Invasion of your personal space

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I’m trying out that blogrolling thing here… Some links in French, some in English, I’ve put small tags on them.

I’ve put only a few, the ones I read most often, I might add more, I don’t know. If you see your link here and don’t want to, please let me know. I’m a bit uncomfortable with this. I don’t know why. I’ll try it out for a little while anyway.

The puke pink will probably go soon. I can’t stand it anymore. The font, the layout, I’m just sick of it. So I might venture in the template world shortly. I might screw up. Oh well.

I know, but…

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The meaning of the words here, and all over, is different for each of us. For instance, the post below, was not written out of sadness. That someone sees it in a different light is good, it’s flattering that someone can relate to the words. But that doesn’t mean one can relate to me, nor can I relate to someone who wrote a post that compelled me, or touched me.

My words are whispers in my mind, become screams sometimes under my fingers, but without this space here, they would never be born. And like a child, once born, they keep changing, their meaning unsettled, always open to interpretation.

When I started to write here, I was in a different place, a different time. I wrote differently. And in a year from now, still it will have changed. When I’m happy, I’d rather live it, feel it. It hasn’t inspired me to write yet, so raw the feeling is. And even while happy, some darker thoughts might spring, and here they end up, splattered.

Here is an outlet, not a barometer.

I know, but…

Posted on

The meaning of the words here, and all over, is different for each of us. For instance, the post below, was not written out of sadness. That someone sees it in a different light is good, it’s flattering that someone can relate to the words. But that doesn’t mean one can relate to me, nor can I relate to someone who wrote a post that compelled me, or touched me.

My words are whispers in my mind, become screams sometimes under my fingers, but without this space here, they would never be born. And like a child, once born, they keep changing, their meaning unsettled, always open to interpretation.

When I started to write here, I was in a different place, a different time. I wrote differently. And in a year from now, still it will have changed. When I’m happy, I’d rather live it, feel it. It hasn’t inspired me to write yet, so raw the feeling is. And even while happy, some darker thoughts might spring, and here they end up, splattered.

Here is an outlet, not a barometer.

Space in the words

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I dreamed you were facing me. You were looking at me like that first second, when your fingers brushed my hand, when our eyes were not big enough to take it all in. I dreamed your skin was against mine, facing me. I dreamed your mouth was on mine, facing me. But to face me would mean face it all.

I wish sometimes that the words were not empty, that the meaning was back. But it will never be back. It will never. be. back.

Then I think about what if. Then I understand why the meaning is gone. Not because it’s not there anymore. But because the words were not big enough to hold it.

I still have words with meaning to write. Here, there. I’ll create new ones with room in them.

Fun with Jane and Jane

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Co-worker #1: I dropped a candle holder on my dog’s head last night!!!
Co-worker #2: Oh my god! Is “he” all right?
Co-worker #1: We had to take him to the vet, “he” had a big bump. I was crying, the dog was whining, it was horrible! But the “doctor” said “he” will be ok! I was soooo worried!
Co-worker #2: Well! That’s a relief!
Me: Somebody minds picking up the phone? I’m on the line here.
Co-worker #1: No need to be so rude!
Me: Wish I could say fuck you and get back to work, but since you’re so sensitive I’ll just say please, ok?

This is for real. I can’t work with women. They’re sensitive, vindictive, hypocritical and manipulative. I’ve worked with men for years. Never a problem. Just say what’s on your mind and get it over with. Now I’m surrounded by women and they drive me nuts. And needless to say my attitude is a problem for them. Like I give a flying fuck.

The questions (vultures)

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This is fucking ridiculous. How many times will I have to tell myself? Got… to… let… go. Maybe writing is keeping closure out of reach. To put it down, to read it, to have it read. It’s out, in words. The weight is off to some extent. But I don’t feel like I’ve dealt with anything seriously. Maybe I don’t need to? And there it goes again, circling, waiting for my guard to be down, for my thoughts to be available. The questions, the fucking questions. Why didn’t I, should I, have I, will I? Back to avoidance. I used to do it on purpose. It became a habit, now it happens without me having to make the effort. And outside, looking at the fucking questions, comes another one, a new one. Am I really feeling better, or am I avoiding my issues just because I can? And this is the one question I hate the most. And the one I’m not sure I want to come up with an answer to.

Further, deeper, I wander, wonder. Will I change if I face everything? In a weird way, sometimes I think my dark half makes me whole. Growing up, accepting, dealing. Won’t that make me a different person? Because with all my shit, my big ego, my smart mouth, my detachement from everyone else, I like me. What does “coming to terms with” mean anyway? If we really are a product of our childhood, I’d be dead today, a spike in my arm. That was never me. I never saw myself in all the people that filled my early life. I saw everything from outside and only today, at 35, do I realize it was me, it was who I was going to be, that was there. And I knew. So to what extent did everything affect me? Maybe not that much. Maybe a whole fucking lot.

It is very dark sometimes, more than I can translate into words. But I’m not sure it has to do with the past. I’m not sure it has anything to do anything. Maybe it’s just who I am.

Sometimes hungry, sometimes filled. My own balance.

My eyes, my eyes

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I watched today
Just a little to taste it
Just to remember your smell
Not enough but almost too much
I watched
Like when I look at pictures
From the last trip, the last holiday
To recapture, to not forget

I watched, took it all in
Not one detail forgot
I don’t have pictures, wish I did
You’re dressed
But I know
That’s why I watched
In case I’d see it.

Is it worth it?

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Is it worth it, let me work it
I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it
If you got a big [!], let me search it
To find out how hard I gotta work ya

I’d like to get to know ya, so I can show ya
Put the pussy on ya, like I told ya
Gimme all your numbers so I can phone ya
Your girl acting stank than call me ova
Not on the bed, lay me on your sofa
Call before you come, I need to shave my chocha
You do or you don’t or you will or you won’t cha
Go downtown and eat it like a vulcha
See my hips and my tips don’t cha
See my ass and my lips don’t cha
Lost a few pounds in my whiffs for ya
This the kinda beat that go bha ta ta
Ra ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta
Sex me so good I say blah blah blah
Work it, I need a glass of wata
Boy oh boy its good to know ya
-Missy Elliott

I had this on, sweating, and it made me laugh out loud. It does every time I listen to it, but while working out, it takes a whole new meaning!

Is it worth it? You bet.

Painful self-discipline

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My butt hurts. I was on the bike for an hour at the gym. Is there any way they could make the seats more uncomfortable?

However. The suffering is worth it. I hope so anyway. My ass is sadly sagging 🙁

My spirit is not so much though. Feeling a little lyrical, but overall pretty good. This is so strange. So remote from last week, last month. I almost feel guilty, thinking “avoidance, avoidance, avoidance”.

“Cutting myself some slack”. A kind soul shared this. Yeah, I guess I should too.

Sur le fil

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ça aurait pu
ça failli
c’est encore là

sur le fil
trop à perdre
pas assez à gagner
tout à perdre

ça aurait pu
distance
ça failli
prudence
c’est encore là
contrôle

sur le fil
l’équilibre
le vide
la faim
trop à perdre
tout à perdre

c’est encore là
ça sera toujours là
tapi dans l’ombre
à attendre
pret à sauter
pret à tout faire sauter

le silence des souvenirs partagés