all this confusion in our heads is going to bring us to our knees

(Note from the Editrix: Because these are mounting, sadly, I'm going to start generally indicating when they were written, as opposed to published. This one is from the 25th of July.)

Seen on Tintin Tuxing's profile:

Legend says that when you can't sleep, it's because you're awake in someone's dream. So if you could stop dreaming about me, that would be great.

So, the nights I get sleep are when people aren't dreaming about me?

Okay, I'll take that.



two weeks late like a surplus reprieve
I found a hair the length of yours on my sleeve
I wound it round and round my finger so tight
it turned to purple and a pulse formed inside

Self-destructive behavior is sort of one of my mutant talents, both conscious and unconscious. Most of the tendencies towards physical harm I've managed to grow out of, or burn out of me, more directly, but there's still a ton of self-destructive emotional behavior. I pin myself into prisons of my own making and then dare to complain when it's not easy to escape.

A former love in SL, long ago, told me that he'd never met anyone who was so dedicated to their own self-destruction. It's stuck with me all these years later, because...though it's never by conscious intent, he's not wrong.



and I knew the beat 'cos it matched your own beat
I still remember it, from our chest to chest, and feet to feet
the easy silence then, was a sweet relief to this hush
of ovens, aeroplanes and distant car horns

I haven't been describing this feeling as 'silence', I've been describing it as allowing me to breathe. That's still there, though overall, I can breathe on my own now, for the most part.



a fire, a fire, you can only take what you can carry
a pulse, your pulse, it's the only thing I can remember

I know I'm misinterpreting the songwriter's intent here, I do know what he's getting at, but that line struck me when I first heard the song, which made me go and dig up the lyrics for this entry. How much fire can I carry, after all? How much is necessary? Can I put it down, or do I need to wait until I'm consumed by the flames?

What happens then?



I break, you don't, I was always set to self destruct though
the fire, the fire, it cracks and barks like primal music

There does seem to be a pattern to this, the ebb and flow of an occasionally crucially indistinct life. I've come to expect it, after all, but then again...I think that's another reason everything hit so hard, because I'd stopped expecting the sudden drop after the major lift. Things had leveled out, things were (relatively) smooth, and...I saw no storms on the horizon from expected quarters, so why would I brace for unexpected ones?

I mean, other than hindsight, and expectations, but...I don't think I was paying attention, really.



I said I knew the beat 'cos it matched your own beat
it's become my engine, my own source of heat

It's a pretty conceit, that what we love fuels us. I don't entirely believe that; no one I have ever loved has made my heart beat, my lungs inflate, no matter how important they are, or were, to me. But they have been no less necessary in spite of that. Love, while never anticipated, is nearly always treasured, because it is a rare thing. Infatuation is everywhere. Lust, desire, they're everywhere too. But love--true connection, true adoration--that is far less common. It may not make my heart beat, but it does fuel my soul.



the sea between us only amplifies the sound waves
every hum and echo and crash paints my cave

This is becoming pattern too. Fire and saltwater, sound and echo, the engine's roar and the high, lonely trill of wind through barren trees. Even though we're moving from spring into summer, and no trees are bare. The patterns recur, flame and ash, water and wind. And I'm feeding bones and memories into the hopper as often as I'm pushing for the surface of the waves, gasping for air. The dichotomy is...jarring.

I never mean to leave the train, after all. Is it throwing me off? Or am I just lagging behind?



fire, a fire, you can only take what you can carry
a pulse, your pulse, it's the only thing I can remember
I break, you don't, I was always set to self destruct though
the fire, the fire, it cracks and barks like primal music

There was a night a bit ago, where I simply had to touch him. It had become imperative, as driving a need as breathing itself. It had been a very bad few days before that night, and I had spent many, many hours trying to argue myself out of it.

You'll just be raising expectations you can't fulfill.
It's just virtual, it's not real, it won't help.
It's silly. It's ridiculous. You're being excessive.
The more you give in to your whims, the harder it will be to detach.
Don't you want to make this easier, not harder?

But...when we finally did meet...and I slid my hand beneath his shirt...Virtual or not. "Real" or not. Whether any of my arguments were sound. I relaxed so completely, so suddenly, it was as if some unknown anaesthetic kicked in, and for that moment...I will not lie, I'd give a less favorite body part willingly to keep that feeling.



a fire, a fire, you can only take what you can carry
a pulse, your pulse, it's the only thing I can remember

And that was all it was, is the thing. I wasn't asking for sex. I wasn't even asking to tease him in any way. Just that one, simple thing--my hand, on his skin.

Chest, even, far enough away from any erogenous zones to not be perceived as any level of hint. Just that. I don't think it was even for an hour, even. But...if helped, immeasurably. I couldn't even convey how much at the time.



I break, you don't, I was always set to self destruct though
the fire, the fire, it cracks and barks like primal music

I can't survive like this.

(Pictures taken at Denmu's Japanese Tea Garden, Roji Obscura, Fuji Kyoka, Tuli's Moonlight Teahouse, Summer Tea House of the Windy Wind of the East and Tsunami. Lyrics from Snow Patrol's If There's a Rocket, Strap Me to It.)