Like antennas to Heaven

In order to really really express ourselves we need the ability to invent adjectives. They just aren't vast enough or aren't applicable or accurate enough to properly prefix any given emotion. Like that sinking feeling you get in your stomach when the butterflies that used to flutter there wither and die. Like the lead feeling of sleeping feet when something comes full circle. Or even the cavernous hollow of chest-- like the heart's given up, closed its belfry wings, resigned to sicken and so live.

But that's why we have images. And that's why we have nouns. There are nouns no adjective can touch. Guilt. Regret. What is "guilt" when it's something deeper than "guilty?" And what am I if I'm relieved and at the same time so full of regret? Am I a baby born healthy to a single mother, a motorcycle and a magician for a father? I'm not. Or am I selfish because I got to say what I had to say to make the guilt subside[?]-- but I fucked up and you've moved on and we're learning that the recovery process isn't universal. Because what's out there is out there and is it wrong to hope that words alone can find host in opinion and create possibility? For second, third chances?

I'd hope that one day with all this rhetoric I'll finally say something that makes sense. But I hope too much more that with all this weight and hurt I'll finally forget figures and say something real. Or something beautiful.

You don't make friends by saying what is true. You don't get invited to parties or out with the cool kids by saying what is true. You don't get laid by saying what is true. You don't get by on facts. We don't get by on the true. We live on food and water and aethetics and when we can't find enough to eat or drink or love we create it-- and I think that maybe that's why the world is getting smaller. Because we all need to be in Paris to blow our loads. So to speak. And we want so badly to be have everyone else think we're beautiful.

[line deleted] because you don't find love by saying what is true.

Nothing hurts worse than regret, I'm convinced. And I've seen the mantras: "live life with no regrets." But you might as well be living without feeling in the tips of your fingers. So that even when you're subject to bites and cuts and burns and slammed doors-- you're groovy. Wouldn't it be nice to be numb? No. It would be so dreadful and lonely and false to never hurt and never regret.

Aside: Self-conscious ---> self-aware? Goal, maybe. /Aside

So again, sorry.

I'm still figuring this whole thing out. Really.


Bomb the Blogosphere,
Mike