Archive for February, 2013

i just don’t feel quite the same.

Posted in Uncategorized on February 25, 2013 by darryl zero

There’s much to stay about everything that’s happened in the past few months, so much of it good, but the backlash keeps coming. All things considered, I should be glad to feel anything, but fuck if I didn’t wish for

Advertisements

old. (from december 2007)

Posted in Uncategorized on February 19, 2013 by darryl zero

when all is said and done, i think of every time her tears glistened in the light every time we fought, and i still want to cut myself into little pieces and bleed every last fucking drop out of my veins and make everything perfect for her. i keep her far away because i will always want to be perfect for her when she is near, i will always hate the fact that i am not what she wants/wanted me to be, i will remember that i probably will always love her with the same dedication that makes me cry whenever i drop the fucking wall for a second and actually think about how beautiful it was to look at her sleeping face in the silvery winter daylight.

i have no fucking clue how i will ever reclaim that piece of me.

this will pass, eventually, but in this fucking instant, much of me wants to be near her again, and knowing this, combined with the knowledge that she hates me, is ripping to fucking shreds.

as much as i am over the quixotic notion that we could ever work out, i am nonetheless unable to shake a habit i built over the last three years, loving someone i couldn’t possibly ever have, someone who couldn’t give herself to me until she had completely destroyed me and made me useless, and it is that habit’s footprint on my heart that makes me feel like this.

still, i miss her so much.

old (from January 2008).

Posted in Uncategorized on February 19, 2013 by darryl zero

She sighed musically after every kiss, eyes pressed shut, brow furrowed as she leaned forward, unwilling to be the first to back away. She cooed, an oddly juvenile sound, but not distractingly so; her lips found mine again, so much like [someone]’s, and I let the confusion wash away my reluctance.

old. (from february 2008)

Posted in Uncategorized on February 19, 2013 by darryl zero

I pass by the house every day on my afternoon run, little, yellow, perfect, in this quiet neighborhood in this relatively flat part of Hillsboro. Up until yesterday, the FOR SALE sign hung limply in the front yard, comparatively small, with a slight decline before reaching the sidewalk. I have no idea how much the house costs (or cost, I suppose), nor the square footage, nor the size of the garage nor anything else about it; all I know is that I passed by it every day since October, and the familiarity of its solitude became that sort of possessive marker objects tend to accrue when part of a routine. Cloudy or sunny, rain, snow, dust–whatever might have been on, in, or around my bus, and that house still looked as bright yellow as ever, reminding me of my parents’ house before mom painted it.If I weren’t the fuck-up I am trying difficult not to be, if I’d actually bothered to think about the shit I earned and wanted in my life, I’d have mustered enough currency to put a down payment on that house. It’d be a tight squeeze, but with the right person, I’d have been able to take care of the bills as a bus driver–and little else, at least until I understood exactly what goes into owning property, but I’d have been able to make it. Typing those words, it sinks in that, for all the strides I’ve made toward growing up, I’m still completely ignorant of the portions of the puzzle that make the stability I so desperately desire a functional thing.I’ve made more decisions based on fear, loneliness, and desperation than ones made using the intelligence I’m constantly reminded I possess. I have no idea whether or not I’m still doing that now; I wish I had any ideas other than sitting on this couch and letting the world come to me as it will. People make taking ownership of one’s own actions and ideas sound so easy, often as they’re pushing you into rallying behind their cause; I can say with complete honesty that I’ve never completely given myself to someone who hasn’t battered me in some way, badgered me into thinking something I was doing was completely wrong, regardless of how it felt.A fear I’d thought I’d shaken crept into my bones last week as I ground my teeth and fantasized about shutting everyone the fuck up. Rather than share the situation in question, I’ll skip ahead to its sister occurrence on monday morning, in which one of my fellow drivers got condescending with me in a way that made me snap and cuss him out publicly (not in front of kids–shut the fuck up and remember I’m smart enough to have some discretion). It felt good to express some measure of pride in myself and my abilities, but the fact that it wasn’t enough made me worry. In both scenarios, the wrath I carried and gave birth to during the emotional hell Erin put me through awoke, whispering the embryonic syllables preceding an explosion, and it took the strength I’d re-built not to explode in a grander and, ultimately, more-satisfactory fashion.I love my anger, don’t get me wrong, but I worry about letting it burn me out. Again.

old. (From June 2008).

Posted in Uncategorized on February 19, 2013 by darryl zero

I perfected the art of feeling absolutely alone in the midst of plenty of supporters and believers-in-me long before I was able to understand just how fucked-up it made me.  Perhaps it was growing up with a father who didn’t respect anyone who didn’t wear their pain as a triumphant uniform, who constantly made me feel like I was a useless, coddled brat for never having to face the adversity he did; I devoted so much of my time trying to impress him more than the boys on the parks & rec teams he coached, I didn’t really learn how to do anything for myself, save for pretend–and hate myself for pretending.

I’m an intelligent guy, but I won’t claim I truly “get it.”  I occasionally see glimmers of what everyone else seems to be catching onto, that thing that makes them so much fucking happier than I, but no matter how many times I logic and reason my way around it, I invariably end up in that state of triage in which the inevitable gets pushed down in favor of the transient.  I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s just the level of my consciousness that doesn’t compute, that I’m too hopelessly frozen on one level to deserve to exist–to be less-vague: I won’t ever be able to understand, and shouldn’t be alive, because I’ll just make things worse.

A thought occurred to me today as, fighting back the same tears I grapple with daily, I drove past a man dressed in a mattress outfit, holding signs for the BedMart sale down the street.  He had the signpost cradled in his arms as he pantomimed power chords and banged his head like a fucking madman, and I realized how many times a week I drove past him.  Every day for the past two weeks, that man has been rocking out ,on the corner of Western and SW Beaverton-Hillsdale Highway, serving no function save for that of’ needless-distraction- as-tool-of-business-model-machine,’ and he was having more fun doing that useless fucking task than I was in a job I actually felt passionate about and enjoyed.

I remember easing up on the accelerator to stop at the red light as I pondered it.  I love my job more than I’ve ever loved any, but it’s the kind of love that you have for a challenging relationship, the kind that hurts when you can’t do things quite the way they seem in your head, the kind when you realize you aren’t going to be able to give someone everything you want to give them and, eventually, realize everything you can give them isn’t enough.  I wanted a job with even the most marginal of meanings, and I got one, just as I wanted to see a future that wouldn’t make me want to slit my wrists, and the vision raced across my eyes.

As the song goes–i had a vision; where’s my vision gone?

Lost, of course, lost in the fucking abyss between my thought/want/wish/hope and my action, lost as I invariably realize I am, regardless of any effort I may put forth.

As the light turned green, I waved at the guy.  As I caught his eye, I flashed him the metal sign.  His grin got wider, and he threw his own hand up in an identical gesture, pumping his arm to the beat of whatever he was listening to.

“That guy gets it,” I said to the empty bus.

A collection agency called my cell phone at that instant.  I ignored the vibration and floored it.

the thing to remember

Posted in Uncategorized on February 18, 2013 by darryl zero

is that when you make some kind of shrieking noise that an instrument is not supposed to make, the feeling that comes from making something so wrong is more liberating than mastering something through hard work can be.  it’s thoughts like this that make things like punk rock so appealing.

8:14 (90)

Posted in Uncategorized on February 13, 2013 by darryl zero

I think the main reason why I love the film Home For the Holidays so much is because it doesn’t really have much of a resolution.

SPOILER ALERT

I’ve been watching portions of it lately and I realize that, when you really think about it, not much really happens other than a group of people gather in one spot, they realize they actually don’t really like each other all that much, and that their lack-of-functionality is really a larger symptom of the darkness of ambiguity of adult life being a fucking stupid place.  By the end of the film, all the characters realize the moments they have are the moments they have, and that dwelling on the things that might or could be is energy that could be better-spent immersed in a moment that you’d miss if don’t shut the fuck up.

There’s this montage at the end of the film of memories each character holds in their heart.  My favorite is the one the crazy aunt has in which she kisses her sister’s husband–while it’s not an “innocent” moment per se, the knowledge that she was able to have something she never could have, if only for a moment, is the only concrete thing in her crazy brain.  Perhaps that resonates a little too similarly to the frequency on which I find myself, but fuck it–it’s a shit thing to feel, but worthy of examination, and illustrative of something that needs mentioning: sometimes, a moment of understanding can feel like it’s worth a lifetime of meaninglessness, and that the simple act of connecting with someone else, not even in a complete or comprehensive way, just having a moment with someone else is the only goddamn thing that can make sense in a dark, ambiguous, apathetic world.

Time’s up.