With The Lights Off.

One year ago, around this time – I was stooped over a toilet and on the inside of a seemingly endless remission. Remission from what is still to be determined. Last Halloween a friend and I were high and elated with our ironic gesture towards the seamless festivities. We drank wine and smoked. We watched Rocky Horror. We went out. I got too drunk and smacked my head on a light up box. This gesture would be my defining act of the year. With purpose, without meditation. I smacked my head upside the light – and still did not wake. Last year I wrote a short piece that shunned adult costuming; saying that it acted as a form of charade or anxious hiding to indulge macabre or personify another. This year I simply do not care. This year I say let your costume embody all that you are for the night, and for All Hallows Eve let your ugly be emphasized, or turned into a greater monster. This year I know I mustn’t hide or ignore the creature I’ve been well aware of, seizing me only nightly. On Halloween this year – we shall seize IT! My last year self might commend or slap my present self for turning around the notion of dressing up to escape our current, collective crisis – but if we can’t exist on a similar plane, then where? If the land of the dead is to inhibited by the “living” for one night a year, then lets play games – and fence over the fate of our world there. If the ugly, discoloured, blasphemous are laid bare once, as opposed to the constant flow of cover up, alternative facts, and curious stigmas – then let it be, let it live. Lets see what you look like with the lights off. – D

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A poem about waking up from a good dream.

So I had a dream about you last night
and, fuck
even now
as I write this
my throat is aching
urging for content
and recoiling from the bitter mirage
that bloomed
without mine willing it so
beneath a Christmas tree canopy
of lights and shadow play,
I sat
this is a dream world revised now,
So bare with me
I looked down and saw you there,
the face that haunts
and was so obviously you
olympic shock, and elation brimming
both of us conjoined
in the stare that lasted lifetimes,
our mutual disbelief
muffled the scene
as I scaled down the holiday exhibition,
you met me
held me, pressed me, hungry
so now the fantasy
of lust set alight
gnashes at the pertinent
the familiar
The change of framing
from that world to this
is viceral
and the dawn becomes
a scientist
an illusionist
stabbing
and yet , there had been a kiss
then comfort
in knowing that things had changed
after the flood
and exact colours seized
so true to life
before my eyes opened
to a plane of black
and the liquid longing expelled
I am here
and I have awoken
to love lost.

Day 4 Poem

how capable

you have proven yourself to be

or is it persistence?

now a haunting cut – out

in my sleep

in moving images

fantastic

I stir

and swear you off

“this is a dream!”

I cry it into

the far reaches of my mind

only to be met with

the familiar lure of

colour

a bedrom

an embrace

and you

DSC_0119.jpg

This is what my early – afternoon looks like. I find its always beneficial to return to Walden Pond when life grows chaotic.

-D

(Side note) What books do you find yourself returning to, time and again?