If only there was magic

I have studied the books about dragons, heard the stories about trolls, and remember the monsters from the cautionary tales. Yet some part of me still craves the magic that runs alongside these stories, the wonder that imbues their world. It is one of the things that keep people coming back to these fantastical tales.

This magic wouldn't be for myself, but to gift to the wonderful people in my life. Magic is said to have a price, that's why we're not supposed to really actually want it, but I would pay it so my friends and family would have a fighting chance against the wicked selfish women and evil corrupt men that reality and fantasy have in common.

These fairy tales and stories aren't real, and that's okay. But the villains shouldn't be either if that's the case. And there are too many damn good people in the world fighting against these demons, these dragons with treasure, these vampires out for our blood.

Now I know why we never read fantasy in school. It gives us too much hope. Enjoy your Greek tragedies and love Big Brother.  I'll keep hoping for the best for good people.

The world today

Upon hearing
that's just how it in
in the world today, I crave reasons
to remain
to not be one of the ten thousand
to not play a game of life

and end up dying anyway

there are no thrones 

and other people are living my dream

and it makes me wonder

why did I draw the short stick

having to roam the home with the killer

attached to my back

and all it would take is a little

push

because everyone needs a good fall

Dreams--slightly out of reach

Keep thinking of a well played game
worn out
tired from running
    and following rules
putting yourself on the line


The innominate "they" said things would be better
once we played the game
and won.
Ice cream or something.

Now there are scraps
and scrapes from learning it would have been better
watching from the sidelines.

I didn't even get a trophy.


All metaphors for life and games
and making it into someone else's entertainment
aside

Being a master means
to hope to one day
soon
be a manager
of a shift
at a store
in Kentucky
making food
for people who sat out
formed callouses instead of learning sentence structure

Maybe they were the smart ones

I was just duped

My friends were too. Embittered at 23. 

That's the new life. 

Schlips

After years of gender deferential dress codes
and fixing the turned up collars of my classmates
        while trying to wear my own well
a few stuck around
hanging


some ties were looser
floating in and out on the breeze
but when on fire
burning bright


the tightest one
is starting to choke me
and part of me wants to cut it

but it's so aged
and comfortable
when it doesn't strangle me

and that pre-made and tied one
feels better around my throat.

Crash and burn

The moment one realizes any plans for the future--
teach
travel
write something
anything worthwhile
fails.

What I worked hard to do
tried to be good
and do well
try
anything
fails.

Failing is life
at least for me
for now?
ever?
Gah.

And it doesn't really matter
probably not even to you,
because what's a recluse
depressed maniac
(sub)human
to you. Really.

A new friend said
what may be something true
although I have to say the terminology
asexual is wrong

more like non
but is non human
because we're biologically inclined to want that
for humanity.

Gross.
Just no. No longer.
Das ende.

Being a character

"If you don't turn your life into a story, you just become a part of someone else's story."-- Terry Pratchett

 Would it really be a bad thing? To live

in someone's else's tale for even a year.

We all like to see characters come

and go, aid

the protagonist. To foil and fade

and be worthwhile

in that capacity. 

Gehst mir unter die Haut

Sunday was crazy.

Deny excitement, because, honestly
I'll be disappointed
in seeing someone my mother decided was right
who is far too brilliant
(and nice)
to really talk to me.
                      And I cannot stress brilliant enough
(also, creative)

It wasn't just me either,
but the general class.

Even though each message
or like
made me happy (for a while), I denied any real attachment.

[Don't be that girl, with feelings and thinking you're above your place.]

So everything was chill
       be cool and logical
           try to seem smarter than reality.

Until the big reveal of things beyond control,
see him go down, loose self for time.
Hold his head, because strange men had to put him on his side and then couldn't be bothered.
Try not to feel awkward
and out of place.
                                   You haven't touched someone's head in over three years.
Wish for time travel so you could remember what to do
and hope you do it right
and why couldn't you just be better
at being a person, and just want time to speed up
him to wake up
be okay
please be okay

Time stops as EMT men arrive
                          stop thinking of the last time you were here
                          your big reveal, the ambulance for a T-bone
                          "is there a doctor here?" and blue eyes catching yours with laughter at trite
                                        and concern

The who are you to the lucid and barely there
when his eyes couldn't find a name for anyone
to see him taken away, not knowing.

It was easy to follow, at least.

Call family, and just worry
like it is really your place                                                                               [/sarcasm]

The thank yous and history lesson
from a mom just concerned
and so logical

The apologies for biology
and thanks for being there
                       like disappearing was an option
until families reunite and become no one again


It would be better
save face to be a ragged claw
lessen the uncontrollable embarrassment
and [my] social one
               of liking someone

Or we could kill them

Let me make this sane
even though I am freaking out.



I met my idol today.
A man of magic.
Neil Gaiman.

From senior year Catholic school,
the sixteen year old atheist tried to find something to hold to
and nothing was working.
Until my friend (turned best friend)  threw me a book,
told me to read it, and thank him later.

Eschewing school work for a day, I devoured American Gods
and found solace in words again. It was sorely missed after the isolation because of a high reading level in middle school.

I read all I could of his work and then other fantasy works
and then literary works when not preached setting for the fifteenth time.

Hello English major.

Then a poem, "Instructions"
showed me how universal stories are
that help everyone on their journey.

Hello MFA
writing
my life.

So I journeyed with my best friend--post a commune and an hour sweating
in summer's sunny glare,
we ran to the front like a rock concert.
Sat front row, nearly on top of each other
with my sister and other friend in tow.
Talk and drink for a few hours in blessed AC
with other people touched by words.

Applause, introduction of a personal nature,
a story of how stories are made
birthed into creation and sold on the market.

Then, a band starts next door. We could ignore them
or we could kill them.

We choose ignore, but there was an undertone of rage--swept away in story.

A Q&A about doors, writing, and creativity.
A story of fatherhood and a story for fathers.

Stand around, and try to let all of the words sink in
realize this is not the highlight of his life, except for the staring of stories.
Stories and stories en masse cannot be fun, how rough it must be to make a personal connection--
to be the face of magic for everyone, yet drain away days that could be meant for creating.

Yet, with a broken pen, we spoke for a few minutes of dragon's blood and stories.

A delight for my July and for 2013.

And my friend watched,
as he always has, from afar
while I let emotion and words carry me
knowing he'll never have to pick up as many shattered pieces
and disjointed crazy like in high school
even though my deathlist is shorter.

And as always, ticking off miles in conversation and silence
towards home.

July

With heat
childhood jealousy issues (really mean nothing
now)
and hospital visits of years' past summers
ending, always, in coffins,
makes my Julys a game of tolerance.

But this year, something to look forward to
(less or more than a country across the sea)
of meeting my hero
art-master
magic-maker.

Seriously, one brief encounter to cause so much hope
                 (will end in disappointment)
but still better than remembering the rain and cobblestone,
stoop of people,
feeling infinite
staring out into the north sea.
Streets of disinterested yet pleasant people,
cafes older than my whole world until that point.
I lived in antiquity
enjoying the 44,600 minutes spent in Scotland,


oh too willing to throw a future away in waves.
Though, I never crossed that barbed wire.


I'll never get that moment back,
yet the 11th will still be magical

& then

there are nights with life
long friends

work on a project
to watch a movie

reflect on high school
and keep going
for one more week

Making it easy

I shouldn't have to defend not wanting [to be with] someone.

Same that people don't have to defend wanting [craving?] a relationship

or even someone for a night. 

                  How is that so hard for people to understand?

Like a playground,

kids frolicking with balls and objectives,

    enjoying their game

and interaction. 

Note the girl in the shade,

near the building and hidden from windows, 

reading

and loving that adventure

with no one around. 

                                                                 Hopefully that's better

and okay. 

Who knows? Maybe it is all just detachment

[from being human] to engaging with strangers. 

"Books are better than other people anyway."

Huzzah for childhood fantasy memories and books of magic. 

Neverland

Degree came--
call me master
as I throw pizzas into an oven
and ask you to give me your location
                       so I can feed you
                       [after you pay]

Cross that off the life affirming/ death list

and then
meeting my artistic idol in less than a month
cross that off
                                 [note to self: be charismatic that day]

I did not mean for this to be about ends,
but somewhere in the middle,
wandering around without a full moon to see by
or moss to guide you.

I just hope I don't trip
or if I do, learning and more than just hurt and blood.

But for now, I'll pretend to be someone else
and play with dice
like a child, never wanting to grow up
though I desperately do,
yet trapped by magic and stubborn wishes.

Your last chance has arrived [mayhaps]

Funeral today.

Ending to a life--which is just silly how it all happened.
The ending, not the life.

For a man who joked about everything
wanting laughter in almost every moment in life
to have such a somber departing was the worst.

Don't stare at me, old lady, for laughing at some of the silliest arm motions he did all the time. 

Tears flowed, and people chained smoked
when they saw the open coffin
for a wrecked body.
                                                                 All the while, precious harp melodies tugged at your fragile heart.


So here,
take this:

I want people to laugh when I die. Endings are so depressing, and people shouldn't be sad.
                                                                        [I really just want to go on another adventure]

There should be awesome music to make people want to live
             because what's the point in dying if you don't enjoy life
                                or strike that
reverse it.

Personal space bubbles become nothing when tears are involved.
Is this hug to help me or you
or both of us
saying 'we're together'
for once.


                                                        Oh, connections.

Funerals for recognizing the dead and placing them as other,
raising them up
fully separates them from us. [At least, it is supposed to]

The unspoken last words to a puttied corpse, and we are supposed to move on
                  nothing to see here, folks.
But, even if you broke off a finger, carried it around your neck and whispered sweet nothings to it,
they wouldn't be back and you don't want to really do that. So take those few hours, say nothing to mean everything, and go back to living tomorrow.

Another beginning, however different this chapter is.

Maybe, I haven't been paying attention

Friday--
end of work-week, and this week
my manager died.
The one to give me a job--means of living
the first to invite me to hang out and be social outside of work--a reason to live.

Car wreck.
Dead on arrival.


They say it comes in threes

and grandpa was one in July
now this.

What's next?

And corporate keeps telling us it will all be okay

not for my co-worker/friend who was his best friend
who found Colin's car
saw his body bagged
                    like being dead is something to hide away

Don't want to imagine saying "That's my friend"
with their blood on the ground
and windshield.

Funeral should be soon,
and funerals are interesting. More on that later [promise]

Leave it all behind

Beginnings and ends
cyclical, informing one another.

It's nice
           yet so redundant, repeating these words over and over. People wanting to find happiness, convincing themselves it's real.
Needing reasons to stay.

What's getting to me
[this time]
is the seeming quest for connection. Like being solitary
without dates and games of that nature is abhorred.

Maybe it means I'm [slightly?] unnatural
to not want that for now
foreseeable future.

And it doesn't really matter.
Spinning.

It'd be okay
if we were dizzy
getting ill from colors blurring
landscapes fade
eyes slide
in the spinning.

                                                                              Even now, I'm not ill.
                                                                              Just sick of it.

Maybe the lack of spinning sickness
means I've learned
                           something.

Let me place my feet on the ground,
pick a time
beginning or end
and run.

Too long

I know this is nothing;
words leaking out into the ether of ethernet connection
as if it matters.

But,
just maybe,
line breaks and no response
helps.

Graduated graduate
with no realistic stars to shoot for
and laughing as I wait
for them to fall on me.
                          [Right now, I'd be okay if they crushed me]

Hello, new beginning
of nothing. No assignments to keep me telling weeks apart.


I'll try to pick this back up
as something to do
         while waiting around for people living lives to want to connect
to the void of me
with no conversation or engagement with the world.

It just keeps spinning, wasting time and oxygen.