Live baby live

Beck c/o Pitchfork

I could give you some witty buddhism but I'd rather give you... I want to remind you that making your own decisions is an active process that most people never participate in. Let's go back to an early moment. Shall we? In order to lose your temper and patience you have to care about someone or something... and in order to restrain yourself from losing your temper or patience you have to realize what someone or something really means to you. Crazy. Logic sucks, love doesn't. Love more. Logic less. Am I done? No.

A friend of mine, is a snapper. Snaps people in the loveliest moments, but he wanted to do something different. A while back I said why change what works for you. And he didn't. It still works. But it's not about him. What? The question isn't what, it's why? I'll go on... I wanted to quit writing. My friend and a few others suggested I change what I do and how. But it's not "what" is it? It's the why? Why can't you do it? It's me and how I let things affect me. So I continue and my advice to you: continue what works for you. Take in what you are given on the journey and release what doesn't work for you. 

The story is something I wrote a few years ago. Like most of the stories... I'm not in a place to share the new. There is new. It will come though. As an artist we are often not in a place to share and when the time comes, it does. I digressed. There is a time when people in our lives harm us, they dare to harm us, intentionally harm us.  There are times when people don't mean to cause us unhappiness, yet they do. Do we return the pain? Back to losing one's patience and temper. If you don't care, you can't be upset. The minute you realize you're invested, irritated and yelling, guess what you can't go back. It's in the same minute that you realize you can't hurt someone too, because you care. But do you take their shit? No. You do not.  Just like finding what works for you... you take what works and release what doesn't. And sometimes a person or thing you care about has to be the one thing you walk away from hurting. Love yourself more. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, 

m. 

Before it destroys you... (Live and let die)

(1-20-2011)

“Kill him.” Jesse says. “For fuck’s sake what are you waiting for? DO IT!”

My hands shake with the very thought of it all as I hold the blade. Three feet from me sits the very object of my affection. Bound, gagged and blindfolded. He isn’t bothering to say anything as I stand listening to Jesse screaming ultimatums to my near left.

“You know you want to. Always killing. Destroy him like you did the others.”

It all seemed harmless enough.

It always does though in the beginning.

Somehow it’s become him vs. me and I’m winning. Where winning feels more like losing.

Now here I am holding the knife. Getting ready to place it to his head and slice in. That beautiful head I once placed hundreds of kisses upon is about to meet its last kiss goodbye from the tip of my sharp blade. Shaking as I prepare myself for what must be done. Inside the aching grows while the tears begin to fall. Silently I wait for him to start to beg for his life, and it never comes.

The executioner falls in love with her victim. The tables have turned on me and here I am. Unable to move while the rant continues to spill out. Words that knock the wind out of me more and more with their direct intent.

“END THIS NOW!”

“I can’t…” I tell him. “Please. I don’t want to.”

“What the hell is your problem?”

“I don’t know. This is so hard.”

“It’s simple. He hurt you then left you like all the others. KILL HIM!”

“Not this time. He’s…”

My hand continues to tremble fiercely as I clench the handle of the blade. Looking down I can see the reflection of my lover. His tied hands shake with a stillness that isn’t unlike my own. The thin line of his lips rests around the gag as his breathing grows faster and quicker.

I don’t want to do this. But to show mercy at this point will only give confirmation of my feelings. I’ve never spared anyone the wrath. Not even Jesse. He’s been wounded by my own hand more times than I could ever count. This is different. There's this feeling inside that I can’t break free from.

“He’s no different than anyone else. Do it! Destroy him like you did the others.”

He was right though. I can’t lie. There were the others. I always killed everything. Not merely destroyed, laid waste to anyone who had crossed me. And now it wasn’t working. Here I am standing over another one and I can’t do it.

I shake my head, put down the blade and scream where I stand. This pisses Jesse off further. He doesn’t understand and I can’t make him see this my way. He reaches down to pick up the knife and hands it back. I still don’t want it. My hands keep shaking. And I can’t stop crying.

“I don’t want to. It's too new. And it’s not like…” I shove the knife back at Jesse.

He presses the knife into my hands. The cold precise blade sits between my fingers and I can’t. Quietly I look into Jesse’s eyes and release another wave of tears.

“You have to. YOU’LL NEVER BE FREE! END HIM!”

And I know he’s right. It’s my salvation. For some reason I’d rather lock myself back in the cage of destruction than kill this one.

There’s nothing left to say. It doesn’t matter what I want or don’t want. There is only one way out.

I walk towards him. He’s not struggling. I can see the sweat from his head slowly spill down his forehead. He looks as though he wants to me to do this as I approach. Standing over him I can’t breathe. He leans his head upward and back towards me. The tears are fresh down his face. I can’t see those black eyes but I know what they look like beneath the blindfold. The thought of their redness sends a shiver down my spine. Soon, this will be over.

“Why can’t you do this?” Jesse screams.

“I don’t know.”

“Destroy him. The same way he’s doing to you.”

“Why are you making me do this?”

“What choice do you have? You said he hurt you and it kills you. Make him pay for what he did!”

The knife is still in my hand. Every time I run my finger down the sharp edge I lick the top of my mouth looking for a memory. Desperately trying to remind myself what his kiss felt like.

I know I don’t want to do this.

Instead I want to touch his face with my bare hands. Letting my fingers trace through stubble before caressing his lips. After rubbing the back of my hands against his cheeks l lose them in the length of his hair. I want to run my hands through his hair. I want to hold him and find his kiss one last time.

“Please. I don’t want to kill him.”

“Look at what he’s done to you! You’re no good. You have no choice. Before this destroys you. You need to do it.”

In the end I know I don’t have a choice. If it’s going to be him dead or me dead, let’s just say I’d rather be the one living; the one that chose to feel and that's exactly why I'm walking away.