sleep to dream

i never used to be a troubled sleeper

my entire life
no matter what age
no matter what time i crawled into bed
i slept

i slept soundly, deeply even
dreams were a regular occurrence

dreams both realistic:
the type that when you wake
you're left disheartened it had all been just imagined
or grateful it was only in your mind

and fanciful dreams:
loopy mind trips through an indecipherable abyss

there were nights of lucidity
and also dull, lethargic, brain-dead slumber

but there was always sleep

it's been a new sensation
getting used to the physicality of tossing and turning
the never-ending movement of my monkey mind

at first i believed that perhaps
it had to do with not getting enough exercise

in the past
those few and far between nights
when i hadn't rested, log-like
it had often been a result of having spent the day
lazy, propped up, bored

but as of late
(while still no gym bunny)
i've been running regularly & weight training as well

it then dawned on me
that perhaps the pillows or the mattress were to blame
but both had been my nighttime bunkmates
for well over a year by now

so the feeling nagged on
like an itch just out of reach

something had shifted inside of me
deep inside, buried
something big was clearly wrong
as though i was no longer upright within myself

this realization hurt
because it was incorrect somehow
close, but just an inch or so off

like a shoe that didn't quite fit
it wasn't Me that felt wrong
but something bigger, something altered
both a part of myself yet removed from me as well

and like that, i knew
the muscle memory had formed an indentation in my bed
an indentation next to my boyfriend matt

two bodies
at rest side by side

my joints were unable to ease into this new configuration
just my mass beside the dog's
i'd become so used to sleeping next to him
that it had altered even the way i'd slept
before we'd ever met

this was shocking
to be slowly, steadfastly becoming a complete person again
by the light of day
only to be reminded nightly
of just how lost i was

my body's sheer inability to shut down
to disengage and recharge for another day

in the time since matt's death
that i've found myself in someone else's bed
or found someone else in mine
even without (at times) an awareness of his full name...

my eyes fall heavy
an intangible cocoon feeling becomes all-encompassing
our mini-universe is vibrant
but all in tones of deep blue and purple

the weight of a man beside me

it's not a vague internal need
like the desire for dessert or attention
but rather comes from regions unexplored
a mind-click, like alcoholism, that allows my heart to slow

it's bliss really
dreamy, drifting bliss
safety, not from the outside world
but from myself

the awareness that human life rests near
gives me just enough room to escape

the dark nights

the dark nights, debaucherous

thursday:
a date that ends with me jumping from a moving taxi
heading up eighth avenue
as i ditch one young man for another
a new someone i'd just met a few hours before
a friend of a friend of a friend who'd been drinking with us...

friday:
a hot mess of vodka, photography
sexualized dancing & replenished bottle service
at a popular downtown uber club
the night concludes with me sticking my fingers down my throat
at the hollywood diner on sixth avenue...

saturday:
what should have been a cozy cocktail party at ryan's penthouse apt.
devolves into a hideous display of controlled substances & bad behavior
luckily, another friend and i find some solace talking well into dawn
with a group of disarmingly intelligent & courteous high school boys,
all members of a hardcore death metal band...

the weekends are given to us
at the end of every five day period

you only get what you put in.

as i sit amazed
(come tuesday and still recovering)
at an imax theatre beside my friend mark

utterly mesmerized by heath ledger's performance
as the joker in the film "the dark knight"

captivating, terrifying, bravery beyond words

now i can't seem to stop saying his line
"why so serious?"

it plays in my mind, pours from my lips
over and over again
ad nauseam
over and over again

filling me with great, hedonistic joy

"why so serious?"
"why so serious?"
"why so serious?"

him. again.

i smear paint around
it's a mess

the hands forget

without practice
writing becomes difficult
painting becomes difficult

without practice
you lose everything

it seems dishonest to me
at the very least, misleading

that i come to this blog
in an attempt to write and share

but time and again
manage to avoid the truth
of the realities in my actual life

it's far too easy for me to write about
documentaries and churches
thoughts
fleeting moments in a day
hints and whispers

never getting at any actual events
of my time with friends
my time at work
my time in general

there was a man

for a short while there was a great man
who stepped in with the attempt
to bring me back to life

it was only five weeks
that jason and i were together

but sometimes five weeks is enough
for a person to leave his hand print
on your heart

those first baby steps
towards your future and your past

something new swept in
unexpected
unprepared
wonderful

but somehow
i couldn't figure out a way to write about it here
despite how strange it felt not mentioning it at all

i guess carrie bradshaw had it harder than i'd known...

but really
how do you get at the truth
of a budding relationship
when you're not sure how you feel yourself?

it wasn't meant to be
he and i
we figured that out together soon enough

but for a while it was fantastic
and there are no accidents

trust in the universe
it always finds a way to give you what you need
to move forward

stepping outside yourself
opening your eyes to a new person
it's a blessing

especially when that new person
is truly amazing

and double especially
when you've already had the privilege
of being blessed
before

mediocrity

they say you'll never get rich
working for your boss

and that you'll never hit it big
without taking big risks

the dictionary defines the word "mediocre" as
1. ordinariness as a consequence of being average and not outstanding
2. a person of second-rate ability or value

mediocrity
i've become obsessed with this concept lately

is a life
in and of itself
mediocre?

if no one works for you or beneath you
if you can't afford trips to europe on the spur of the moment
if there isn't a camera following your every move

do you matter?

reality television has blurred
every line imaginable

instant fame
like soup
or messenger

a whole machine working behind your image
well, at least a concept of your image
a teeny sliver of your true identity

marketing
p.r.
media
the blogosphere
all talking about "YOU!"

for that instant you are alive
for that instant you are incontrovertibly alive
in. this. universe.

you are made alive by the fact
that people know you exist

certain cultures fear cameras
because they're said to steal your soul

but in today's time
at least in american culture
there are all too many of us willing to sell those souls
hell, give 'em away
without the guarantee of money, power
or even the tiniest semblance of control

then, like a drug, it sucks you in

watch donald trump if you need an example:
is there any conceivable reason why that man feels inclined
to step before a camera time and time again?

season after season of "the apprentice"
appearances on everything from qvc to world wrestling entertainment

systematically dismantling what had once seemed
a relatively legitimate businessman
showcasing a somewhat enviable way of life

i'll tell you it's not the money
that keeps trump coming back for more

it's the need to be seen
by the hordes of faceless strangers
sitting out there in the dark

and he is not alone.

but where does this phenomenon come from?
i think at this point
it's both nature and nurture

the desire to be seen
to stand out
is as ingrained in us as the desire to be thin

but what it might just really boil down to
is that on some level the camera makes us immortal

whether reality television
the movie screen
or our invaluable facebook pages

when we're visible we're forever
our bodies might wither and die but our image is permanent

the more photos we take
the more impossible we become to destroy

the more people are aware of us
on any level (even if we're despised)
the more impossible we become to destroy

and if your picture is everywhere
and the people in your universe can pick you out of a crowd
then mediocrity itself becomes an impossibility

it's like high school all over again
stand out, be important
or perish

even if you feel far below mediocre
deep down inside

the image remains
on paper
online
in the heads of everyone else

who can never really know you at all
unless you know yourself.