Connect

Looking for something to live for, great enough to die for. I, just as innocently, just as naively, will look for it in you.

Citrus Steel.

Never go looking for things you just might not be able to live without.

X.

Is it so wrong that loving you helps me love me?

Weekend with my Wondertwin

Pictures from my little weekend in Nashville. I have to say, I've found a new city to love. Perhaps a few trips up there next year are in order...

Element

It's hard to believe the semester is ending. Part of me wishes there was more time, and part of me yearns to get out of here. I never know what will come, but its been a strange few months for sure, and the path I'm taking shows no sign of slowing in its opportunities.
I think one of the best things thats ever happened to me is being set free this way. I wonder if my parents  expected all this from me when they let me go. I wonder if they saw it was my nature to pursue the object of my desire vehemently for just that first crisp, sweet bite of satisfaction before changing direction entirely and resting my gaze just as passionately upon something else. I wonder if they predicted the path I would set on, if they knew the trail I'd leave behind me as I went.

to hit the ground running

 

I kind of get it now...

Hostess-ed at Kelsey's work today in the land of the Hasidic Jews. Made some money.It never really feels like the equivalent of the work I do though. Maybe I just have an exaggerated sense of self importance. Another day, another dawn...

Playing Catch Up

Here are some pictures of a few weekends ago, when Dhanji and I went to the Band of Horses concert in Alpharetta. The Jayhawks opened, surprisingly good, I believe the quote from the man behind me summed them up quite nicely, "Aged to musical perfection." Yup. One lady in particular truly enjoyed the Jayhawks, known hence forth as "Fangirl." Man, she was probably crazy in her 20's. So as usual, I made friends with the people sitting around us, and we periodically provoked the nazi ushers by standing in the aisles. Or partyboying them when their backs were turned....

Simple

This weekend I had the plague. Yes, I missed two days of class/work over this. And visited a doctor. It was serious. It still kind of is, but now I have drugs. Oh yea, and a paper to finish writing. Bollocks. I'm ready for summer time.

Bones

Interim

"The hardest thing in this world is to live in it."

 - Joss Whedon

Breathing in Butterflies

The eyes on the trees stare right back at me.

When I was young I used to think I was special, and the bushes and trees would talk to me and bow to me when i walked past and the cats and dogs trusted me because I showed them who I was through my eyes. I think I will always see things this way. Helping the worms cross the sidewalk. Watching the owl dance on the wall. Breathing in butterflies.

My Vice: The Solitary Soldier

On the shuttle back to my apartment I suddenly remembered the dream I had last night. Such a strange dream, as dreams usually are, and here I am left grasping at the wisps of whats left of it, at what once felt so real, and so genuine, that I think part of me still believes in it and still yearns for it, despite the fact that it was never real to begin with. I suppose its dreams themselves that present to each of us some transient aspect of mind that appears as sincere and sensible as everyday life, proof that truth and reality exist only within the contents of our skulls, that belief, and confidence in its certainty, are simply the products with which we create the boundaries of our consciousness. The reality we inhabit spans no further than the space between our ears, no?

I dreamt I was the recent caretaker to a young man who had been a soldier in Iraq, and who had returned home after his tank ran over an IED that took his left forearm. He suffered from burns and was missing a finger on his right hand, and most of a second. He was married to a woman that could not handle his injuries, psychological trauma, and the work load she had to endure for his care, and was abusive and negligent. She was repulsed by him, and refused to touch him or show him any affection. In the face of his depression and feelings of uselessness, the man retreated into his home and became reclusive, a monster and a burden he felt did not deserve to exist.

I became his caretaker, and then, his only friend. He was funny, a strangely beautiful thing,  distressed and broken. We fell in love, I with him, then him with me, a desperate, urgent attraction from deep within me that I cannot explain. We would waste time together while his wife was at work, making love behind the drab curtains of the bedroom that hid us from the light of day and contained the stuffy, mussed smell of sickness, of madness. Laying wasted in the sheets, threads of honest emotion stirring into the air, and now, settling back into the carpet. It was volatile, it was beautiful. Heart-wrenchingly so. Guilty, and perfect, and painful. I do not understand my need to love a damaged thing, but I wake up to the day and feel it, the ever present ache that is the only love I've ever known, and the only love I've known how to give. It's born of desperation, born of anguish, the wilting flower petals, the sinking ship, it's the paramount clasp of two hands over an angry ocean, when one slowly starts to slip...