Unsent.

To whom it may concern,
Last night took me by surprise. The drop in communication was revealed. The sudden urge to stop talking to you was at its height. I'm afraid I cannot continue this friendship with me in this state. I cannot keep going feeling how I feel for you.
I cannot only be there for you (even though I would love to) when it is convenient. For years, I've seen you go from one person to the next while stopping by me in between.
I was willing to follow you but now I've lost my step.
I cannot bring this any further.
I have made you my rock, and I see you took that literally.

-Tyler.

Now, I find, I've changed my mind.

"It's morning", he says, "Finally."


I turn over towards the window and rain hits the pane. He crawls over me and gets out of the unbearably small bed and pulls his trousers on.

I pull the pillow over my face and I hear the door shut.

I try to get up.

I check my email, make some coffee, and my head is spinning. Theres empty pill bottles on the counter, and...well, other things.

My cigarettes are thrown on the floor among the records, and the papers, and the photographs.
One photograph I notice, and it takes me a few minutes to realize, is me. Smiling at the camera.
"Your teeth are fucked. Its kind of hot." he said when he took the photograph.
I pick up the photo and it pisses me off looking at who ever it is smiling back at me.

Who is that?

I rip the photograph and throw it on the floor. I stand in the middle of the messy apartment. My head is spinning faster and I break out into a sweat. I run into the bathroom because I feel last night coming up on me.

The mirror catches me. I see my sunken eyes, my messy hair, my gray face. I see my lips chapped, and my bones jutting out from my chest.

This is me.

I don't know where my friend went, or when he will be back.
I've got to get out of here.
I must get out of here.

Almost Morning

The rain washed the dirt off the balcony, and coffee stains sank into the table. My arms were sore and my breath was gone. I cupped my hands around the warm mug but for what? Coffee is no consolation.
The sun shone over the park and my partner rolled over in his bed across the room.
Breakfast in Manhattan.
Lunch in Central Park.
I don't have energy for all of these hours.

You are in Paris by now. Last I heard, you were boarding the train. Ha, I can see it now.



You're sitting in that way that you sit (half cross legged, with your hand by your crotch). You're reading Voltaire, or have the book laid on the table in the open-air cafe, with a cup of coffee, black no doubt, sitting on top. Not because you like black coffee of course, but because it makes more sense. You're talking to someone who worships you, as they all do. You're trying to use big words, but you're mispronouncing them. Actually, you keep using the same big word, maybe the only one you know. Arbitrary, I think thats the one.

You introduce yourself with your last name. It'll make an impact, you're sure, and you're proud of it. Well done.



arbitrary: subject to individual will or judgment without restriction; contingent solely upon one's discretion.



They'll find out though, because you're careless. Messy, as they all are. You haven't learned yet from our past or my past mistakes. But its alright. They'll understand when you tell them the others are friends you are trying to meet.

Suit yourself, but I'm not an idiot.

Come Morning.

Rest, now, he says
The city will wait
And you'll be better come mornin'

So I'll wait
And the city will blur
And I'll be ok
Come mornin'

I have a way of finding life
In the dead of night
But everything will be ok
Come mornin'

The streets will merge
And my arms will sink
Yeah, I'll always be just fine
Come in on the morning.

One morning in October.

New York is getting so gray. Outside the half opened window, the top of the buildings disappear beneath the thick fog. It's doing something out. Its raining, I think, when it should be snowing. Then, eventually, it does turn to snow. The weather keeps us locked up and unable to go anywhere. Its fucking freezing in this apartment and I have not eaten at all.
I crawl out of this bed and throw my jeans on.
Its 8:22 am. Fuck.

Reaching for the impression.

He called upon it. Now he felt the land under him moving with the wind. He moves from building to building, never leaving any trace. Another lover for the night. Another bed left half empty by morning. He never could stick around in one place long enough to recollect the memories of the night before. Therefore, most lay as blurs in the filing cabinets in his memory.

Memory has never been something he can count on. Still, as he lays in the grass he recounts the days and nights before. Lovers in the afternoon, leaving in the early morning hours.

He thinks of his loved ones, and the other men laying in the grass thinking about other nights where they were ghosts. Just passing through. Untraceable. Unmentionable. Silent voices whispering into other ears. Deafening.

The sun sets on him, and he knows the time has come. Its time to hang up those boots and walk into the arms of a steady-ness that he has been so longing to embrace.

No longer an object of sexuality. His body may never feel the same, but he welcomes it. His body breathes a sigh of relief knowing it will no longer be abused by others, touched by cold hands, wrapped in sheets that aren't his.

Now, hes reaching for the impression of a warming. It may not last, but they're all willing to take that chance.

A day in May.

May 21st, 1996. I was 7 years old. My family packed up the saab and headed for the south. Brett had just died. My mother lost her baby. My father lost his third son. They were escaping. Me, my brother Glenn, and my sister Caroline were just going along for the ride.

Headed south. Towards Melbourne, Florida. That week was so hot. Heat waves set in. The whole ride down I sat smushed between between Glenn and Caroline with the windows down. The wind coming in blew through my hair and left me sitting there smiling. Thinking nonsense to myself.

My mom had a mixtape that was made for her. It was from her best friend and these two weeks were about having a good time. Especially for us kids. We had no idea at the time.

Speeding down the southern highways, backroads, passed peoples gardens. Flourishing in all different colors. Stopping at diners, ordering the same thing every time. My sister with her polaroid, taking funny pictures of me.

We would stop to stretch our legs and get some fresh air. Me and my sister would run the fields on the side of the roads. Middle of nowhere. Maybe somewhere in the middle of North Carolina. I took my shoes off, feeling the earth and the burning southern soil on my feet. All of the earth moving with me.
The fields were green, white, yellow. Talk about amber waves of grain.

Back in the car, speeding down the freeway. Mixtape in.
I remember it like yesterday. I can feel the heat still. The sunlight pouring through the open car windows.
The tape switched sides and side B started playing.

Suddenly, a womans voice started moving through me. Sweet and raspy, quick and smart.

"He's chasing tornados.....I'm just waiting calmly..."

Harpsichords start playing. Heavy with drums. Fast moving lyrics. The melody swaying through my body.

"Talula, Talula, you don't want to lose her...."

I think it was the first time I've really noticed music.

I felt a force pull through me. It was the best feeling of my life.

Then, I felt a feeling. I felt this message coming through the sounds. "Forget it. Whatever is on your mind. Just move with it. Move through it."

I felt relieved, light, a strange feeling . A good kind. A warm kind. I trusted it.

Talula was reaching through me.

That was the last I've heard of...I didnt even know who it was that song was by. I wouldnt find out for another 11 years, when she crept back into my life at one of the worst times of my life. Funny how she just turned up at those two horrible times.


I one day plan to tell Tori Amos this.





song referenced: Talula by Tori Amos.