orgami's Diaryland Diary

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round the tables side

daze were i to find a voice
that was right
and know
speak to long and loud
full of rushing consenants
verbs all jumbled

exhausted and still hurting
inside not touching really
what is there
what is killing me slowly
what is coupled to my addiction
rolling down that empty line

i still think of death
not like a horrid thing stealing
away what is mine anymore
but a wretched wind when i am
stretched out dreaming
that ruffles my peace
and scratches my conscience
with that finger and nail

surrounded by smokers who
are rapidly disregarding their demise
their coughs and ragged lungs
make me shudder
my own intake of second hand smoke
a steady influx but I dont care
I could get hit by a bus tommorrow
as that old adage goes
and besides with my back aching
the way it does some days I just
know our family IS indeed cursed
with arthritis

my birth mother laying infected
from a stomach skin removal operation
gone awry Is she really alive anymore or dead and who would bother to tell me anyway My father gone for weeks before I even got wind of it

the back of my mind the voices in the cave where i need to hide to find shelter whispering to me their eyes on me glaring and accusatory It should have been me with both of them I didnt have a job they should have had someone near and maybe Dad did I dont know
now it bothers me something feirce
like a fire small and smouldering
just knowing that its going to burst
up the house all black and haunted
Kate Bush's voice fluttering beautifully out of the speaker as the little car drifted past the drive
the dark of spring pressing down like a hand of doubt my guts knotted

I told him I had found someone again that I was happy that I was staying out of the hospital with the overdoses and not ending up for a month or weeks in the Nut House

all I have from him is a grey sweater a cardigan he gave me when I visited him the first good time we got together
when I was really broken and hurting
I have a photo of him in it in my
photo album that I greatly admit that Lori was wise to adise me to do

my second bag my letters from freinds
and my mother when i was in treatment in ninety one How she was proud of me
my third bag empty to hold a few clothes

am I sorry about how I am living today
not at all like a sailor with that one bag to carry items in precious few because space is a commoditie
like a prisoner with his allowances
I am not pitying my days
I just could have done so much better
even with Lori in the months gone
But all I have is now and HERE

I am not even looking to acquire stuff
again what for what i need to do is to go inside my head dangerous thing to do alone they say in the program of the twelve step groups

Lori is going to a program that I have
been shy to just up and do
my new leather jacket and clothes and my ego just emerges from its sleep
i am so ashamed of it
all the talk the chatter the noise from me to keep jammin like radio waves
stay away and why
why would I want these very nice and
endearing kind people away

that is where the hurt lies in that tender intimacy

i have to go there i must go there
its not like i am not familiar with it
Lori is probably the most closest person who has gotten close to me the fastest in in well never

tatooed her name on my hand
she really shook the cobwebs from my
brain sleeping at the round table
rust on the sword

11:34 my brain feels funny
i feel lightheaded
really high feeling
just up and up and up and not
look down

well thats it for today
we just played games on the television
and talked about a lot of things
mostly John our old freind from
1983 to present he lived here
too for years
he took all those photos
he has all my artwork
suprised me that time last spring
when i visited him and his wifes place over by High park

He has a new Baby boy I wrote him
a note but nothing back
they are far from us humble beings
he is ambitious his wife is ambitious
they travel the world and float with
the creative elite of Toronto

He is not the humble bumbpkin I am
I still have two bags too many for my taste One bag and a walking stick
But now one woman and a place to call ours

just when I gave up on ever hoping to find anyone
when I was drinking myself to death in that rooming house...........

11:39p.m. the furnace rumbles
I should go to bed
i should not be afraid to sleep and meet them in my dreams
for if therereally is another life after this then what chance may I of seeing someone again???

11:15 p.m. - 2005-03-06

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