When I talk to you

I am writing for the time, for the time allotted, for the time in question, for the places and people of the things I have seen and really just to make some noise on this thing. I never learned how to have a quiet conversation. My words can be soft and at times very firm. So when I get to this place where I have this thing in front of me I become noisy, very, very noisy. It is a clatter, a clacking, a drumming and cacophony of sounds like the echoing silence in my mind. Here it manifests and comes together like a porridge of letters slightly unseasoned and very unsuitable for the palette just yet. There will be refinements, there will be time, well maybe there will be time. Mostly you just have to sop it down and move along with your life. Be accepting. Today I learned that I should resist nothing. That is a horrible lesson as I resists everything. My simple nature is to resist everything. Maybe because so much was about being accepting and being told what can and cannot be. I only wanted to make something and I still do. What I want to make will invariably change, because I no longer want to make these things with a you. I want to make those things with and for myself. If I only heeded words fostered upon me from what seems like ages ago. I could be a much better person. Not that I am bad but I am very much behind the curve of the person who spoke to me.

~~She no longer does.~~

That simple line is a quiet fitting. Hell, I think should I ever have a headstone that should be my epitaph. It should just read my info and then “SHE NO LONGER DOES”. Cryptic but true, poignant, soft and merciless. In my life she no longer does. Any of them or she, as the joke runs today "I am being exceptionally male". I am not in line with my inner goddess all I want is to be a man but there is such a fluid line for me. From what I am and are supposed to be, with how I was raised and what I have seen.

Point, point, point, there are lots of phrases that I have not told you about. The new her, only the things that make me sick with the illness. The things that churn my mind and heart into a large cauldron of word vomit. Not the words she inspires or the feelings that make me admire her, but only the things that drive me insane because I do not want to hold the insanity. I have been with her too long and she should be free and want to be rid of me.

No, the words of caring, the words of compassion, the moments where you opened yourself in some form of reviled openness and weakness. As if stating this is just bullshit, move along nothing to see here. It is just some bodies and pain, the exhibit is over there. Directing me and guiding me to something new, but I wanted to linger. I wanted to place a coin in their mouths to appease the dead man on the river. To hold its hand and tell them they'd be well. No, I am being moved along and some times things are very clear. A lot of times things are muddy and painful. I never wanted to see with this eye, because I only wanted to be me and that eye and those lessons were too much of them. So now I sit and draw things in my mind and realize, it isn't you any more it is some thing or someone else. I will/may never know who that person is and these things may never again be so personal; but I will try and I will err and I go, but not on some march or pain just to go because my ride is to... just. keep. going.