godspeed you black emporer - the dead flag blues
pasithee-deactivated20110527 asked: Your writing is beautiful, I absolutely love your blog.
Thank you so much. I would love for you to keep reading, the days trickle on and sometimes I feel as if I am running low on things about him to write about but there is so much more to come. Also I would like you to know that every time I see your icon on my dashboard I take the time to read what it has to say.
She also questioned the deceased. Their last thoughts, their final dream. And then into eternity… into darkness…. oh my love, I wonder these things every day. Were you thinking of me? Could you smell my hair and did you feel the nape of my neck against your lips? Were my hands warm around yours and was the moonlight seeping through the blinds? What were your final dreams my love? Were you falling or were you flying? Were there angels or were there just smiling human faces? What filled your vision just before your last breath? Did you turn your face towards the sky and accept the light? Did you tread on clouds or did you find your lost dog or did you kiss the sun upside down?
Was it warm? Did sunlight shine on your face and did you curl your toes and close your eyes in bliss? Was it comfortable? Did it feel like my soft touch, or like the spot between my breasts where you would lay your head? Was it soothing? Could you feel, one last time, the sand between your toes? A cold breeze against your cheeks? The grass between your fingers at the crossroads, and the smell of the flowers for me on the kitchen table?
Or… was there simply nothing?
I realize there are some questions that just cannot be answered but I really wish someone would have the courtesy to just tell me already. If God is really there, then he is a coy bastard.
I was perusing the internet today, almost mindlessly and don’t we all come to a point where we are curious enough to google those words we secretly looked up in dictionaries as children… I came upon a blog post, a woman wondering about dying in your sleep. She said, “Imagine, going to sleep with your loved one… imagine, waking up next to them and they are not breathing… imagine, trying to wake them up over and over and being unsuccessful…” A lump caught in the bottom of my throat while reading, as she built this terrible scenario of what must happen if you were to find your love stuck in eternal slumber. What must POSSIBLY happen, and how empty and terrible it MUST BE. I was very unsettled by reading this, as I realized everything she described in her imaginary scenario and everything she was wondering about actually happened. Perfectly and in chronological order, too. This disturbed me to no end. I wanted desperately to write her a letter saying, “YES, yes it’s all true and it’s positively awful and I would never wish it upon anyone.” I couldn’t find an email address or any form of contact information so I guess she will never know the truth.
Today, I waited for you to come home from work. Like always. I slept until 2pm, I routinely took a dramatically drawn out bath and sprawled out on the couch in nothing except your button down Oxford shirt and I waited. I heard the gate, my heart leaped but I remained complacent because I knew it was just your roommate. Like always. He mumbled a forced hello as he tried not to stare at my legs and made his way up the stairs only to disappear into his room for the entire night. I poured a glass of wine, I held a conversation with your dog, I rolled a joint for you and I and then eventually my eyes got heavy and I began to doze off again. I rose from a half-slumber by the creaking of the gate, once more. This is where my heart begins to beat wildly, where I know my patience has paid off and I’ve earned myself this little treat: you. The clutter of the blinds banging against the window panes, the squeak of your work shoes, the door shutting softly and I’m excited enough to sit beaming like a fucking fool waiting for you to turn the corner. And then there you were, smiling just as wildly as I was. Like always. You said nothing because you really didn’t have to, you just spread your arms out in welcome and continued to grin. I bounded off the couch and collapsed into your arms, you smelled like hand lotion and cologne and I buried my face into your stupid striped polo shirt and you tangled your fingers into the backside of my hair and put your lips on the crown of my head and we swayed back and forth… like always… Blissfully, back and forth and still smiling just as fiendishly and your embrace is the reason why I am so undeniably happy. You asked me if I missed you. I giggle at the thought… because you make it sound so placid, love, I didn’t just miss you… I fucking craved you. I am starved of you five days a week for nine hours each and every day and the hunger for your touch is overwhelming. It is very much agonizing, I pray every day that you will be home even an hour earlier so I might be driven just a little less crazy. I am consumed by the want for you, planning my every movement and action around your arrival. I long for the release that is you, turning the corner and smiling that FUCKING GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING BEAUTIFUL SMILE and blinking those huge blue eyes in my direction and opening your arms for me to be enveloped. You pull away from our embrace, kiss me on the forehead and tell me you’re going to be right back, you’ll be just a moment. You disappear around the corner once again.
I woke up and you were gone. You were never there. Nothing is ever real, is it?
wordsandturds asked: thank you so much! i was just thinking the same about your blog--very interesting, very well-written. bravo!
why, thank you. continue to keep me entertained with your sexual exploits. :) i love it.
I remember it all, every sideways glance and every raised eyebrow paired with a lascivious sneer. It was nice to know what I was to you because there was never any point in me asking. It was all completely understood, and maybe you whispered it to me in dreamy states but what I know for sure is what your eyes told me: I was the most perfect devil with the voice of angel. I was exotic and tribal but I just never bothered to paint my face for war. I could put a spell on you from across the room. I could strike you down with one brown-eyed hex. I could be musical and I could be free and I could be sweet to taste and I could talk about God and you know I could stop you cold in those thigh high stockings. I was your Venus de Milo emerging from the waves and I will step outside of my shell only to leave you a pearl on the soft palate of the remains. I have curves to fit into your hands perfectly and velveteen legs that coil around your body like a Fibonacci spiral. A touch like cashmere, it was ankles rubbing against the side of your earlobe and tugging on your piercing. It was tracing a finger along the outline of my figure. It was nails biting down your back and forgetting to take my stockings off. It was pink lips on your forehead and reptilian hips slithering along the wall and crimson nails between creases of bunched up white sheets and satin pillow cases. Do you want to go downstairs for a smoke, now?