Wednesday, July 31, 2002
Unseen
Black Jacket hides his voice from her now...now that she searches for the other person who makes life feel comfortable again. She wonders if he, too, woke up in this strange dream, that by coincidence they are there in this dreamworld together. So what is his desire that he cannot tell her? What is the thought about her that runs through his mind? She is afraid to unleash her heart to him, lest he not understand. But he is capable of understanding; she knows this fact well. So why can't she say what she wants to? Ah, that age old fear: rejection. She is afraid of rejection. She imagines in her head a million and one ways in which he will reject her, for rejection is inevitable. Her imagination singles out the worst possible ways and she stares into her drink aware that time with him is limited before they awaken and must move on to other realms. But his presence has inspired her; she can write stories, poetry, anything once more. The darkness is awakened, she cannot resist it. She cannot resist him; she cannot turn herself away from his gaze. She sighs restlessly. She was determined not to go through this again but in her heart she knows that she could not stop herself. She is afraid that he will heartlessly cast her soul aside. But something about him tells her otherwise. That her fear is his fear too...if that is the case, she thinks, then I have nothing to worry about. And then he appears and the laughter begins, not too late for Crazy Girl to feel sane again.
Black Jacket hides his voice from her now...now that she searches for the other person who makes life feel comfortable again. She wonders if he, too, woke up in this strange dream, that by coincidence they are there in this dreamworld together. So what is his desire that he cannot tell her? What is the thought about her that runs through his mind? She is afraid to unleash her heart to him, lest he not understand. But he is capable of understanding; she knows this fact well. So why can't she say what she wants to? Ah, that age old fear: rejection. She is afraid of rejection. She imagines in her head a million and one ways in which he will reject her, for rejection is inevitable. Her imagination singles out the worst possible ways and she stares into her drink aware that time with him is limited before they awaken and must move on to other realms. But his presence has inspired her; she can write stories, poetry, anything once more. The darkness is awakened, she cannot resist it. She cannot resist him; she cannot turn herself away from his gaze. She sighs restlessly. She was determined not to go through this again but in her heart she knows that she could not stop herself. She is afraid that he will heartlessly cast her soul aside. But something about him tells her otherwise. That her fear is his fear too...if that is the case, she thinks, then I have nothing to worry about. And then he appears and the laughter begins, not too late for Crazy Girl to feel sane again.
Thursday, July 18, 2002
Forgotten
It was better somehow, when she was alone, without the others around. Better because then she didn't have to vie for anyone's attention and no one would have to vie for hers. Better because then she could pay attention to herself and no one else. Better because then she didn't have to deal with any desires and insecurities. Better because then she was alone. How dramatic, Black Jacket says. I nearly weep for you. I think you should be alone and limit the time that you spend in that wastehole you frequent. Maybe then I'd be spared this inisidious drivel. Things like this make her angry but at the same time she sees his point. It is drivel, plain and simple. Most of it is due to insecurities...she is never sure whether anyone wants her around at any point or not. With some people, it certainly feels that way...some hide it well, others do not. But then there are the people whose presence weighs heavily on Crazy Girl. She does not want them anywhere near her. She sighs and watches the door again. She had thought that she was rid of John and his girlfriend but they came back. They came back and she curses the heavens. Now her paranoia for their presences heightens....
It was better somehow, when she was alone, without the others around. Better because then she didn't have to vie for anyone's attention and no one would have to vie for hers. Better because then she could pay attention to herself and no one else. Better because then she didn't have to deal with any desires and insecurities. Better because then she was alone. How dramatic, Black Jacket says. I nearly weep for you. I think you should be alone and limit the time that you spend in that wastehole you frequent. Maybe then I'd be spared this inisidious drivel. Things like this make her angry but at the same time she sees his point. It is drivel, plain and simple. Most of it is due to insecurities...she is never sure whether anyone wants her around at any point or not. With some people, it certainly feels that way...some hide it well, others do not. But then there are the people whose presence weighs heavily on Crazy Girl. She does not want them anywhere near her. She sighs and watches the door again. She had thought that she was rid of John and his girlfriend but they came back. They came back and she curses the heavens. Now her paranoia for their presences heightens....
Sunday, July 07, 2002
The Others
There are more out there, he told her. You even know who some of them are. You are alone because that is our way. We cannot have you comparing notes on us. Each one of you is different; therefore, we are all different. You must trust me, you must keep your secrets, however hard on you that is. Rest assured that we have taken the form that allows us to remain a secret...your kind is skeptical and will not believe you. Do not search for others like you, otherwise there will be dire consequences. But then she has the vision: The man with the shoulder-lenth dark hair and goatee. A man who stands about 5'8" or 5'9". She has never seen this man before and she knows very little about him. If she were to run into him, she would know the look of his face. It is a gentle mask that hides the ferocity when it is needed. Somehow it seems that Black Jacket and he are related but more like they are foil of each other. She does not understand these things. And for everyone she's encountered, no one is on the level that she is. Her will for these kind of secrets is weak. She will tell anyone who listen...provided that she's drunk at the bar telling someone else of equal or greater drunkeness. This is how I ensure your secret, she spits back at Black Jacket, because you don't understand the difference between the dark drunkeness of night and the cold sobriety of day. You don't understand the culture I'm in. You don't understand that no one takes as law someone else's ramblings, as if these drunken ramblings would be remembered or believed in the light of day. Sober ramblings are met with such skepticism as well. So if I tell someone, what is the harm? But they are paranoid. No, they can't be ghosts. The ghosts welcome her with open arms: "I have a son, I never told him how much his drawings meant to me. He didn't have to be embarrassed that he couldn't afford to buy me anything. His artwork was enough. Oh, please, tell him that I love him...". Day in, day out. The souls that laugh at her as she stumbles a bit out of the bar. They're there all the time and don't make much of scene with her, only when such things are important. And then, Crazy Girl wonders how she was drafted to learn these things. She certainly didn't volunteer for it; she doesn't remember any flyers for this kind of thing. Why did they choose me? she wonders....
There are more out there, he told her. You even know who some of them are. You are alone because that is our way. We cannot have you comparing notes on us. Each one of you is different; therefore, we are all different. You must trust me, you must keep your secrets, however hard on you that is. Rest assured that we have taken the form that allows us to remain a secret...your kind is skeptical and will not believe you. Do not search for others like you, otherwise there will be dire consequences. But then she has the vision: The man with the shoulder-lenth dark hair and goatee. A man who stands about 5'8" or 5'9". She has never seen this man before and she knows very little about him. If she were to run into him, she would know the look of his face. It is a gentle mask that hides the ferocity when it is needed. Somehow it seems that Black Jacket and he are related but more like they are foil of each other. She does not understand these things. And for everyone she's encountered, no one is on the level that she is. Her will for these kind of secrets is weak. She will tell anyone who listen...provided that she's drunk at the bar telling someone else of equal or greater drunkeness. This is how I ensure your secret, she spits back at Black Jacket, because you don't understand the difference between the dark drunkeness of night and the cold sobriety of day. You don't understand the culture I'm in. You don't understand that no one takes as law someone else's ramblings, as if these drunken ramblings would be remembered or believed in the light of day. Sober ramblings are met with such skepticism as well. So if I tell someone, what is the harm? But they are paranoid. No, they can't be ghosts. The ghosts welcome her with open arms: "I have a son, I never told him how much his drawings meant to me. He didn't have to be embarrassed that he couldn't afford to buy me anything. His artwork was enough. Oh, please, tell him that I love him...". Day in, day out. The souls that laugh at her as she stumbles a bit out of the bar. They're there all the time and don't make much of scene with her, only when such things are important. And then, Crazy Girl wonders how she was drafted to learn these things. She certainly didn't volunteer for it; she doesn't remember any flyers for this kind of thing. Why did they choose me? she wonders....
Friday, July 05, 2002
The Wonder Of Magic
Oh, they said that they cast spells, they said that they read tarot, they say all sorts of things. She knows, of course, that they aren't lying but merely exaggerating their talents. Was she guilty of such a crime? No, says Black Jacket, you are not guilty of such things. You know they are. You have wisdom that they could never posess. She feels that Black Jacket is only being nice. Never mind that in cemetaries, she is what Black Jacket calls a "ghostwalker"--a person who feels the spirits around them, a person who by luck or grace has earned the respect of ghosts unrelated to her, a person who is protected by their supernatural state. No, she is merely exaggerating when she stepped onto the sand of the abandoned beach and stared at the majestic cliff and thought she felt the presence of a person that was invisible but not a ghost. All of this was in her head. Of course, she had wished hard times for the person who owed her lots of money. And he did have hard times. Yeah, when she felt bad about it and wished he had good luck, and he did, that was merely coincidence as well. Never mind that on a night when she'd had too much to drink and left the bar, someone walked her to a friend's house, someone she knew well, someone she felt comfortable enough to walk with and knew where to take her. Never mind that no one saw her in those fifteen minutes that she vaguely remembers or that she had been alone. I was there, Black Jacket says, you have a habit of throwing caution to the wind, child. You know so much yet you still have to learn. You have to learn that you're only alone when you want to be. We're here, everywhere, around you. We will always be here. She wants to know more about Black Jacket. She wants to see his face...see what he looks like. He only shows her his long black jacket. He has always been there, for as long as she could remember. But he's not like ghosts...that's what confuses her. He is of a different time but something places him outside of this planet. He isn't natural to humanhood. There's something about him that reveals a very different way of thinking, of expressing emotion, of living life. He is a curious person, as if every human is a study on what humanness is like. But then he says and does very human things. He is invisible like the ghosts, unless the shades and shadows of darkness reveal the outline of his jacket. He startled her once, when she sat near a window, intent in writing, and she saw his jacket. It really was black. That was the only time she had been allowed to see him in light. He had tapped on the glass. She closes her eyes at night and thinks, when do I get to see who you are? Why must it only be me...
Oh, they said that they cast spells, they said that they read tarot, they say all sorts of things. She knows, of course, that they aren't lying but merely exaggerating their talents. Was she guilty of such a crime? No, says Black Jacket, you are not guilty of such things. You know they are. You have wisdom that they could never posess. She feels that Black Jacket is only being nice. Never mind that in cemetaries, she is what Black Jacket calls a "ghostwalker"--a person who feels the spirits around them, a person who by luck or grace has earned the respect of ghosts unrelated to her, a person who is protected by their supernatural state. No, she is merely exaggerating when she stepped onto the sand of the abandoned beach and stared at the majestic cliff and thought she felt the presence of a person that was invisible but not a ghost. All of this was in her head. Of course, she had wished hard times for the person who owed her lots of money. And he did have hard times. Yeah, when she felt bad about it and wished he had good luck, and he did, that was merely coincidence as well. Never mind that on a night when she'd had too much to drink and left the bar, someone walked her to a friend's house, someone she knew well, someone she felt comfortable enough to walk with and knew where to take her. Never mind that no one saw her in those fifteen minutes that she vaguely remembers or that she had been alone. I was there, Black Jacket says, you have a habit of throwing caution to the wind, child. You know so much yet you still have to learn. You have to learn that you're only alone when you want to be. We're here, everywhere, around you. We will always be here. She wants to know more about Black Jacket. She wants to see his face...see what he looks like. He only shows her his long black jacket. He has always been there, for as long as she could remember. But he's not like ghosts...that's what confuses her. He is of a different time but something places him outside of this planet. He isn't natural to humanhood. There's something about him that reveals a very different way of thinking, of expressing emotion, of living life. He is a curious person, as if every human is a study on what humanness is like. But then he says and does very human things. He is invisible like the ghosts, unless the shades and shadows of darkness reveal the outline of his jacket. He startled her once, when she sat near a window, intent in writing, and she saw his jacket. It really was black. That was the only time she had been allowed to see him in light. He had tapped on the glass. She closes her eyes at night and thinks, when do I get to see who you are? Why must it only be me...
