is it me or is the site running really slow today?
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it's interesting to hit my 'bookmarks' link and read what all of my friends think of VDay. some simply smack 'fuck VDay' in some form or fashion. some use the old standby 'happy VDay.' i think on my friends list the score is Fuck VDay - 3 and Happy VDay - 4, with some middle of the road people not chiming in.
and fucking hell the site is slow. guess that means i should stop putting it off and actually go run errands.
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'tis the fourth sunday since this something within me, (wrapped around my core like an unborn) awoke bleary-eyed and blinking in a shy, befuddled way at the bright light of promise. the fourth day-of-rest---usually spent drifting from thing to thing in reflective uncertainty of purpose---now becoming habitual in its pervasive sense of hapless, helpless longing and quiet (internal, secret) shedding of salt.
the days of the week, they're spent in furious and seemingly inevitable falling. they blur by all aswirl with sleep-deprived smiles and tummy-flips of excitement. nothing crosses through heart and head without glimpses of pink locks and sage gazes. what next, what next!?!? what color her hair in ten years and every year inbetween?
sundays. three dead and living, moment to moment, the demise of the fourth. they've been bright and cold, sometimes filled with snow and poetry and smiling faces. usually, hours pass before this lurid longing flays me open in something akin to grating grief. but i blinked myself this morning out of tumultuous dreams of seawater and sand and sharks gliding like deep-blue torpedoes--blinked myself into grey light from the window pane and fell into abject, silent screaming, railing against miles and time. indescribable, it is almost physical, like an aching ghost-limb, somehow there but obviously missing...missing...
i dance furiously, desperately--a tap-dance of coy gestures. if i stop, the truth will rivet me, weld me in place and into facing what i already know is as real as this ardent longing and this choking lump in my throat as i dream while awake.
-pb
book: ishamel
music: mazzy star, into dust
--------------
it's interesting to hit my 'bookmarks' link and read what all of my friends think of VDay. some simply smack 'fuck VDay' in some form or fashion. some use the old standby 'happy VDay.' i think on my friends list the score is Fuck VDay - 3 and Happy VDay - 4, with some middle of the road people not chiming in.
and fucking hell the site is slow. guess that means i should stop putting it off and actually go run errands.
---------------
'tis the fourth sunday since this something within me, (wrapped around my core like an unborn) awoke bleary-eyed and blinking in a shy, befuddled way at the bright light of promise. the fourth day-of-rest---usually spent drifting from thing to thing in reflective uncertainty of purpose---now becoming habitual in its pervasive sense of hapless, helpless longing and quiet (internal, secret) shedding of salt.
the days of the week, they're spent in furious and seemingly inevitable falling. they blur by all aswirl with sleep-deprived smiles and tummy-flips of excitement. nothing crosses through heart and head without glimpses of pink locks and sage gazes. what next, what next!?!? what color her hair in ten years and every year inbetween?
sundays. three dead and living, moment to moment, the demise of the fourth. they've been bright and cold, sometimes filled with snow and poetry and smiling faces. usually, hours pass before this lurid longing flays me open in something akin to grating grief. but i blinked myself this morning out of tumultuous dreams of seawater and sand and sharks gliding like deep-blue torpedoes--blinked myself into grey light from the window pane and fell into abject, silent screaming, railing against miles and time. indescribable, it is almost physical, like an aching ghost-limb, somehow there but obviously missing...missing...
i dance furiously, desperately--a tap-dance of coy gestures. if i stop, the truth will rivet me, weld me in place and into facing what i already know is as real as this ardent longing and this choking lump in my throat as i dream while awake.
-pb
book: ishamel
music: mazzy star, into dust
VIEW 21 of 21 COMMENTS
And I gave a blanket Happy V-Day. Oh well. You didn't give any.