Retracing

Posted: August 28, 2009 in Zenny Metaphysical

Do you think when someone beams over on the Star Trek Enterprise… when their cells go back together, they feel better?  …Or more “right”?  …Or maybe WORSE.  Maybe it’s like taking a seam-ripper to your skin suit.  You know, kind of what it feels like to be in a relationship.

It would seem in science fiction that when you fling your entire body-matter across the universe like a slinky – that it should miraculously rebuild into something better/stronger/faster… less retarded, more enlightened/patient/compassionate, all-knowing.  I mean C’MON –the shit is strewn out there, the smart thing to do would be to FIX iT.  Stupid scientists.

But instead, life delivers reconstruction of our spirit/psyche/soul by gently jack-hammering away at our buttons.  What’s this, what’s this, WHAT’S THIS BUTTON FORRRR??!! That we get to go through the machinations of an archaic RELATIONSHIP (ugh, trying to get two separate beings GETTING ALONG) to get our own soul all conglomerated into a workable PERSON slash MATE — instead of the instantaneous “beam over: git yer cells dun up right.” Stupid STUPID scientists. I hate those scientists.

We’re supposed to remember to not get rid of the button-pusher, but rather it’s our task to get rid of the BUTTON.  Plus keep in mind that that words RE-construction only comes after DEE-construction.  We gets to empty that attic of WAAAY too much baggage… pry open the closets and let all the skeletons out… dynamite the crooked foundation and pour some new concrete.  Basically, rebuild the “house” of us.  Get the stink out from the ghosts-of-lovers-past… heal from the million years of therapy we’ve had to go through to recover from our parents fucking us up (lol)… unbury all the dead-bodies of “previous lives” of who we tried to be, who we thought we were, who we never were – and lay them to rest.

God it’d be so much easier to get rid of that bastard button-pusher.

I mean it seems like they’re the one who’s rocking the boat anyways. Can’t they just be POLITE? Can’t they just keep their grubby button-pushing mitts off my button?

But nnOOOOoooo – our “issues” come up to be healed only when we feel safe. That means, loved. So right when you think it’s going to be smooth sailing – the universe decides that before you head out into open water, it needs to scrape your barnacles off.  And bilge your pumps. And take the duct-tape off your mast.  Stupid universe.

And what is the frikkin DEAL with even needing to be shredded apart?  What’s wrong with the way I’m put together NOW?! I mean I’ve made it THIS far (without killing anyone. Without dying. No animals harmed in the process of making this life.)  Drifting along famously, learning little things here & there… making someone smile, getting laid occasionally, eating chicken-wings.  And then these… these… PEOPLE.  Fall in-love with me and have to get all UP in here and rummage around in my sandbox like it’s THEIR sandbox!!!  My life isn’t cuisine-art-ible, something you pick out of a store window to blend with YOURS.  My life is MY life.  Mine, mine, MINE.  I mean, what the hell are we thinking to put two such opposites together ANYWAYS? Do sauerkraut & blueberries GO in the blender??  Sure add some ouzo and hope for the best?

I think I’m okay, I think you’re okay.  Obviously you read that OTHER book… I’m not okay, you’re not okay – let’s be not-okay together for the rest of our miserable lives.  Christ.

…But…

There is that way you look at me.  …That way that I can’t really describe to anyone (even though I’m a good writer and can spew out 14-jillion words when someone else can use 12).  The look… the one that slams into my heart (and quickly moves south.)  And the other night when I was trying to be MAD… and instead of kissing my ass you kissed my mouth, and kissed me until I couldn’t make myself be mad anymore and I laughed.  I was so happy I didn’t have to stay mad.

And there is that whole waking up together thing. Sure sometimes you steal all the covers at night and Jesus you can SWEAT (why don’t I sweat like that??) – but… waking up in a bed where you’re at.  Somehow, it just makes everything SEEM like it’s going to be alright ya’know?

No one knows this, but sometimes I get so scared. I feel like a fraud and have no clue how I’m keeping this act together, are my friends that much of idiots that I got them all so fooled?  I just feel like if I let go, the whole thing just might fall apart… Of course I don’t go around TELLING people that.  Everyone thinks I’m solid. I wouldn’t want them to think I’m WEAK or anything.

Another thing I don’t really want to admit – is that I secretly like that you’re a really good person.  That you sincerely TRY to be kind to others and do the right thing.  And it’s like you’re kind of made of better… um…. STUFF, inside than I am.  Don’t tell anyone this, but I suppose I hope that some of your goodness rubs off on me.  You might not be able to tell, but SOMETIMES, I swear it’s almost working. A little bit.  But I don’t want you to get a big head or anything.  I mean it’s not like I WORSHIP you or anything, so don’t get any bright ideas that you can control me. I can take ya or leave ya.

And I do think it’s pretty cool that we’re opposites for things… because it’s almost like being a two-headed monster… 2 brains can think better than one.  Well, especially MY one.  Because that one’s pretty defective.  I know I fight you a lot and think being a realist is negative, but deep in my heart I know YOUR point-of-view offers me more choices and more insight… and the more pressure I take off myself to BE YOUR EVERYTHING… the more I find you accept me for who I am, and the more I respect you for being you.

I don’t like that I am weak for you though.  …If you knew where the REAL magic-buttons were, I’d be dead meat. You know, the ones like the “please baby can we have sex this morning before we go to work” button – that shit’ll make me want to pick my underwear off the floor.  Or knowing your laugh in a crowd from across the room and having it resonate in my chest and behind my eyes.  But those aren’t tears or anything. Oh oh OH – or that one… that one button no one knows about… when I feel like I’m drowning in the dark and questioning everything in life – but everyone thinks I’m in my nothing-box but really I’m in my nothing-is-worth-it-box – you come up behind me and put your arms around me… it’s like your sigh settles my insides and we don’t have to say any words – we just make the power between us, the power that says we will make it through this (whatever THIS is)… together.  ….

But instead, for now, you somehow in a psychic-superhero way seem to know where the (fucking) EVIL buttons are.  And I know, I know… one by one, the buttons are losing their powers over me. On some level, I have a feeling that the more I get rid of the possessed-demon-buttons, the more fairy-sprinkles-buttons will appear. ….

My lover — thank you for letting me love you. I’m getting better and better at it… I think I’m doing pretty good.  I’m sorry if sometimes I don’t do it very well but I’m learning.  I think I have found many people to give love TO me – but it means a lot that you’re the one special person who has opened their heart and let me keep my love safe in there.  That takes a really strong (and frankly BRAVE) person because MY love is like that baby-fetus alien creature… it doesn’t just sit there like a blob. It’ll acid-blood your ass if you don’t watch out.  Talk about motoring, zipping around here there, under the bed, now banging in the air-condition vents…..

But….unlike the alien… my love can be tamed.  I just don’t want you to know it yet…..

Read more: http://www.myspace.com/theslice/blog#ixzz0wErA0sOI

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