cutting great neck

write something that no one will read,
that no one will think was written. upset
that she’s leaving
and that we’re left to fend for ourselves,
claustrophobic
without patience
godless, yet fearful

these are the moments
that try souls, like a battered
body after a long hike,

with only oneself,
nobody you want around
and knowing that this
is what you’re gonna have to live with
for the rest of your life,
for the rest of these months
and weeks
and days and hours and minutes,

sometimes
overcome with emotion,
sometimes overcome
with loss, with the loss
of something physical, tangible
like the folds in a forgotten sofa,
the wrinkles of hands;
and something
mental,



because someone hates you, and they think
you don’t know.
overcome
i write something
so angsty i’d throw up reading it
only for the sake that perhaps
i’d gain some ill-gained sympathy
and that could help me
move on.

i’d never want someone
to ask me what happened

because sometimes
everything happened.

sometimes even the merest loud laugh
rattling from the kitchen
could set your soul off trying.

fade into you mazzy star.



i remember driving around in the mountains in the desert somewhere, east of san diego, perhaps driving back from death valley or utah or big bear. a long black valley expands forward as you drive on the edges of its bulky red mountain borders, the road like some kind of ribbon that seems to slide into the mountain valley and the car just an infinitesimal speck riding on it.

it was sunset and the wavering maroon shadows of the sky pooled across the valley. we were alone on the road, the solitary witnesses of the purple dying fizzle of the sun. sometimes a car curved out into the road ahead of us from beyond a mountain; white orbs danced from behind us once in a while.

i love the desert, the mountains, the valleys for that reason. the pine trees glowed like embers. streaks of orange light corralled along the cliffs and died down into a blue obscurity.



and fade into you comes up on my zune.

--how can i say it? listen to the song for a moment: torched strings that peel away in the rural night, when only the cowboys hear 'em--the way they seem to fade infinitely away into the melody, into the clattering bells and into the hounding voice, the one that seems so, so resolved, so resigned, and yet it persists, it sings, it--it reverberates and echoes.

it's beautiful.

and the combination of me in the car, from this polarized window, all alone with the music looking out into the dying rays of the sun in this lonesome, empty green valley, with the haunting solitariness of this song...



---

i remember this because my zune broke apart very recently and i was just reminded of it after the song came up on itunes. and this memory has remained with me for no reason at all, one of those insignificant details of life that accidentally leaves a mark.

Monday January 19 2009 early early in the morning


the night is closing in on me.

the snow is smoothing.



frank sinatra croons jazz in my ears, his words like feathers dancing, playing in and out of shadows.

i am forgetful, old, prococious. i am a wonderer.



i said something bizarre to this girl today.

"i don't believe in god
and he's punishing me for it."



i am a paradox.



how can god punish me
if he does not exist?

how can life punish us
if we do not exist?



i went outside today.

in the snow, bitter and white and blankety, soft. it hardens in your fist. it smooths your eyes, jades them. it's fresh, it's cool, it's comfortable. it's black skies above white, brown-hued snow.



i sleep in morning hours.


and now i think of madrid.

i don't know why.



i miss madrid. i miss europe. i miss life, lives, which i had not been able to hold, which i had been able to hold but had not held long enough.

i miss persons whom i had not been able to hold long enough.



i feel so alone. so worthless.

Frank Sinatra - My Way

recently read Bono's nytime's column, downloaded my way. and i liked it. i understood it. i felt its force. its sheer, human force. and i've been thinking how different i am from everyone and how lovely everyone still is.



i took a long walk today. two friends didn't want to talk to me. that's ok. i thought about life. about friends.



on facebook, i look through pics of old israeli friends. i see how different each one looks. how grown-up. how matured. how unlike me, how like me. how tremendously altered and ostentatious, so unfamiliar, tall, gaunt, square. and i think: do i look like that to them? what would i have looked like if i stayed in israel? who would i have been?



who am i now?