There is something about our marriage that’s unraveling like a worn thread, waving in the wind. And as I watch it, all alone, I feel that strange pattern set in. It’s not a dance. It’s not a mystery. It’s a pattern. And I wonder if I cause it to occur. I doubt it. I think there is something of a ‘this is my lot’ in the air. Somehow I know that he is smarter than the rest, more loving, more enduring. But the truth has been so far something he doesn’t like to much a dose of. And the truth is the air that I breath. I know that you can spin it into prettier shapes. But yesterday was not such a day to do so and when he came down and dirty with me, I felt his judging eyes, his careless questioning, his neutrality that spanned through the air like a weird plane before my eyes. I never experienced it so up close. I had heard of it but I realized that there is a mechanism, a Libra-like apparatus, keeping a balance, not wanting to go much further than here or there at a given point. Whereas, I will go anywhere to get to the truth and root it out and be clean of it, with it, because I found it… I never did possess its ever-changing glory, the truth. It is constantly sought and constantly found and constantly set free into the air.
But this neutrality, this distance, this self-cause over here on the other side of a park bench. It was strange. Someone decides that his way is no longer the right one and everyone suffers. It’s not like we were criminals, a mob operation. And my guilt, it was not such a stranger to him after all, in fact he only thinks it is now, him and his powerful mind. Well the answers don’t all live up there, in the mind. There are feelings, puzzle pieces to add together. There are then the nul equations, the fractions, the exponents and then there is nothing – the white space around the edge of all of those black numbers, that odd illusion in black was so distracting and everyone is always looking at it. Always. In fact, you are looking at it right now, worshiping it and taking in the code … how will it change you? What will it make manifest? How will your body/cells/soul react to it?
What do the words mean? What did they ever mean? Those empty promises? As empty the day they were first uttered as they are now, when they tip over spilling dryness before my very eyes.
How can you treat a relationship like a building? Do you want to drive piles under my feet? Perhaps with that recycled material? Do you want to stabilize my heart, put some kind of caulk around it? Do you want to put clamps on my mind and use utility staples on my mouth? Why not? That might make me more manageable after all … somewhat of a living Barbie with all the feelings, looks and none of the repercussions. Heck, my lips would swell up, and if you wrapped them right, my boobs my bulge out the top of some tape. How about turning me round and fastening my hands and feet to some steel pillars so that I am like a superstructure? Then you can see my ass. Then you won’t hear my dirty, honest mouth.