walk by, small and insignificant as I strain to make out your stone cold expression.  Guitars are playing a tuneless crying dance and my led legs walk in line with yours.  I see you in blurry film and in hazed nights under covers alone.  And I fear your thoughts passing over me because I do not want the untruth exposed.  I fear my possibilities and I fear what my gaping heart may see. 

You hide from me, like a child who has betrayed his mother.  It is all I can hear in the silence between us.  And we step to and aside, with smoke on our tongues, and wonder what may happen if we did our part.  There is no sound like gray, my love.  No sound like what does not transpire.  Cover my eyes, let me lie down and not know it.  Shaking hands and breath on my neck and a tentative letting go of some summer night when we thought it would be fun. 

This is some kind of longing; some kind of wishing.  Some kinds of gesture play a staying in a running away.  We are keeping still and not approaching the questions though we have stated the answers and held hands when I was letting go.  And we walked on streets; had breakfast in the window putting on a show that told lies about racing minds that cannot begin to explain.  And sending waves I send the screams I send the pain I send the lying awake dreaming dreams and it is just little moments when I falter that I really allow for the colour to show through.   

What I think is not true.  Dismantled, the feelings do not stand the pressure of this bitter stare.  Claw clutched eyelids leave me alone. The pieces of skin grow tough in my mouth. I know my silence would wash you to me, my decision leave you bare.