Friday, January 22, 2016

Growing up makes me sick

Pity January 31, consigned to half of a box on the calendar.

All this growing up makes me sick. Bills and IRAs and calmly resolving conflicts and being direct and polite all the time. I know I'm healthier but I also miss the days of living like an animal, gut instincts, the scent of come and blood and courage and longing and fear. My heart was in palpitations for years and let me tell you something there's nothing like a beating heart to let you know you're alive.

Whiskey and honey are a health food right. I almost forgot to put on pants before going outside to move my car. I mean who does that: forget to put on pants when it's 23 degrees outside and a blizzard is coming. I mean my coat is long enough no one would have seen my skivvies.

Richard Manuel why did you kill yourself. Could I have helped you, pressed your sweaty forehead to my palms, my lips, my chest. Could I have helped if I told you you were a shining bright light, if I told you you were loved.

I know.

Do you ever get the desire to burn all your possessions and get the hell out of dodge. Do you ever feel like you can't breathe and not just because of the bum lung. Do you ever wonder if you are even capable of feeling better.

Frankly I've been thinking that what I want from life is not more but less. Less societal bullshit, less 'growing up' in the sickening sense of the term, so that there is more room for meandering and wondering and beauty and joy. I don't think there's more to life. I know there is, and all I want is the freedom to enjoy-embrace-embody it.

I'm pretty loaded now. Wilson's chin is healing thank god. His ears are one of the most amazing things I've ever seen.

Remember when we hopped in that beater car in DC, blazed a bowl while I drank in the backseat on the way to Philadelphia, climbed a tree and spent the night with you clothed in bed. The next morning I found the subway, rode disheveled to that dilapidated gas station, there were my friends in that loyal beater car. We stopped in Baltimore on the way back and I thought people were staring because of our smeared mascara but perhaps it's because we were happy.

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