Saturday, April 26, 2008

try drink, food, cigarette, the tension will not ease

The time I like is the rush hour, 'cos I like the rush
The pushing of the people--I like it all so much
Such a mass of motion--do not know where it goes
I move with the movement and...I have the touch

Eye of the storm where it's still and calm, until the wind whirls me away again. And why am I thinking of you? Mercurial mind, seeking a way out behind the bars, but why reach in your direction? Nothing's there anymore, nothing, even the fragments of your name folded away, packed out of sight.

I'm waiting for ignition, I'm looking for a spark
Any chance collision and I light up in the dark
There you stand before me, all that fur and all that hair
Oh, do I dare...I have the touch

I can reach ahead and find truth; to the side and find beauty; behind me and find strength; and I am well pleased and well matched. So why does my mind turn to you?

The puzzle of you. The unsorted pieces. The mystery, perhaps.

Pointless exercise.

Wanting contact
I'm wanting contact
I'm wanting contact with you

And it helps me in no way to hold you in mind. I can't live there anymore. I can't live drowned in your shadows, I have enough of my own that keep me from the light. And holding fast to your ghost gains me exactly what I think it will--fevered air and more distraction, worry and dark wonder, and none of these things will help.

Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Shake those hands, shake those hands

You're nothing that I need. Not anymore.

Any social occasion, it's hello, how do you do?
All those introductions, I never miss my cue
So before a question, so before a doubt
My hand moves out and...I have the touch

And the dance today I got through. And the dance tomorrow I'll get through. And the days to come I'll get through. And I'll do it all without your help.

Wanting contact
I'm wanting contact
I'm wanting contact with you

I don't need you anymore. That I did, at one point, I don't discount; that I thought I would always, I'll admit. I can't deny these things, they are, they were a part of me.

But I don't need you now.

Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands

And why it should hurt to say that...especially after all this time...

Spiral of wind pulls around me, lifting me off the ground, wrenches me in several places, and I let it happen. Tumble through the air when wings could save me, but mayhap, today, tonight, I'm not so much for saving.

Pull my chin, stroke my hair, scratch my nose, hug my knees
Try drink, food, cigarette, tension will not ease
I tap my fingers, fold my arms, breathe in deep, cross my legs
Shrug my shoulders, stretch my back--but nothing seems to please

Pinwheel through the sky, lilac fur and violet hair, yellow cotton and heather corset...only fetching up against stone stops me. I hold there, breathing, my hair whipping my face, eyes clenched shut, breathing.

I can do this. I can survive this storm. I just need to keep breathing.

And I don't need you to do it.

I need contact
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact

Slowly, laboriously, I climb down from the broken stone. Carefully, now, fitting palms to sharp cutting edges, working my way down. So many places, so many different ways to gain injury, and I'm refusing them all. If I have to measure my progress in inches over miles, it will be progress whole and unharmed.

At least physically.

And there's no need to hold you in mind. We draw close and closer to Beltane, when everything renews, and I am choosing not to renew any bonds to you.

I'm letting you go. It will be dawn soon, and the storm will continue to rage, but I'll find my way to safety. I know where safety lies, now, and it is within my reach.

You aren't.

Door's that way.

(Lyrics are Peter Gabriel's "I Have The Touch".)

No comments: