Frosé Friday with no chiller

Hey blog world

I am quite upset(?). I cant begin to describe this feeling. You know what-- I don't need to be privy to everything. I have said it! I do Not need to be privy to all. I'm working on a bigger, longer entry but got distracted as I always do,..

People have told me they want to read my blog. I've had such a funny feeling with this- a real, do I, don't I? I don't wish to have an audience on here. I don't know. It seems counter-intuitive I guess. You know, I can't really seem to focus on anything other than wanting to blog right now. I feel tons of chords sinking in my chest, vulture-tight wrapped around my lungs, squeeeeeze squeeze squeezing.. I feel the bile nestle in my stomach like worms nesting in their cobbs at sunset unaware of the sunrise soon to come [birds always the birds]. That's the best way I can describe my bother. I've had such a pleasant day too!

But that is ok. I do not need to know everything. The more I type it out, the more okay with it I grow. I think I am secluding myself to some people, opening up to others, learning my place in certain roles&positions×... Love, lovely, sweetie. 

Recently I conversed with someone that made me Think, truly. It's made me rethink things. The telephone works both ways, but if one side won't ring...? I want to go away for a while. Retreat into the paradigm, the praxis of in-betweens, space between the sheets&bed. Hide in the inbetweens, see who cares to leaf through them and find me settled between the finger and palm. Takers? Any Takers? I know when I get this way it is not good, that it is dreary, that I'm pushing away. But how will I ever know I am missed? Do people long as I do? Do other cry as I do? I am selfish. This narrative is only of my own thoughts, me me me, and I cry. I want to think only of others but it is hard when myself gets in the way. I cant see through my tears. I cannot be missed, no one can miss a live thing. And yet?

And yet?

My shell is carved of stone and fallen ash, something very wrong. i think there was something wrong with me ever since i was born. is it a blessing to be so wrong? i don't fit in this world. i normally am okay with it, but not tonight. my secret is here. i lay it bare for the strangers to read; you only know who i am through what i write. you cannot truly know me. you do not. only what you want to see, you will see. only what you think you know, you will know. 

I have accepted that I do not fit the role of a Man. I never will. I think, a kind man is worth thousands more than a person like me. The amphitheater wants that man, that Lelio, child-lover, wonderstruck boy, red in the face: I can't stand to look at him. I know they look. Their resolve is never given, empathy going only so far... A man can get away with more, be empathized with more, be loved more. Is He not worthy, more worthy, than the no one? I do not accept the man as i should. that is why i had grown wrong. so wrong. 

i cannot be as He is. they smile to him, call to him; the sweet jester, cruel executioner. the lamb shivers in the cold, bleating for laughter; people can only be entertained by that they don't understand for so long. The bleating, bleating, so incomprehensible they laugh- it is strange. Ugly sounding. such an ugly sound, laugh. laugh at it! its sound awkward, its legs bent to keen! The laughter is a cruel, mocking thing. the lamb is no jester. the joker, the lover, the loved, be-loved and is-loved. He performs. He plays the Game. the lamb is a stupid, simple minded creature. it is left ugly in its pen. The laughter turns warm in the hall, being tended to by the graceful shepherd of the scene: comedian. I cannot outrun the wind that carries that laughter. It haunts me. Eternal-joke. Eternal shame. What would that be worth? And what a sadness it is to me that time doesn’t dim the memory of that period, why I’d fought for it so that it shamed me now worse than death. Perhaps I alone could see this in the powerful dark.

The the the the the

The pregnant thought that I shall forever be shunned&non-accepted till I do what they expect me to do to mend the great wound haunts me. The awed adoration I had is wearing off, separating the sebum from the layer of love that held me. Skinning myself. Happy Tenebrae, the day of leaving the darkness. I have been enlightened in solitude [in my solitude...] Candle turned.

Bye