BIG MILKY BOOBS

(untitled, from NÖCH, 2010)

Sometimes it's no wonder why my friends seem to disappear. My legs are tight, not the good type of tight you tend to describe an attractive member of the opposite sex or the sex you prefer, but rather the tight that is unhealthy, not good, and really stressing and painful to walk on. I've felt moments in my life where I felt I was going to collapse, and though no one around me knows any better of how fatigued I was, I felt it in every bone and muscle, and cell in my body. I'm tired. I am weak. And I am willing to do anything for something I'm not quite sure is. It was an image, for years it was, now it is more defined, more realistic, less imaginative, and grounded by experience, but it just makes it harder to bare, waking up with a sigh and wondering if this is the day (the day you meet something absolute and everything).

I like getting out in the country because you can see the stars, and you have time to take them all in. I like the sound of nothing but animals in the distant, and the sound of water splashing against rocks. Most of all, I like the sound of waves coming to shore, and the fuzzy noise of salt water bottling up and popping down.

There are things I miss the most, things that come to me when I am sitting, lonely and alone at the edge of my bed, what used to be the edge of my work chair, and before a city that never sleeps until that night, like tonight, where everything is chill. I hold on to these memories, to past loves, to good times, to faces I haven't seen in more than a decade, to all those I put in my best friends list, and to all those I loved, liked, and broken, or had broken me. Age and aging suck, or at least I blame the two for my diminishing memory. The other day I was talking to a friend, and today I talked to another about how the older I get the more awkward I am, and all I have to say is God, help me. Help me be a better person, help me be stronger, help me find someone nice so my folks at home can be happy for me, and for me to be happy.

I would like to say that there is more than just companionship, that there is more to desire than finding this definitive other, but not for me. I am single-minded, putting reponsibility on an imaginary person, a shadow of doubt, and my only hope that one day things will make sense, or at least I'll be fallen enough for them that they could lie me to a calm and comfortable delusion of itsallgood.

At the end of the day, it comes down to living with yourself, however possible in whatever way possible. To grow, to gain strength, and to see as many days, as many good days, possible. It is easier seeing the solution in a singular answer, and easiest to reach for something that doesn't exist but is representional as the answer to all, the ark of convenant, where everything melts down until it is in its rawest form. Back to square-one, our happiest moments, the simplest of times, when each step was giant, and every discovery was fresh.

I look up to a quiet sky and all I see is little dipper and big milky boobs.