cygnoir.net

cygnoir.net

a good cry

there will be no they might be giants concert for me tonight. yes, i had a ticket. i just sold it, at cost, to a stranger. he assured me that great karma is coming my way.

i was divided on the issue till this morning, in the shower. it’s trite but i do do my best thinking in the shower. something about gently waking up within my element, warm warm water, sidesteps self-delusion for a few extra minutes. i am honest with myself there, so i asked myself questions i wanted answered honestly.

do i want to go to the concert? yes. do i want to go by myself? no. is it more important that i go to the concert or that i go with people? with people.
there. it wasn’t hard at all, after that, and aside from passing disappointment, i’m in good spirits.

i couldn’t say as much for myself last night. paranoia had settled over me like styrofoam peanuts charged with static electricity. no matter where i looked, what i did, i could not rid myself of the feeling that i am someone people don’t want to be around. all evidence points to the contrary, but nothing was convincing me last night. it was just a time to be sad, and feel sorry for myself, and get it the fuck over with. i’m sure chad adores these moods.

crying helped minutely. but it left me feeling unforgivably frail, embarrassed, weak, uncertain, foolish, human. why don’t i just say it? mortal. i am passing these moments seeping saltwater into an old pillow instead of doing something – that galls me. i am wasting time, and yet i cannot not waste it.

people talk about out-of-body experiences, flying up and over, free from flesh, soaring and tingling and knowing things you can’t know earthbound, like what it means to shift wind currents, or how it feels to dive through nothing. i have out-of-body experiences. i call them “crying jags” and there are no moments of exaltation, mid-air. i escape, as easily as a wisp of breath from a sob, but merely creep into the corner and watch myself quake damply at nothing at all, neither of us consolable. it lasts a little while, and then we rejoin each other, no better for the experience, no worse. nothing learned, no secrets gained, no tactical advantage, and certainly no spiritual elevation. merely a part of me seeing how ridiculous another part is, and remaining unable to stop it.

we all have these parts, i’m sure. after some talking with chad and watching “edward scissorhands” i recovered, felt awkward for my earlier self, and went to bed. i dreamed of the ends of each second-shift in birmingham, nights thick with cigarette smoke and copier pages, humidity and magnolias. i cried my hardest there, and left it mostly behind.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.

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