Fingerprints

"We all have a lonely, bloody path to greatness. Maybe God just forgot about my finish line. He seems like a busy guy."

"You believe in God?"

"He and I have an... interesting relationship."

"Well, I'm gonna be here all night."

"Okay, well... I was taken to church every Sunday, and I was a little girl. I believed. It went like that 'til I was about twelve And I was still expected to attend, just found a way out of service every week so I could schizophrenically hate God. A couple years later I met a girl pretty enough to distract me, so I started going again. We hung out every week, and I was too afraid of my sexuality to have a personality. So it didn't really go anywhere. A few years after that, the girl moved away, she didn't bother to keep in touch, so I jumped into the worship band at church. Not as pretty, but it got the job done. I tried to force myself to believe in God, and repress any crushes I had. Until I got tired of it. Then I stepped down, stopped attending altogether, and came out to all the people that matter to me. But then last week, I had an epiphany."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I realized that only something like God could give us all individual fingerprints. It's so simple. Nothing else in the world, literary or otherwise, can explain that. Therefore, I believe that there is a God."

"But a god that gave us all individual fingerprints is the God from The Bible."

"Yeah..."

"So if you believe in that God, don't you have to believe in everything that He is?"

"Yeah. I believe He exists, so I have to believe in all the judgment and the hate. I have to. You know, I don't know if I, or Elton John, will get into Heaven when we die. And I don't really care. I'm sure if I'd felt Hell, I'd start dating guys or something. But I'm tired now. Of hiding, and answering stupid questions, and being someone I don't know. You know, I'm young. I'm relatively healthy, and I adore women. I'm not gonna marry some man and have his babies just because my fingerprints are different than yours."


"Get It Right The First Time" - The Stranger (1977) - Billy Joel
February 26, 2011

Freedom.

"A song made me cry."

"Yes..."

"Nothing makes me cry."

"Why do you think it upset you?"

"I think it's about a guy giving up."

"How do you mean?"

"I think he was trying to be everything that everyone didn't have, and now he's giving up. He's still gonna come out the hero, though."

"He's a hero?"

"You know, he's gonna give up audibly so that no one can call him out on falling short. You know? They might even sympathize with him, with his inability to..."

"To do what?"

"To wanna be there, in the middle of everyone."

"Why do you think that upset you?"

"I don't know."

"No?"

"No."

"Okay, so what did you do?"

"What did I do?"

"Yes. What did you do when the song was over?"

"Oh, I learned how to play it."

"Yes..."

"Yeah, and I sang it until it didn't mean anything. Time's up?"

I suppose I don't have to be here. No, I suppose I could be watching TV, or practicing scales, or asleep somewhere. No, I suppose I'm just bored. And who says therapy can't be amusing?

No. I suppose being told that I have no choice in the matter pretty much sucks the fun right out of it.

Either way, amusing or not, I'm bored and I'm here. I'm here chewing or choking or making something up. I wonder if she can tell the difference, between the real and the bullshit. It's no matter now. I won't see her for another week, and I know no one else can tell the difference. Freedom.

So I'll go home now and watch The L Word. Or maybe Rescue Me. Or maybe I'll read a book. Or maybe I'll just sit on the couch in my sweats and stare at the bare white walls for a few hours before I call my sister about it, tell her how right she is.

Alright, job-hunt it is.

Merry Christmas

Who would have thought? That I needed to be wasted to have a good Christmas? I guess if you know me well, you might have guessed it. But not me. I thought I was having a good time, but it was just the same as every other Christmas. Only this time I'm out, and I'm not feeling God's unconditional love lately.

So I may as well pop a few Aleve and drink seven Stella Artois' on His birthday, right?
Right?

Oh, well. It's too late now. It's December 28 now, and who the fuck cares? Not me, not my siblings, not even my mother who witnessed the whole night. All I care about now is when I can do it again. Maybe I should be alone next time, so I can brood or write or scream or whatever.

Or maybe I should be with strangers. Female strangers are my preference. Female strangers that are also drunk or high or something. That would be a merry fucking Christmas.



December 28, 2010

The Incongruity Of This

Somebody told me today that all I do is lie to them. I, of course, immediately protested. This person giggled at me, and walked away. Then I thought...
"I do lie often, but not to you." Is this what Ms. Barbara meant when she said "irony?" Not Alanis Morrisette "irony," okay? Fuck that noise.

"Irony: the incongruity of this" - Dictionary.com

Sitting up, alone in my bed, I'm thinking of everyone I've lied to. Big lies, not "no, I'd never lie to you" lies. Those don't matter. Forget what you've heard, those do not, will never matter. I mean the lies I told a girl about a kiss. I mean the lies I told everyone about love; familial or otherwise. Now I'm thinking how far away I am from all those lies that I've told, because there have been more recent, higher priority lies.
She could giggle at me all day, and understand everything that I say as a lie, but I'd still talk.
There's this new me that just won't shut up. I'm so annoyed with myself, and always petrified of what I might say. Or who I might say it to. I've never been so surrounded in all my life. I've never been so excited. For fucking everything.  There's this constant, stupid smile on my face. Or a brigade of questions followed by a therapist's suggestions.


"Shallow" - Rock + Roll (2003) - Ryan Adams
August 28, 2010

Hanging On A Cigarette

I feel responsibility to nothing, to no one. If I had any readers, they'd notice.
I find myself asking obligatory questions; "How was your day?"; "What's wrong?"; "Is there anything I can do to help?" - only to not listen to the typical, tired answer.
I choose instead to live in my fucked up head.
It's so fucked up in there, it's almost perfect. In fact, it would be perfect, if not for reality. A reality having absolutely nothing to do with me. A plastic reality, with plastic eyes. And so, I am fucked up.
All I want is to be gone, with the sweetest person I've never met. To prove that I'm better... than something. Than someone. I'm better than a tired past. I'm better than a bridge that should have been burned. I'm better than a fool in love (or something like it). I'm better than a few fingers of Irish whiskey. I'm better than a few fingers in your rib cage.
I'm just better.
I just am.
I have to be.


"Motel Of The White Locust" - Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Silence (2000) -Glassjaw
August 21, 2010

You Were Just... Here

Alright, I'm not promising anything.

Who is an apology for?
I think people are smarter than our cop outs let on. Or at least I am.
We think things through a lot better than we say. If you say "fuck you" to your sister, you probably meant it. If you say "I love you", like an asshole, chances have it that you probably are one.
Of course, the right thing to do is apologize. "Oh, I love you. I never meant it. I'm so sorry."
OR
"I was having a bad day, and I was wrecked up. You were just... there. Sorry."
You know you don't mean it. Somewhere, deep down, the other end knows you don't mean it. So why? Who is an apology for?
Maybe your mother, who still thinks her kids are her kids. Maybe a friend, who thinks you're smart. Maybe God? Ultimately God.
If I'm going to end up in front of God, answering to Him for all of my sins, I probably will say "sorry." Right before He throws me back to Hell.
And I'm not sorry.
I'm not sorry that I hate being around family. I'm not sorry that I'd give anything to be alone. I'm not sorry that I break promises. I'm not sorry that I stall until it's too late. I'm not sorry that I say "I love you" to countless people, and am never sure that I mean it.  I'm not sorry at all.
I'm only sorry that God knows. He knows that I don't care about anyone but myself. Or maybe I just don't care at all.



"The Bones of You" - The Seldom Seen Kid (2008) - Elbow
August 9, 2010

777

I'm drunk. I'm too young to be drunk.

I'm too young to be drunk. I'm too tired to be awake. I'm too indifferent to be jealous. I'm too insensitive to write. But I am. I am all of these things. I'm DRUNK + TIRED ( - tired / young) + JEALOUS x Sicilian ( x Irish). And I am, of course, writing.
I'm not sure why, yet. Maybe because I feel guilty for all of these things that I am. Or, maybe, because I feel justified to be all of these things that I am. Maybe it's all in my head, and I just need to be alone. Or, maybe, I'm predisposed. In my blood. Like alcoholism. And I just need to be alone.
But I'm never alone. It's always so busy. People yelling and crying and vomiting and criticizing. I'm supposed to love the liars. I'm supposed to laugh with the hypocrites. I'm supposed to dance with the anonymous.
Well, maybe I'm writing as a question.

"Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, 'Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?'  Jesus answered, 'I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.'"

I've given my seventy-seven. I've given seven times seventy-seven. To my mother. More to my father. To acquaintances. To some I pray I forget. To some I pray I won't...
Don't get me wrong. I've used my seventy-seven. From Christ. I've read of His  grace, and His justness. I've heard of His unconditional love, and how easy all of Him is to receive. And still, I'm conflicted. Because I've also read of His rage. And I've been taught His discrimination.
He sits on my dash, staring in all His grace and love and judgment. I stare back, in all my filth and my sin, and I sing. I speak. I scream. I never cry. I just hate. I hate Him, and I hate me.


"Limousine [MS Rebridge]" - The Devil + God Are Raging Inside Me (2006) - Brand New
August 5, 2010