The Chosen Seed

2012-05-19T17:15:00.001-04:00

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

2012-04-29T20:56:00.001-04:00

I'll find you again.

Broken

2012-04-07T21:10:00.001-04:00

I'm going to write words that I cannot say aloud. Words that I could never tell you because I love you too much. Words that hurt me. Words that will hurt you. Know that I feel these things because I am so profoundly in love with you. Please know that.

I'm angry. I'm angry at you because despite everything you've told me, you're still going to marry someone else. I'm angry that you say you love me, more than you've ever loved someone, but you can't spend your life with me. I'm angry that you're letting other people's potential opinions stop you from doing something you say you want.

I'm jealous. I'm jealous that you love her. I'm jealous of every minute you spend with her, of every moment you're together, of every passing kiss, of every conversation, of every picture. I'm jealous that you have two people in this world who are so in love with you they'd do anything to be with you.

I'm envious of her. I envy her position, her ring, her life. I envy that she is marrying my perfect man. My perfect man. I envy her connection with you. I envy her power over you. I envy her blissful content.

I don't understand. I do my best not to blame you, to be sympathetic, to cope; but it eats me alive. I can push away these feelings most days and focus on our intense, complete love. But I still don't understand. If you love me as much as you say you do, then what are you doing?

You express feelings. Feelings I treasure, words I can't believe you've said to me, words I never thought I would hear and actually believe. Your confessions melt my heart, make me cry with happiness, make me fall deeper and deeper in love with you. You will love me for the rest of your life. I will love you for the rest of mine. We share such a deep and profound connection. We understand each other like no one else. We know everything about one another and love each other more for it.

And yet every second we come closer to the day you profess your love to another, in front of hundreds of people, using the same words, the same sentiments.

The day you proclaim those words to someone else, the day you commit fully and unequivocally to the other woman, a piece of my heart will die. The piece that believes in true love, in life-changing, irreplaceable love.

And on that day I will suffer heartbreak like nothing I've ever experienced. Inconceivable pain, inconsolable grief will course through every fiber of my body. Enough to beckon Charon.

My only option is to wait.

Seeing these words isn't fair. I know that. I'm saying them because I don't want to accept losing you. I can't fathom a day without you. Everything I've said is selfish and I know that. But I don't know what to do.
I love you.

2012-04-07T17:01:00.006-04:00

I danced with daffodils yesterday.

"I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."

-Wordsworth

What am I doing?

2012-04-07T16:58:00.001-04:00

That moment when you realize you don't just want to be in their life- you want to be a part of it. And they just don't understand that the other way is never going to be enough.

What am I doing?

2012-03-25T17:18:00.001-04:00

It's been a while since my last entry-- and not for lack of inspiration. On the contrary, every day I'm filled with new revelations, new happiness, and unbearable heartache. The last few months have taken me on a roller coaster of inviolable passion, unreasonable rationale, and overwhelming despondency.

It's almost unthinkable to imagine one would submit themselves to such a tempestuous ride, knowing the end result was proposed and established long before you got on. And does that take away the fun of the ride? You know it will end, quickly and abruptly, perhaps, but you're not sure when or where. Maybe the conductor will let it pass through once more, maybe the ride will falter, holding you captive between two insurmountable peaks... Maybe you'll fall off, fall to your demise.
Without love, fear is only sacrificial.

I love you

2012-03-25T17:13:00.001-04:00

The most tragic experience of my life has nothing to do with death or loss.

The most tragic experience of my life involves love.
And not lost love or unrequited love;

but complete, profound, unconditional love.

The kind that keeps you up at night;
the kind you lose your appetite over;
the kind where every time you see him you get butterflies and every second you spend with him you wish could go on forever.
The kind of love that's special and completely different from any other kind of love you've experienced.
The kind that makes you think irrationally, that takes over your senses, that consumes you.

The kind of love you feel when he's inside you.
The kind of love that makes you cry from happiness.
The kind of love that makes you desperately jealous;
the kind where you wish you could move away from everyone else, and live together on a deserted island.
The kind of love that makes you sure he's the only person you'll ever need.
The kind of love you know only comes around once in a lifetime.
The kind of love that allows you to be completely open with another person.
The kind of love that gives you the courage to confess your most painful secrets.
The kind of love that transcends every other emotion.

The kind of love that makes you afraid;
the kind that challenges your ability to trust.
The kind that makes you thankful you're alive.
The kind that you would die for.
The kind of love that would make you jeopardize your entire life to experience.
The kind of love you longed to find, but never thought was there.

The kind of love you create mixed C.Ds, paint pictures, write poems about.
The kind of love you can't stop thinking about.

Imagine this kind of love and feel it reciprocated.
It is indescribable.

Now imagine this love, this unconditional profound love, between two people who cannot be together. Imagine.
It is the most tragic experience of my life.
But I will never, ever, regret it.

2012-02-16T21:45:00.001-05:00

there’s nothing in all the world I want but you — and your precious love — All the material things are nothing. I’d just hate to live a sordid, colorless existence — because you’d soon love me less — and less — and I’d do anything — anything — to keep your heart for my own — I don’t want to live — I want to love first, and live incidentally — Why don’t you feel that I’m waiting — I’ll come to you, Lover, when you’re ready — Don’t don’t ever think of the things you can’t give me — You’ve trusted me with the dearest heart of all — and it’s so damn much more than anybody else in all the world has ever had —

2012-02-16T21:12:00.003-05:00

How different would life be if we were limited to saying "I love you" to a predetermined number of people. How would that change the statement, how would that impact relationships, how would we feel?

Think about how many times those words have left your mouth. Now think about how many people you've said them to. Now look at those people and tell me which ones you truly loved. The list dwindles with each new clause. And it should.

When I tell you I've loved deeply before, I'm being honest in a way only possible when I'm with you.
When I tell you I've been broken by love, I'm revealing a history without you.
When I tell you I've loved without loving, I'm admitting to a weakness I'm afraid to show you.
When I tell you I've never experienced love as profound as this, I'm offering all I have to you.

My lover.
My best friend.
My truth.

2012-02-06T15:43:00.002-05:00

"Each moment that I wait feels like a year, an eternity. Each moment is as slow and as transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting."

Always waiting.

2012-01-29T18:23:00.004-05:00

Charlie Kaufman: There was this time in high school. I was watching you out the library window. You were talking to Sarah Marsh.
Donald Kaufman: Oh, God. I was so in love with her.
Charlie Kaufman: I know. And you were flirting with her. And she was being really sweet to you.
Donald Kaufman: I remember that.
Charlie Kaufman: Then, when you walked away, she started making fun of you with Kim Canetti. And it was like they were laughing at *me*. You didn't know at all. You seemed so happy.
Donald Kaufman: I knew. I heard them.
Charlie Kaufman: How come you looked so happy?
Donald Kaufman: I loved Sarah, Charles. It was mine, that love. I owned it. Even Sarah didn't have the right to take it away. I can love whoever I want.
Charlie Kaufman: But she thought you were pathetic.
Donald Kaufman: That was her business, not mine. You are what you love, not what loves you. That's what I decided a long time ago.

I was enlightened to this scene a few years back when I was going through a particularly "difficult" time. Sitting in a Taco Bell, listening to me lament lost love, an older and wiser friend of mine attempted to console my poor, broken heart.

These words come back to me periodically and I find they are still able to empower me during my weakest points. Lately, I've found owning my love is the only way I've been able to cope with my current situation.

What Else Would You Like?

2012-01-24T21:00:00.004-05:00

To the fat and the anorexic: I'm not fat or anorexic.

I just can't eat.

My body rejects food.

One bite for breakfast.. three bites for lunch.. no bites for dinner.

No hunger pains, no headaches. Just anxiety.

Another pound lost.
Another notch tighter.
Another panic attack.

Another day of deterioration.

Eat.
Nauseous.
Please.
Don't.
Eat.
Can't.
Hurting,
Protesting,
Deteriorating,
Dying.

Frequently, as of late.
Please let me eat.

Either Way

2012-01-22T16:09:00.000-05:00

Are you there?
Have I lost you?
I'm trying
But it's getting harder
and
I miss you
and each day it gets
harder
to bear being
away from
my best friend.

"Maybe the sun will shine today
The clouds will blow away
Maybe I won't feel so afraid
I will try to understand
Either way

Maybe you still love me
Maybe you don't
Either you will or you won't
Maybe you just need some time alone
I will try to understand
Everything has its plan
Either way
I'm gonna stay
Right for you

Maybe the sun will shine today
The clouds will roll away
Maybe I won't be so afraid
I will understand everything has its plan
Either way"

Purgatory Comics: An Indie Treasure Trove

2012-01-21T20:10:00.000-05:00

In our everyday quest to unearth cinematic genius, we are faced with the seemingly insurmountable task of wading through thousands of dubious titles, hundreds of ambiguous descriptions, and a handful of potential contenders. For the brave, this process involves diving into the murky, uncharted territory of indie flicks. We know the risks associated, the countless hours lost to mediocrity, the frustration, the angst. Most of the time we feel slighted, realizing too late that our high hopes for that “dark comedy” is nothing more than an amalgamation of shoddy camera angles, cheap lighting and bad jokes.

We remain undaunted, though, in our search for greatness. And occasionally we are rewarded with gold.

Enter Purgatory Comics.

The film premiered in 2009 at the Lancaster Area Film Festival and comes in at a cool 90 minutes. A 2010 Long Island International Film Expo winner, the film’s awards included both “Best Long Island Feature Film” and “Best Actress in a Feature (Angela Benedict).” But enough about it’s credibility. Is it worth spending 90 minutes of your life watching? Simple answer: YES.

Apart from excellent comedic delivery and the on-air chemistry from the cast, the cinematography is striking. The film was shot on a $23,000 budget but you would never know it. The shots are clean and crisp and the transitions feel natural in a way only an experienced director could achieve. I was able to focus on the story, without the distraction of poor “indie flick” quality and the usual trepidation of cheap film-making.

Summary:

The film begins just as the main character, Cola, quits her job and breaks up with her boyfriend. In her desperation, she finds herself running to a comic book store, a safe-place recalled from her childhood. Inside she meets Evan, the struggling shopkeeper, and Mel, the unemployed assistant.

Cola’s brief retreat into Purgatory Comics allows her to build another life -- an in-between place where she can forget about her responsibilities, her clothes, showering regularly, and the stresses of everyday existence. Evan and Mel help her along her quest for self-discovery, while she helps the guys save the crumbling comic book shop and enlighten them to their own hidden potential.

Toward the end of the film, Cola receives a blunt, profanity-ridden warning from ex-comic book writer Peter Whales, telling her to “grow some balls” and man-up to your responsibilities before it’s too late. This sharp kick-in-the-ass monologue was enough to make me analyze my own life and wonder if I’m living it to the fullest.

The film is packed with laugh-out-loud quips, great one-liners, zombie gals and general nerdom, but underneath all that lies a great message: “Bravery will always be the driving point of your life. You know you've run out of it when suddenly nothing changes anymore.”

Find it. Watch it. Love it.

Longtemps

2012-01-03T19:06:00.000-05:00

Two souls met at an eloquent fork,
Two souls with fated futures.
Ahead, two separate journeys,
one for each languished creature.
To their right, a path of prudence,
To their left, wanton growth.

Neither could traverse the other. And, such, only one could travel either.
Another path, they could not create and thus were resigned to their limited potential.
Nor could they retreat from whence they came, as with every step they took, every previous step they lost.
Unknowingly, they arrived at the beginning without a before; only a beckoning next and the memory of a preamble.

Bound as they were to their own predestined pilgrimage, they resolved, rather to remain at that persuasive fork, just a little while longer.

And though each path beckoned the other onward, they were content, for the moment, to remain in the interlude.

And so they did. Time immemorial.

2012-01-02T19:09:00.000-05:00

Passion always have a way of popping up in the most (un)expected of places, Marla thought. But love? Could she really love this person?

Who is Malum?

2011-12-26T20:03:00.000-05:00

Marla's thoughts during an episode while waiting for Malum:

Sometimes I wonder what I did to trigger these episodes. Most of the time I try and ignore them, pretend I'm prone to nightmares, shake it off.

But there are moments when I subject myself to an evaluation.. an inevitable investigation into my past, scrutinizing every action, questioning every second of possible iniquity.

And in those moments of self-assessment, I allow myself full disclosure. I face my transgressions and I acknowledge their part in my life. In these moments, I offer no consolation or reassurance.

I am shamefully naked.
I am bare.
I am alone.

I am weak.

I purge myself through tears and I wonder how many others face what I face.

And only then do I realize that these episodes are justified.
But (and it surprises me every time) I take comfort in Malum.
He appears at random, wrenching me from my surroundings, and tortures me.

And somehow I find comfort in his voice, in his unvarying interrogation.

Soon, people will start to notice. I won't be able to hide what's missing once he starts taking bigger pieces.
He will take until he is satisfied and Malum's thirst is never quenched.

2011-12-23T10:30:00.000-05:00

Marla sat down on the ruffled sheets. She looked around the room in that sleepy, post-orgasmic haze and smiled.

She felt good. Really good.

She thought about him.
About how he made her feel.
About how he felt inside her.

As she listened to the steady stream of the shower, she wondered if he was washing her away.

She licked her lips.

She could still taste him.
He tasted good.

2011-12-19T20:13:00.000-05:00

“How I feel is that if I wanted anything I’d take it. That’s what I’ve always thought all my life. But it happens that I want you, and so I just haven’t room for any other desires.”

“Don’t be afraid. The darkness you’re in is no greater than the darkness inside your own body. They are two darknesses separated by a skin. I bet you’ve never thought of that. You carry a darkness about with you all the time and that doesn’t frighten you… you have to learn to live with the darkness outside just as you learned to live with the darkness inside”

2011-12-15T03:00:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it hurts so much.

And that pain is unbearable.

And I think I will scream.

Or run.

Or fall.

I am lost.

I can't find the light...

And then it's fading.

And it's fleeting.

And it goes on.

And no one even noticed.

And I'm all alone again.

Waiting to feel it again.

Searching again,

in between periods of darkness.

Who is Marla?

2011-12-14T20:29:00.000-05:00

Who is Marla?
I don't know.
Yes you do. She's you.
No she isn't.
Of course she is. She's you only better.
Why is she better than me?
You created her. So of course she's better than you.
I don't understand.
She's better than you because you made her better than you. All the things you've fucked up in your life, she doesn't have to deal with them.
But aren't I a better person because I made it through those fuck-ups and became stronger?
You might be. But Marla is just better. Period. She doesn't need to fuck up to see what kind of person she is. She already knows.
How can I create someone like that? How can I give her perfection without knowing it myself?
You can't. She's just a character who you're using in order to live in a world you'll never experience.
But I could experience that world if I wanted to.
No you can't. You can't because of the type of person you are. You have no guts. You have no character. You're a pussy.
And Marla isn't?
No. Marla is you. Only better. So much better. She is smarter than you are. She's braver. She can live how she wants to live.. How you want to live. And she doesn't have to worry about fucking up. Because she doesn't fuck up. Only you do.

Why can't I be Marla?
You can't be Marla because you created her. You can't become one of your characters.
What if I like her life better than I like my own?
Well now it seems like you're finally understanding how this process of creation works. Of course you want to be Marla-- that is why you created her in the first place. You're unhappy with your own life. You want to escape. You feel like you have no other place to go. So you went inside your head and you created another self. You created Marla. Through Marla you can go where you want to go, experience the stuff you want to experience.. without fearing any consequences. You can be bold and slutty and smart and everything you've ever wanted to be. Marla is beautiful. And everyone around her sees that.
You only hope you're beautiful. You try and prove your beauty by participating in your pedantic narcissism. It's embarrassing. And then when you finally see yourself through another lens you realize that this "beauty" you've bestowed on yourself does not translate past your own self-image. It's pathetic.
Stop making me feel like that.
I can't. You're the one in control. Especially when it comes to Marla.
Who is she?
She's you.
Only better.

Anonymity

2011-09-15T15:43:00.001-04:00

Sometimes, she finds, it's easier to write when no one's reading.