my belly stings, but my mind sings
It’s funny, the fuels to my fires spit off in fifteen different
directions often, cultivated and mixed up into ready pools of sweet
honey kisses, topped up by hands reaching, pulling, rubbing the line of
musculature, faces cradled into hands, fingers whipped viciously,
resolutely around each other.
I go off on these tangents, love-starved and impossible, and for a
while I was looking looking looking. The answer is the key, the
question a dream. I wanted to be there, someone’s everything, a literal
queen atop a mountain of discourse, words fluttered back and forth,
combing forward, touching everything. I want to be on fire, and even if
I burn up in the process, the licking of the flames too close to my
being would be enough to furrow holes of feeling into my trap-door
heart, a literal mass of metal and pins, sewn together with
understanding, careful prodding, concern. I feel this small flicker of
hope in the distance, carried through in the prettiest strain, voices
heard across the ocean, the urge, the anticipation almost too much to
bear.
I have been inspired before, as proven by this body of work hidden in
the archived files of my brain, chiming through in memories, spun
webbed in caverns of my files. I suppose this thing…a little hope, a
little forward movement, a little pretty whisper, a discourse that gets
more delicate with time, a small little tale of communication, and even
just a hint of more than nothing, this is the feeling and hope that has
fueled my rampages of pretty lately. I haven’t written in a bit about
this shit, hiding the hurt parts of me from view because they seemed
redundant. Deanna meets someone inspiring, and it usually ends up in
pretty lies vomited out, and spraying me in the face, or they are
racked and empty, having delivered their last relationship with a
mouthful of bitter, and this luggage I refuse to deal with.
I refuse to deal without hope, with the mundane absurdity that
everything remains the same and nothing changes. I have been exuding a
nice kind of spirit lately, and in my giggling calmness have been told
some pretty encouraging things about myself. I spent a good deal of
time speaking with a young man yesterday who at first seemed to be
hitting on me. His original comment: ” Do you want to know the thing
that’s the most attractive about you? And it’s not that you are
beautiful, because you certainly are.” “No, I replied. “Your honesty.
Your lack of bullshit, the way you carry yourself. I see you smiling
all the time, and at first I thought you might just be just that, a
beautiful girl who smiles all the time.” But you are very human,
honest, and I appreciate that. Then I told him about my story, a little
outline of my life so far. He again asked me why it was I had never
really pushed myself to the limits. And I realize something. I have
always been smart, but I never finished college. I barely started for
that matter. And I have done many things which were supposed to result
in me reaching higher to the top, but when it all came down to it, I
should have pulled my pants down and let them fuck me up the ass from
the onset, because the pretties never came. This, of course, is in
reference to work environments, and getting paid, in putting all of
your energy trying to push forward. And what I did in Jersey City turning
Uncle Joe’s was the last time I did anything with fire. I painted that
whole place inside, I booked bands when I knew nothing about booking
people, I ran the bar, I did maintenance, I organized art shows, I paid
bands out of my pocket because I know what playing is like for
nothing, and I took out advertising of my own pocket to make sure I
succeeded. Of course, I did, but in the end it was ripped away from me,
including all recognition of being a pioneer to this movement here. And
I realized I would never ever again make that sacrifice for a
job that gave me no rewards, monetary or verbally. And then I said forget
it. And I bartended at a slew of bars I hated, this one on West Side
Avenue being the latest in a string. It’s not that it’s so terribly
awful to be there, but it is. Football I can’t talk about anymore
because I think it’s lame, and I haven’t watched it since we moved away
from the Broncos in 1988. It’s a bunch of old men jerking their beers
off, shooting the shit with each other, telling me stories of their
ex-wives fucking the cable dude and fucking them out of everything. I
can tell you one thing, sitting there listening to that shit can make
you NEVER want to get married, only because you realize how screwed up
it is to have all this hope of a forever but forevers seem to last only
so long in the ghetto.
I want that fire, desire, movement forward. I want to be with
someone who believes in something bigger. Something real,
something that isn’t transient temporary or messed up. Someone who can
communicate with me, speak to me and tell me how they feel.
Well, shit, that’s pretty easy you say? Nuh-uh, you boys are idiots
and you lose your voices when it’s most imperative to hear you, when it
would mean the most. I seem to have found pieces of people satisfying
but the true package deal? There was J who loved his family to
pieces and was a literal genius. Loved him, but he could not muster any
sentiment out of his mouth but you look cute possibly twice in our
entire year-long relationship. Which isn’t really about me, but that
was all he could muster commenting on. I don’t date tattooed boys
mostly because they are hiding behind some ridiculous self-esteem issue,
and use them as a literal armor to being real. And then Jeff, who I can
tell anything, and everything, who is like my best friend but never
wanted anything more. And P, living in the wrong place at the right
time. So then what about this communicating, super-driven, sensitive,
super intelligent, creative, piano playing, affectionate smart
ass writer young man that has come into my life recently? Who knows?
Though I think we are like children looking at the most beautiful fish
through the glass, arched up and swimming, and perhaps we are grabbing
at the same thing? Only time will tell.
Maybe now. Maybe now.
