livingwreck called me a writer....
Sunday, Jul. 14, 2002
Last night I commented in livingwreck�s
guestbook after he said he liked last nights �breathing sleep� entry. I mostly commented because last nights entry was my heart on my sleeve and it was actually an email that I sent to �him�. And this morning his reply was simple. He wrote back and said, �I am glad you are happy.�
So in the guestbook entry I said�
�There are some moments in life that are bigger than anything that we are. They are alone larger than life. They defy all logical reasoning. They are stronger than anything that we are or will ever become. They are moments that push out the past and become nothing but the now. They are elusive and impossible to find. They are gifts that present themselves. The only thing we can do comes in the being open enough to accept them without logical reasoning, without seeking to be larger than what they are. When I become one and whole with the elusive moments that are truly gifts, it is as unexplainably beautiful as the word love, as unexplainably magical as breathing sleep.�
then livingwreck so kindly said�..
My God! What you wrote in my gbook is so brilliant......I mean really brilliant. I'm not being a smartarse when I say that you should be a writer, apart from your diary, of course. I hope you're keeping all that you write somewhere else, not just in cyberspace....And I am serious!
Last night I spent my evening listening to �him� sing for me. We garnered tons of attention in a chat room built for singers. I was his audience. He was my entertainment. We were so in sync with each other that other people in the room knew that we knew each other, but we never ever addressed each other. I was to them a bystander. He was to them an entertainer. He grew increasingly tired as the night wore on. I had this sense of something, something bigger than the two of us a plot writing of what was happening for us, unbeknownst to us somehow. I wondered if I was crazy. I thought surely I was having one of those thoughts that just were too colorful. So I said nothing to him. And then like he always does he sang my song. Our song of sorts. I told him years ago to learn it. Now he sings it so well that he still sings it even when I�m not around. Last night he sang it and I swear his voice was cracking. It was so sweet to hear him like that. It�s like I know that I can write down a long list of things that have happened. I could stand at a chalkboard somewhere with a laser light and say �and then he did� �and after that there was� But the thing is, so could he about me and his list would be longer.
Last night we just put all of it aside and we had fun together and that same thing that brought us together to start with brought us together again. He was so very tired and he logged off. I was sitting in the dark, eyes closed seeing him in my mind doing that long list of things we have talked through together before. The list of things he does before he goes to bed. All I could do was smile. To know someone that well, and to never have met. It defys logic. It defies so many things. And then he called. He called at the point in the long list where he finally lays down. And it was that moment when I knew that everything I thought all night was not my wishing it to be. It just is.
It is and I know it. I doubt it and it dissipates with my doubt. I know that if I chose to believe �.if I tell myself that sometimes the things he does or doesn�t do are things I don�t understand but that they are merely his trying to find his way as well. Then I will be ok. We will be ok. And I know in my heart that our house together we built. Only we together could destroy it.
I pull him close, I push him away. He does the same things to me. We want something that is always either impossible due to outside life things�..or something that just has a way of scaring us to death. In one breath he says we�re �friends� in the next he says that he can�t deal with a child (a subject that I believe means he doesn�t want to take over where his father leaves off�.but rather he wants to know I�m there with him because of him and nothing else at all) In the last he says he wishes I had moved there and started all over where he lives. But the message is always the same. He wants us to be able to date, to be able to get to know each other in the real world on normal terms. He doesn�t want me to move in with him and then find out that it�s not going to work and feel so much resentment towards him that I hate him and then we both lose everything we have in each other. I know, because he finally got to the jist of it the other night.
One day we will pull at the same time. The push will be the last shove. I don�t have it all figured out. Fuck I mostly don�t have anything figured out. But I love him. I know that. But don�t get all freaky on me because chances are if I am close to you and if I have let you in. I love you too.
So, my comments in livingwrecks guestbook were simply my truest thoughts. I write at my best when I am at that place. It�s a hard place to describe. I have barred my soul and my heart and my thoughts here and I have paid dearly for it. The one thing that has allowed me to continue to do so like this?? It�s the one thing that I am. I am a writer. It�s not a word on my shirt or on my magazine subscription. It�s me. I am this. I do this. I can�t be anyone or anything else but who and what I am. Yes, I could run to save myself. I ran once before to a new url. Some people know this. But I didn�t run from myself or some nameless person who claimed to care about me but rather I ran to a new url to save �him� from my thoughts. They are ever changing, ever confusing� And it was just too difficult for him to be the subject of so many of them and yet not have a voice to defend things I said and thought. Most people think and believe he is horrible. Just like they think that about my husband.
Horrible people are not born from my opinions of them. Yes sometimes people do despicable things. I have had those things done to me�.too often.
But I am here and stay here because this is me. I am not a quitter and I am not someone to be pushed by nameless anyone�s.
I keep most of the poems and prose I write. I can't possibly keep everything I ever say... Although I wish like hell someone would invent some software for poetry organization. Wouldn�t that be great? Something that allowed me to search for a poem or lyrics via a phrase not a title.
Thank you Mr. Livingwreck for telling me I should be a writer. Thank you�. two words that are never enough.
-PoeticaL
