Of Prospect.

10 years ago Lou Reed announced the beginning of a new age. Where he was going, where we were all apparently heading was impossible to define. I can safely say by 2001 the new age had peaked. It is now 2007, we have reached the inevitable downward slope. I hit adolescence at the peak. And since. unconsciously, decided to exist with in a rigidly subjective reality.
Since 2001, I have had no idea what’s going on.
Just before 18 I moved south. From Chicago to Greensboro North Carolina. Chicago is more widely known than Illinois. The city od Greensboro could never overwhelm the state, not due to the majority of North Carolina being incredibly interesting, no one gives a shit about Greensboro unless they were born into it; no one should give a shit. There are three department stores, five thousand restaurants/bars, a blue neon night club that looks sadly undignified(not at all sexy) and head shops. Two head shops.
I fled Chicago triumphantly heart broken. I do not go a day with out contemplating a permanent return. Coffee here is close to worthless. There isn’t a thing to catch up with. There is not a thing I’m missing. Unless of course I plan on hoofing it to Chicago. If I had a car I can honestly guarantee a drunken, impulsive road trip landing me back where I belong. It is not the stupid things done in the midst of love. Just afterward. That’s what really lands you high and dry.
My dorm smells terrible. Something is either living or dying in the fridge. I am tethered and beating my self up about it, pacing in circles. I could just say end it. Throw my hands in the air and venture towards the sphere holding, somewhere, the man I still love. I could buy 5 cartons of camel lights, use one to buy an incredible amount of granola and the others to burn away on my own time. Get a bag, some books, soap, toothbrush/paste. Then feel my self breath low and long, filling, brimming, rattling with the excitement of free will. Chasing that which wakes me every day. He who I choose to ignore, and obviously could never. He is all I need. But I can’t take off like that. I have and 8:30 environmental class. A sesame bagel waiting to be toasted and shoved in my purse at about 8:15. I have a morning cigarette that always seems to put me back to sleep despite it’s chemical implications. I have a meeting with some higher up regarding Academic Dishonestly. And really, no place else to go. Then I heard my voice, “Does any of that hold any weight at all…”
The sky was alive the night I decided to slowly make my way home. I took some Benedryl then waited for sleep. On my ceiling with the lights shut off glow-in-the-dark stars were beaming through a coat of paint. I remembered the stars, we looked at the same sky no matter where we stood. I could not shake that which begs me to travel. His presence always echoed in the stars. They follow me on nights like this. When echoes keep me wide awake. The ring in my ear had only gone once, and for a moment, only at his voice. He gave me the most beautiful silence. I can hear my teeth grinding. And the sheets ripping at my sides.
I woke to a dove on the edge of my window sill. Stretching to see it sing, wave hello, I fell from my bed. The carpet was rough on my cheek as I laid there. A bagel on my elbow and a bloody nose. I stood, showered, and withdrew from college.
I leave for the city in a week. Few know, only those whoI adored and deserve to know I’m not dead. I might have a job. Maybe not. I might be twice as miserable. Three times as lonely. Either way I’m going, and every night, where ever I sleep, there will be freedom. The freedom of an irrational decision. The decision to move with out thought of consequence or concern for the future. Only a strong sense of direction. And a picture in my wallet of a love so dense it pulls me to circle closer, waiting for my core to shatter into another. I may never see him again. No matter how close. He is a ghost now, an echo. Still, he pulls me, something is pulling me back. He was always my freedom. My worst decision. My direction. It all makes sense.
It is 4:57 A.M. I fly at noon. It took 3 days to get out. 3 days to alter a life completely. 1 day to know, with out any second thought, that I was built for this. I have a very curious intuition. If I ignore my unreasonable, abnormal notions I think I might die. If I listen with out action I don’t think I’ll live. And then here is today’s experiment. An option I have never really considered as ever being phisible. If I listen and do. Simply(and pretty inaccurately and defiantly not literally) following ones heart. I have no assumptions, no expectations, and no rational justification. I have an internal kind of whim. A thin thread of hope. In fact very little chance at all of anything good happening. Still, I am crazy thus all of the above is over ruled due to a powerful shove in my chest. It could have been imagined, or aderoll, even a fucking cramp. It is likely that I have chosen to exist nestled inside complete delusion. The push was so strong it could never have come from me, only for me. A push like that can either knock you into your future or leave you crippled in the past. I could be wrong. But I’m probably not. I’ve always been wrong. New experiment, new formula, new method, new outcome.
During the flight my plane pulled up very drastically and very quickly. I found out days later the plane was 2 minutes from an in air collision at 30,000 feet. That eerie event very much sets the tone for the events to come. For example, thursday Matthew called me. He missed me. That statement has about the same magnitude as an in air crash at 30,000 feet. Suddenly fortune is friendly. This new life was meant to be lived quite well I suppose.
So his blood pressure hit about 196. The norm being 130. He had 6 cups of coffee, 20 mil. of adderol, and two hot pockets. Matthew vomited out his car window after we pulled into a Burger King. I ran and bought water. The drive to the hospital was excellent. We hugged side streets and shoulders so he could empty his stomach. The pain in his head was so intense he became physically ill. We didn’t know about the blood pressure at that time. We both just thought Matthew was going to die. And after the devil would spring from his skull. He knew the nurse working nights in the ER. An old buddy from a mutual skate shop. He was covered in tattoos and gave Matthew a cat scan. I held him when he couldn’t open his eyes. It was a pain he didn’t understand. Something sudden and catastrophic. I could see every rib though his washed out skin. Curled and shaking, he looked like a child, a new bird yet to fly. I stayed all night in the 10 thousand dollar bed that moved with my shifting weight. And he wrapped around me as we slept. I swear I was his that day. The next morning he drove me home. I made him tea he played the piano we had a cigarette. It was a repeat. That’s exactly what our first time hang out looked like. He left for work.
We slept together a few nights later. He picked me up and we drove to the ranch style in Prospect Heights where the 23 year old lived with his parents. it was like habit, like an assembly line. Screwing metal tops on jars of mustard, adding arms to a million dolls. Morning came with silence. He is was in love with Cale. She plays the flute and has endless brown hair. They are not seeing each other. I was fine. I felt no pain. He was just like every other nameless kid. Matthew was always more. This time. The last time. I heard it again “ does any of this really hold any weight, really any at all.”
From there I felt very strange.
Self reliance was a feathery lie before that moment. I began to feel it harden. Not heavily like rough bricks. No, it was rosewood, stained warm, very thick, it held firmly just below my blood. I began doing everything. I wrote music and played it, live. I tattooed “Hi Hi Chicago” between my hips after all that’s where it belongs. I turned down a Latin model. Biased on him not having a good reason for liking green more than all the other colors. And not specifying which, among the thousands of greens, enthralled him the most. Living dazed by the magic of boldness landed me in something I had never experienced. I understood comfertably numb. I was not in love and no one could provide a spark. The inspired youth in me began to drain away. I was very work oriented but, unlike before, there was no passion. I was happy and not searching for anything. Also not my self.
I could see the way I had changed. I lost track of how I was growing and what it effected while at Guilford. No one knew me. No one knew to mention it. I left my Peter Pan in North Carolina. I had grown up. I actually acted like an adult. I was fucking angry. The magic was gone. I was to aware of it’s prettiness. And now I can’t sleep. The magic is missing. Something is always missing. I am never sleeping. The day is never enough. But it’s 4:04 am. I can find no peace and have to be up at 8.
I was light, I was more.

Of Prospect.


Chicago, United States

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