Steam, Heat, and Rhythm (in the Backseat of a Car)

I'm standing on the edge of the world.

This comes later.

2.

I don't know what we're talking about.

There is a bottle of vodka sitting at my feet, and around me there is so much noise. So much static.

So many people.

Confusion.

"Look," someone says on my side. A girl. For some reason she is holding my free hand. I know I didn't come with her. I always come to these parties alone. I usually leave the same way. "This is what I mean."

She's talking to me, but like I said, I don't know about what.

I say, "Yeah."

She lets go of my hand, reaches inbetween my legs. I breath in, then realize she is going for the vodka. She twists off the cap,takes a drink. Holds it out to me.

"You have no idea what I am talking about do you? You're so fucking drunk that you don't know what I'm saying." She's looking at me. I'm holding the bottle to my lips.

I nod.

Take a drink.

"This is just like you," she says. She says it like we actually know one another. Her voice, it's a little bit louder than before. She gets up and walks away.

"Coming?" she says.

3.

It's a little later an we're in the back seat of my car.

Fucking.

She's on top and I can't see out of my windows. Can't really see her. She is going up and down, and everytime she goes up her head hits the ceiling. I don't think she notices.

She's just going up, down.

Up, down.

Up, down.

"Tell me something," she's whispering. "Tell me something."

I don't know what she means, so I don't say anything. She continues to bounce, and everything is spinning. I'm too drunk to be fucking. She doesn't seem to notice I'm not in to this.

Not into her. No pun intended.

4.

It's earlier.

I'm standing outside my house telling my parents that I won't be drinking.

Won't be doing anything that I've never done before.

Or that I want to do again.

5.

Back in my car.

She is still riding me. Going up, down.

Up, down.

Her head keeps hitting the roof. Everytime making a little pffff sound. Like rubbing you're hands on a pair of jeans.

"Say something,"  she says on the downward slide. I don't know why she wants to talk. It's not like fucking a stranger is something that really requires a converstation.

"Please," she's still whispering. It almost sounds like she is begging. Begging me for fuck talking.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Anything, I like it when guys talk."

"My name is...," It's all I can think of, and at least it makes me not a stranger to her.

She is going up, ridding me like she is jumping on a pogo stick. She doesn't say anything, and I feel her legs clinch on the downward pogo. Her body shivers.

And then she says, "Thanks. Go and ruin this."

She is pulling herself up and off of me. Pulling down on her skirt.

She opens the door, and for a split second cold air comes in when she steps out.

The door slams and I look out the window to see only the steam from whatever this was.

6.

I'm sitting in my car and I realize it's fucking hot. I look down and realize my pants are pooled around my knees. I pull them up.

Cinch my belt.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, look at the time, see it's past midnight.

I pull myself between the seats, take my keys and start my car. The radio booms out of the speaker. I always drive with the music turned up loud because my windows are always down. It's "Indifference" by Pearl Jam.

I turn the radio up, and wonder if I can even drive.

It doesn't matter. I know I will anyway.

I'm sitting, my windows are still clouded. I turn on my defrosters and my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket.  I look at the number. I answer, "Hello?"

"Hey," it's my best friend. "Where'd you go with ---?"

"Was that her name?" I ask, honestly curious.

"Yeah, you didn't know?" I can hear the smile in his voice.

"I guess not," I say and notice I can see out my windows now.

"So where'd you two go? She came back in, and she looked pretty sweaty man." The smile is almost a laugh in his voice.

"Listen,"  I say. "I don't really know what happened."

I hang up, and I put my car into reverse.

7.

It's sometime later and I don't remember the drive. I don't remember driving up Harbor and when it turned into Fullerton Road. I don't remember making the right turn onto Vantage Point and driving up the hill to where I am now.

Sitting in my car.

I open my door and start to walk to the place where I can see the world.

8.

Seconds later and I'm looking down at lights in places my feet will never touch. I see cars going from place to place, some slow, some fast.

Some sitting at stoplights, or making turns.

I am thinking about nothing. Not about what happened in my car. Not about the party I don't remember.

My head is still spinning, still in confusion from drinking.

Yet, it's clear.

Standing here, on what feels like the edge of the world, it's clear.

Clear.

Vanishing Act

i don't know how to say things i really should have said, or rather, i wish i could say things that i need to say. 

not sure where this is going. 

i guess after awhile that i really thought it didn't matter if you left or not, you wanted to,  and really that was fine. you wanted to get away, you wanted to just be away. i just don't know what you wanted to be away from. i don't get how leaving helps more so than staying and moving. 

just going forward at a better pace. 

you shouldn't have stayed for friends, i am not saying that. i just think there i more here... maybe not for yourself so much as in yourself. 

that makes no sense. 

i don't know what you have planned up there, i don't know what is there. 

maybe i just didn't want you to leave. maybe, i just didn't want to see another friend just go.

just pull some vanishing act where we drift, where you drift, and words become simple and complexities are lost. where it's just "how're you?"

"fine". 

vanish into some unknown where i cannot follow, or look into for fear of seeing nothing but loss.  i don't know.

i don't know, and countless question remain unanswered.

Unraveling Seems

writing really is a way for me to sort through thoughts that i cannot seem to sort through just by plain thinking. for whatever reasons, it seems that by writing i am more aware of my stream of consciousness than i am by just thinking.

---

over the last few days i have been wondering where things are going, just everything. i always wanted to know, always wanted my life to be like counting.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

like that, just one even after the other so that i know what comes next. and once i know, i don't really need to think. i can just live my life. just walk the line.

through fire and ice, i would be able to see death's disguise as it hangs on me. waiting, but no longer thought of.

---

best thing that has ever been said to me?

it is, and always will be, "i love you."

---

worst, of course, is, "i hate you."

from one person.

---

"there must be some kinda outta here,
said the joker to the thief,
there is too much confusion,
i can not get no relief"

---

you know, i threw away this folder last night, right after all the questions had been answered for better or for worse, and it was filled with poems.

all poems about a specific chain of events, that thinking, led me to the path i am on.

fucked up.

---

i was thinking about something you said, and all i said, but i don't know if anything has any meaning.

they are just words passing through fog of our minds, hoping for some reaction. hoping for some point of light to attach to like a moth.

---

i wish things were always okay.

but they seldom are.

---

i remember looking into her eyes and seeing a life i hated reflected back. maybe that is why i let things go the way they had.

maybe that's why i had no compassion.

---

don't ever tell anybody anything. if you do, you start missing everybody.

Edge of the World

i stand on the edge of the world and wait for the fall.

knowing it is coming and no words can stop the motion taking place.

i wait.

wait.

and slowly, across a distance of time i cannot begin to comprehend, the first tear rolls down my cheek.

and i know, looking over the edge of the world, that everything has changed. 

as the sun dips below the first horizon, i realize that time continues on without a thought of what is being left behind. 

drowned in the intervining years, i think, lost to some continuity i don't understand.

i watch, and watching, the tears continue to fall.

fall in pairs not quite parallel, and i realize that time is irrellevant.

meaningless.

motionless without its defining word.

Today...

...is sad.