kaLEiDosCopic
RElaXatioN

Yick

A poor night's sleep leaves me raw and ragged in every possible sense...I can feel it in my mind, my emotions, my intestines. Moving is unsettling by definition. I slept on the living room floor of my new apartment last night, while the girl who's moving out blew lines of coke and literally ran around the place, washing dishes and doing laundry until dawn.

My belongings sit underneath the apartment in the storage area, wrapped in boxes and bags. My clothes and camping gear for the weekend are strewn about in my car...I'll have to go outside at lunch today to pack them. My vacant studio apartment still needs cleaning.

It doesn't feel like a good weekend for a trip.

I would never have scheduled this weekend's journey had I known the move would happen this weekend. Coke Girl previously planned to be out June first, then mid-June, onto the 28th, and now...July 3rd. Something tells me the space she's leaving will still be cluttered with garbage and grime when I come back to claim it as my home.

I hate my attitude right now. Some combination of anxiety, guilt, anger. I just can't shake the feeling that going out of town this weekend is a bad move. Why can't I just relax? Too tired, I guess...

Yesterday's Unnecessary Burrito

As perscribed by my therapist, I had recently taken a stab at listing criteria for the men I date. I ran through my mental checklist as we spoke.

"What do you do with your time? Do you have a job?"
I'm fighting for galactic peace. I'm a trained jedi knight, and I'm working to educate people in the intereste of harmony.

Outwardly I nodded knowingly, as though he were the fifth or sixth jedi warrior I'd met on the street outside the New Leaf Market. Meanwhile I tried to picture a partial credit column on my invisible list.

"Where do you live?"
I live in life. I travel; the Earth is my home. But I'm moving to Santa Cruz.

In the past, I would have accepted this answer. I've dated homeless men before. But even some brand new to setting standards, like me, could spot that this guy didn't meet mine.

But his skin was so smooth and golden. He had that sculpted face, and those two beautiful braids. And most importantly, I was lonely.

"I'm glad you spoke to me," I said that night, as we lay side by side on my futon. "I felt like a ghost."
No, you're very real, he replied. Pure. I saw your soul.

He stayed the night with me. We didn't make love. I disliked kissing him; instead I buried my face in his shoulder and pretended to sleep.

I left him there in the morning, asleep, and carried a warm feeling into work with me. Even though he had groped me in the night, I felt cherished and respected. I'd told him no sex, and he'd complied. He'd complimented me more than Ben had in the six months we dated. And when I got home that day, he'd chosen specific Angel cards from my deck and spread them out for me...Support, Transformation, New Beginnings.

Thank you for sharing space with me. You are beautiful. See you in the matrix.

The matrix turned out to be yesterday in town. I was in my car; he was on the street, clutching another woman with true love's grasp.

I saw them. Then I turned the corner, and observed my reaction: an internal tidal wave of jealousy and betrayal.

Over a 34-year-old man who still eats hallucinogenic mushrooms for dinner.

I buried the feelings beneath salsa and sour cream.

Mayonnaise

I don't miss you
But I wish I still
Had someone
To eat the other halves
Of my sandwiches

(4bn)

I'm in the process of moving:
Boxes, backpacks, dustbunnies
Out from the trees, into
Co-habitation.

Do you notice which way the toilet paper rolls? How somebody else squeezes the toothpaste? When you live with someone, you will notice those things.

I guess I could have thought through,
Talked through
My goals, fears and inclinations
But at the time, it just seemed like a
Good idea
To move in with a friend.

Yesterday, we washed our cars.
She couldn't help but
Windex my windows
When I thought I was already done:
She is a detail person.

Perhaps I should have told her sooner
That her habits are not truly mine--
They are but my aspirations. She
Chose a roommate, but in a way,
I chose a parent...

I guess I didn't see it in time.

I see her qualities
Of maturity and togetherness
As things dormant in me,
And she is my catalyst-
But I did not ask permission

I hope
My insecurities
Don't drive her insane...

And that
My expectations
Fall within reason...

When The Neon Lights Burn Out

The burden of
Independence is
An abandoned
Linoleum hallway
And I, slipper-clad,
Stand in the shadows

Empty beds, plastic sheets
Vacant counters,
Locked-down medicines
And machines:
All the tools are here,
Yet, not one in sight

Offering to check my vitals,
Speaking words of encouragement, or
Administering good health

I am both scared and safe
Within this lifeless place-
Listening to silence
And seemingly
Sourceless
Echoes

Meanwhile

The grace
and support
I recieved
In my travels
Must outlast
It's projected
Lifespan
If it is to
Carry me

Loneliness

I do not wish for noise
For sound's sake

I do not wish for bodies
For company's sake

I do not wish for parties
For scheduling's sake

I do not wish for voices
For conversation's sake

I have worked and wished for something higher--
Authenticity. Perhaps I forgot
To ask for patience

Loneliness sits with me
In truth
It is
My only
Consolation

Distance

I have been reading Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs' "Running with Scissors." The events written in their memoirs are often painful and even tragic, yet there is not a hint of melancholy in their books.

I, on the other hand, tend more towards self pity.

Blame and grief are traps—cushy pillow beds with prison bars mistaken for cradle walls. I accepted mine with gratitude and held them tightly. I don’t remember choosing to let go but somehow, recently, they disappeared, taking my addiction to anger along with them.

It’s time to move forward. My past circumstances—memories, illness, addictions, healing—truly set me back, and I am aware of certain jealously towards those cousins and friends of mine who have manifested things that I cannot yet—jobs they love, for instance. Jealousy is natural. I let it move through me now like breath, and like an unpleasant odor, it passes. I am capable, and I am making strides towards distancing myself from my suffering.

I am conquering the world of Forms and Practicalities!

I feel devoid of words, but eager to post.

Can I Truly Change?

Trust
These sudden
Pleasantries
And feelings
Of Peace?

Vermont

My familiar
Monotone
Gave way
To genuine
Animation

I told jokes
Rather than
Feeling
Like one

How strange
To find
My voice
Residing
So far away
From me

Moving Forward

The rattling
Of train on tracks,
Invasive blare
Of it's whistle,
Snoring of a stranger
Set my eyes smoothly shut
To close out the city--
Stolen wallet,
Cash in exchange for an empty lighter,
Cut in line as if
I was not
Even there.

I was done.

Upon waking
Velvet hills spilled out
Like a rumpled blanket
Embracing the world
Tears filled my heart
And my spirit--
Out the train window--
Tucked in

NYC: "A" train to Times Square

The grime of the city
Clings to human flesh, and
Rubs off on skin over time
Forming solid armor

Defenses
Are only natural
When people live 77
Per square foot

In so much space,
There is only so much room, thus
Just as running triggers
A mountain lion's chase instinct,
So too is the animal nature
Awakened
In New Yorkers--

Competition,
Natural selection,
Survival of the fittest

It
Would be
The end
Of me.

My New New York

Altruism:
A genuine
Swearword

Junkie

I see your image in
This reminiscent ache--
The same drug I craved
With crippling compliance
And moderate shame

Lonliness--longing--
Is a constant hole
In the human heart
Which some confuse
For love

Like elusive invaders
Only crystal scrutany
Will make it fade--

Demons fear the light
Of disillusionment

(bn)

I am true

Changes: 3

I fed pigeons.
I sat, in the park, among pigeons,
And fed them.
I didn't want to leave.
I just wanted
To stay there
With the pigeons--
Smiling.

I threw one crust
And watched one bird struggle with it--
It was too big. So I
Retrieved it
And crumbled it down
To edible, and realized I
Was giving love
To pigeons.

My sister said
Do you know who else feeds pigeons? Crazy people.

Suddenly
They seem sane to me...

Changes: 2

Based on your advice
And disposition
You'd be pleased
With my choice
To leave you

I do so
With gratitude
And sorrow

Changes: 1

Space
To Breathe
And we--
Between--
Journey
Lonesome paths
Resisting
Resentment

Smiling

Because why not--

If we
Stayed
Together
We would
Only
Grow
Apart

Moments

New York
Stranger,
Park bench
Filth--

Moments
Are Fleeting
And none
Should be missed

My Journey

Prepare
For joy and
Blessings
In whatever
Form
They take

Mom's Jeer

"Caitlin Grace,
The big disgrace"

"I...AM...NOT!...A...BIG...DISGRACE!"
Voice cracks from screaming;
Foot stamps the ground with
Futile emphatic urgency.

Dad's Words

You should never get your hopes up
Because you won't ever really do much.
You are a Finigan, and in the end,
The Finigans always get the shaft.
You're better off accepting it.
That way you'll never let yourself down.

I don't know why his words
Echoed over Mom's. Perhaps
It was the volume of his voice
Or the strength of his grip.

I wonder, if I could get him
To tell me different now,
Whether that would ring true instead.
But I fear that facing the truth
Of his impact on me
Would crush him, so I will
Keep silent, and as always,
Fight my own battles.

Domestic Violence

We all ask
"Why doesn't she leave?"
Isn't the question really
"Why doesn't he stop?"

Grandmother

You were once my Grammy--
Solid, strong and strange
Baking a special batch of your
Chocolate chip meringue cookies
Without nuts, just for me

Eat up , you'd later say.
[Cooking] was the only thing I could ever do for you kids, anyway.

You loved me enough
To mend my wounds. You
Told me I was smart--words
I elsewhere never heard. When
I asked your for a mayonnaise sandwich
You gave it to me, no questions asked.

You kept a flask in your apron.
I could feel it sometimes, when I hugged you,
Or else, I smelled it--
A sour scent
On your breath.

We took a picture on my
First Communion Day. You
Loved me enough
To slide your hand between us
While he pulled me into him--
Irresistible in my
Angelic white lace dress.
The three of us said Cheese on cue.
Years later, my Polaroid eyes revealed
The terror
You could not touch.

Come Listen I used to call to you,
Working in the kitchen, while piano lessons ensued.
I can hear you perfectly from in here,
You'd reply, and request that I play my childish rendition
Of Ode to Joy one more time, but
He said I had to learn
To read music.

You knew my pain, but felt you could not stop it.
Instead, when he slammed my foot in the car door,
You held me until my tears dried.

I know now that he broke your ankles.
I recall the hatred in your eyes when you would lay down his dinner plate.
If only we could have banded together in defense against him.
Five years would not have passed since our last dialogue.

I forgive you, even if the others do not.
And even if I cannot face you--
Still, decrepit frame
Wheeling down the echoing hallway.

In the Wake of Goodbye

The Hole
That Anger Leave
Still Smoulders--
Smoke Without A
Flame

The Accused

In dialogue
Two languages
Spake
Eyes Flashing,
Still fists

I sat
On a tree
In silence
Holding
The missing
Piece

Choosing
To sit out
This battle
Upon which
I happened
Unexpectedly

Morning Memories

I
Awoke
Immersed
In
Disproportionate
Sensativity

Wishing
I Could
Shrivel,
Shrink,
Escape

Through a
Wormhole
In time-space

Back
Before
I
Knew
You

(4bn)

Recovery

It's hard to be patient and self-assured when six months of bills remained unopened.

My most recent depression made it hard for me to open mail, clean my room, and deal, in general, with external reality. Now it's time to clean up the mess that built up in that time.

Aunt Besty says I lack these skills because I was not parented well. This is not blame-- neither were they taught the basics. When raising us, they were too busy dealing with the chaos of life to teach us things that other kids learned. She stayed on the phone with my for over an hour yesterday while I opened bills and dealt with finanaces. I can't believe someone really wants to help me. But in truth, she is not the only one.

My sister chose to learn life skills like planning and cleaning and financial stuff, while I chose drugs and alcohol. She reaches out to other members of the family and even gets more from my parents than I do because she's very vocal about her needs. I am only learning to ask for help.

It's hard to remember to be easy on myself at this time.

Anxiety

I am afraid.

Back East

When told of my agenda
The doctor smiled, and said
"Ativan."

Whether or not
You are good
People, I
Was so ill
When I knew you
That I fear
You now.

Countdown

7 days, then
Back east
To face shadows
And demons
Among smiling friends

To face abusers
And bystanders
Who deny
Their guilt

To face my past
With the strength
Of my present

My depth to them
Is a sinkhole--

Proceed with Caution