Tag Archives: conversations

Fractions

We were nearly to the middle

Of what should have been said

But I pulled out my phone

And wrote this poem instead.

No halfway point

Is a hopeful place to stay,

For you will keep plopping

At each halfway along the way.

Fractions don’t end,

And neither will this,

For avoidance when achieved

Is bliss.

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An Ode to You All

I’d just like to extend some thoughts here concerning my peers, heroes, lovers and haters here on wordpress.
When I started this blog I had considered making it private. I assumed that the minute I realized others had access to my thoughts and some idea of my day-to-day life, I’d freak. Fucking panic. Why? Well it should be obvious by now. But just to give you an example of my (un)usual behavior toward my own written words —
For weeks I was convinced someone was paying my roommate to steal my secrets. I quit speaking to him but there’s only so much I could divulge verbally anyway. The real query here was my journal in which I’ve got crazier shit written than you’ll ever see here.
I was certain it was going to be stolen.
So I spent two days hiding myself and my journal in the closet with a fucking kitchen knife in hand. Dark. Even wore earplugs and a blindfold although it was unnecessary. That was one hell of a trip. Of course Rex was entirely uninterested in my bullshit ramblings and hardly noticed my absence.

My therapist had told me a few months ago that my poetry would be a great way to make a connection with the world. I dismissed the notion. I sure as hell wasn’t going to read my shit at the coffee shop while some hippie plays the bongo drums.

July though, that month was a strange one for me. It brought its own unique little relapse to the forefront. This time there was less paranoia and more of a neurotic/dazed/drunken/roofied thing I had going on. By the end of the month I had opened a public WP account.
When I noticed what I’d done a few days later, (albeit a temporary lucid state), I just shrugged and thought, what the hell. No one is ever going to read this shit anyway. I’ll post what I want when I want. I’ll make this blog for me. Fuck all the rest. If I simply remain my usual, crude, crazy, fucked up self it’s inevitable people will realize I’m not worth much of their time.

Turns out other people are crazy too because, well fuck, I guess there’s some sort of validation that comes from the publicity. My fanatic narcissistic side doesn’t mind it much either but I manage to keep that part of me quiet most of the time. Not important.

This is a shout-out to everyone who has taken the time to read. Everyone who has shared their own poetry and granted me countless hours of enjoyment.
My poetry books were growing a bit stale.
A little of all your various creations I’d not hesitate to list right next to Yeats, Milton or even Dante. Fucking Dante! You people. Holy shit.

Also, surprisingly I’m enjoying giving and receiving feedback; conversing with you all. Special thanks to the two of you who have managed to share some philosophical discussion in the midst of my own dull-ache-boredom.

I wasn’t always like this but now, I guess I prefer social situations to retain a degree of separation. Fuck, I still like people. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just quite a chore with my disease/curse to be around someone face-to-face. Words and inflections, and eyes and eyebrows, and expressions and gestures and everything that goes along with any personal encounter. It short circuits me. I just can’t sort all the information out in my head at the speed of conversation.

But online, chatting and connecting is infinitely easier. There is only one thing for me to sort out, and it’s the one thing I’m most comfortable with. The written word. Can be read, re-read, pondered. . .all without the other moving on in topic without you. No one sees when confusion sweeps over me. No one notices my strange tics either.
I feel normal when those barriers are removed.

So, I’m glad to have everyone around. Even if you simply read my blog and never like or comment. Even if you just stumbled on this out of the blue. Don’t care. You’re all alright in my book. For today at least.

Sleep deprived. Need to leave in a few minutes. Glad I set an alarm on my phone to remind me or I would have sat here typing for eternity. Like a chimp writing Shakespeare’s classics.

— J T

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One-Sided Conversations

My roommate arrives home from work and before heading upstairs, slows for a little one-stop hello. A typical day.

“I’m exhausted.” he tells me. “They picked the hottest day of the year to send me running around on the docks.”

I don’t say anything. Just doing my good ol’ you-can-confide-in-me-if-it-helps act.

He turns to go upstairs to his room, pauses, and instead pours himself a glass of iced tea, walks over and sits on the couch.

“Well, at least I have a job.” he finally says.

This brings to my mind a memory of my own life. A time, not at all long ago, that I was homeless, sitting under a bridge, and I remember thinking to myself: at least I don’t have to work. 
I find the complete contrast between us amusing and my own wanderings hilarious. I decide to share this thought and I begin to laugh out loud. Perhaps too loudly, because it seems R has moved on to an entirely different subject, talking a mile for a minute, and I’m left wondering how long I was left wandering in my own thoughts.
Conversations throw me off sometimes.

And I’m pretty sure I do the same to whoever dares to speak my way.
It’s a good thing he expects insanity from me, or I would have a lot of explaining to do.

He never asks me to explain. He would rather talk about work and cars and shit. 

Could be why we’re friends.

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