Tag Archives: sadness

. Mange

They are the two most relatable and utterly contagious human afflictions: love and hatred. And passion is the the most ironic impetus behind both, which quite often causes these two emotions to be synonymous. It’s why we keep coming back to the ones that hurt us the most. Its criminals always return to the scene of the crime. Why the feeder rat runs over to sniff the snake.
I woke up outside and searched desperately in hopes that last night was a dream. But, scratches, bruises, bite marks…..These are all binding contracts that can not be refuted. I caught a glimpse of myself in an old dirty mirror and noticed my eyes resembled an old, worn photograph from the 1800s. The meloncholly it brought numbed me a little, just enough to go back to sleep for another hour or so. The animals sleep outside…..

She keeps me here because the thinks I’m good for her. As if I am the one that’s gonna save her, and that makes me the worst type of hero. The ones that lead you out to the fires under the guise of an innocent and loyal companion who doesn’t know better. I am the canine that destroys all her favorite things and she keeps letting sleep in her bed because I am warm at night. I am the wolf she mistakes for her shepard. And that alone must be enough because there’s nothing else. No comfort, No compassion. Just bent fences and torn dresses. Picked locks and talking our way out of handcuffs. Hours later, applying them myself.
Hours later talking myself into leaving.
Hours later waking up outside.
We are all the most terrible when we are alone. We are all the most unforgivable when the doors are locked. I’ve seen it all and talked them into most of it. Because I’m terribly afraid to admit that love and hatred are the same thing. It’s why I choke her when I kiss her. Comfort is the warm room where the greatest obscenities occur. It’s the parasite in my chest and the dreams tearing me limb from limb at night. It’s why I refuse to take you home, because I still haven’t found one. It’s why I sleep outside with the other animals.

Standard

. Tree & Chainsaw

There’s an old tree that I used to climb growing in a park close to where I grew up. One day, as I was jogging through, I noticed that they layed out a new cement walkway quite close to the tree which I felt was kind of odd. A few weeks went by, and as I was once again jogging through, I saw a small group of men out there with a chainsaw cutting the old tree down. When I got close I had to slow down and walk around where they were working and as I passed by I asked why they were getting rid of the tree. They said it was growing too fast and getting too big in a direction they did not anticipate and if they don’t get rid of it soon, it will overwhelm the beautiful new walkway they just put in. I didn’t say anything in response but I kept thinking it was equally sad and funny because they knew the tree was there when they built that walkway – They knew what it was and what it was capable of – But instead of admiring and respecting it’s own natural progress, they destroyed it because it was impeding on a more comfortable, aesthetically pleasing, predictable progress that they had intentionally begun right next to it.

And I laugh to myself because I am aware that sometimes I am that tree.

…And sometimes I am that chainsaw.

Standard

.An Old Man in a Coffee Shop

“I don’t get it. ” I said.

I’m irritated and I’m trying hard not to make it visable. I don’t want anyone in this small cafe to notice. Thats my ego. I hate that about myself: I feel humiliated at the slightest hint of any emotion.
“I’m not aware that I’m doing anything wrong, but I keep getting in trouble. Its like the better I feel, the worse I make others feel.”

“Well of course, my boy. You’re a wanderer”
Its been about two hours of bullshit but the man across from me still speaks with ease as if we had just sat down. “The only thing you need is something that will still be there when you get back”

I don’t drink coffee, so I’m staring down at the table. No eye contact. My back Is slumped and my shoulders are arched inward towards my chest. Im making myself small. This is a habit of mine. Im sure its psychologically indicative of bad self esteem. But, I think its more agoraphobic than anything. When I go places, I habitually find a dark corner or back chair to slump into and make myself small so that no one knows I’m even there. I can come and go as I please. If I need to escape, I can do so without incident. Its almost like I’m a…..

“A ghost” he interupting my introspective daydream.

“Huh?”

“Its like you’re a ghost or a wild animal or something.” He said while sliding his cappuccino back and forth between his hands on the table.

“I was under the impression that there was a pretty distinct difference between the two”

“The similarity is that no matter how much they are loved, they can not officially belong to anyone. No matter how many leashes or séances. A wild animal will eventually wander off into the headlights of a truck, and a ghost will eventually “go towards the light”. He looked down at his lukewarm drink and smirked a little bit. “…….I guess what I’m saying is….. stay away from lights.” a soft chuckle finally burst through before the mug touched his lips.

“What happens if I go towards the light? Do I wake up? Would you be alive again?”

“No, then you make people cry even more, asshole!” He laughed even harder this time and I noticed some of the other patrons shoot us “the look.” It was a joke but I could feel a hint of seriousness behind it.

“Lets face it, kiddo. Your instincts will always betray your intellect”

Standard

.Dad

I had a dream about an old man. He was sitting on a chair across from me with his head tilted backwards, and every odd minute, his head swung forward as if he kept nodding off but then sporadically remembered I was there.

“Are you feeling ok?” He muttered in a thick spanish accent.

“I dont know. I feel ok. I just dont feel quite right”

The old man sat forwards and started empying things from the pockets of his faded yellow shorts. Apologies, allowences, a few outdated birthday cards, some soccer games he couldnt attend…. He fumbled around a bit and handed me a VHS tape. I stared at it and tried hard to remember why it had any significance.  It didnt seem familiar at all, and yet there was a crushing feeling in my chest at the sight of it.

“Whats wrong?” He asked.

“I dont think I like this movie anymore.  But thank you.” 

“How’s mom?”

“Shes good. I miss her every day more and more and yet I see her all the time. I stopped looking her in the eyes years ago, Im too afraid. I think there is something wrong with me. Maybe you were right?”

He dug into his pockets again and gave me a wrinkled manilla envelope. Inside was a small, folded picture of himself as a young man standing on the deck of a boat. He was staring outwards over the water with a pensive expression but he had the warning signs of a smile that was just about to crack though on his face. I can only imagine this photo was taken the very second he realized there was a camera next to him. He had my very eyes. No, I had his eyes.

The crushing feeling came back.

“I didnt mean those things, you know.” He told me. “….An earthquake deep under the ocean still causes disaster on land even when its thousands of miles away. Im sorry that my own tremors shook you.”

His head kept rocking back and forth as if he was still on that boat. He would doze off and wake right back up to hand me different things. Things that I had tried to forget over time. Some were very bad things, and some were wonderful things that made the bad things not seem so bad.

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping, Christian” whispered the old man after a few minutes.

“But you look so tired. Im sorry I kept you so long.” I responded.

I didnt know what else to say. I was afraid of saying the wrong thing. I was afraid of everything. And the feeling in my chest was becoming increasingly unbearable . I wanted to cry but I knew I couldn’t until after he fell asleep. But the old mans head kept swaying back and forth.

Finally he spoke again…

“All the hurt that you carry with you causes collateral damage in others lives,  just like the quake sends violent tides towards the shore. And the closer people are to you, the more tremendous the damage you create without intention. I cant seem to get any rest. I had to come see you but I’m exhausted. ”

I stopped looking him in the eyes. I was too afraid.  The pressure in my chest was too much now. Everything I had was breaking through my ribcage.  I started to gasp for air and my hands grabbed hopelessly for anything to hold onto as suddenly massive, towering waves began to expel from my chest and devastate everything in sight apart from us two. My fists clenched tightly around on the manilla envelope.

I started to speak. But with what air? The entire world was now submerged under miles and miles of ocean that came rushing from through my chest.  No breath came in, nothing came seeping out. And yet my voice was clear. 

“Im sorry if my dreams have haunted you. Im sorry if I let you die long before your body did. Can I keep this picture?”

“Yes. You have my eyes, you know.”

“Thank you. Good night, Dad.”

And with that, his head tilted back.  The second his eyes closed, mine opened.

I climbed out of bed and began to get ready for the day.

Standard

.Fog

Monday.
The clouds have apparently grown suspicious of our actions down below and sunk down into my city. They peer into our empty streets and into our bodies, in our mouths and lungs, and spread themselves through town as if an obscene, thin cotton. This sky-sludge has no business down here. In fact, I doubt it could even bare life below and the curse of discovering its own mortality. No, it should stay put with the idiocy and ignorance above, far from this city and the terrible lights illuminating the far worse.

It makes me think of the fear. Not to say that the fog instills fear in me, but that I suddenly fail to see a difference between what haunts me and the dark sky thats been dragged down here to surround me. They both start as a light, inevitable nusense but gradually tend to seep into every corner of the world, including those hardly yet discovered, and can grow so black and omnipresent that the world as you may have known it (even just a day ago) is hardly recognizable and scarcely perceivable.

Ah, so thats it. This thick paste of the atmosphere has come to mirror the pitch black of that which is happening inside of me. It’s come to crush me. Stepping out in this dark city tonight feels as if the God’s are shoveling the entire sky down the back of my throat. It’s the same feeling I had in my dream, watching K fall off the balcony, and hearing my dads voice outside my bedroom door saying “I’m sorry”. Its like the fog is not enough and I’m suffocating on the entire universe and all I can hear is a muffled voice from outside,
“Christian, I’m sorry. Alright?
…..Can you hear me?”

Standard