it's easy to look at the big picture and see all the missing pieces. but when you start to take it all apart, when you start to remove the pieces that are there, you realize how much you value them all. people do their best. sometimes we forget to try. sometimes we forget how much we value all those little pieces. last ditch efforts are better than none at all, are sometimes the most successful. love and places and faces are irreplaceable.

Somjai Setabul

In 2002 a woman in Thailand went to the zoo, nonchalantly strolled to the crocodile enclosure, climbed atop the fence and dove in. When at first the crocodiles ignored her, she swam to the closest of them and hit it in the face. The crocodiles then tore her limb from limb. She never made a sound. She never said a word.

Her husband had cheated on her.

I think of this woman almost every day. Some tragic modern-day Daphne. The ways we treat each other. The ways we destroy ourselves over something so precious as love.

It happened again 3 months ago.

It's a story that my mind cannot seem to escape.

this is so much harder than i ever could have anticipated. and i was worried already. how do you just let go of love? how do you just let go? change is hard. the hardest part is knowing what you're missing; knowing what you'll miss. simple things. coming over and eating all my food. complaining about my couch. texts goodnight. joking about his coworker. quiet presence. touching hands. hoping for more.

Loveworn

for all the trying that we do, we are worn out. we may have worn this out. i wear it around, like a stain or a scar. and all this thinking erodes through me, till i'm brittle bones and bad decisions, all for you, all the time. it sharpens down into a point, and at a certain point we're just stabbing ourselves. it gets so narrowed down so small it almost disappears. almost. for all the trying that we do, there's nothing more that i can do for you. there's nothing more except a hello, and then a goodbye. i am worn out from love.  i am worn out, love. i am worn love. loveworn.

the rain is almost snow. so cold it burns. all the christmas lights on crane carving up this part of town, how they shine down on us. taunting of promises never kept. looming over us. you loom over me. taunting of promises never kept. i narrow down. this used to be so big. where'd we melt off to? so cold it burns. loveworn.

One Night in Hongdae (part 14)

I could barely see straight. We made our way through the crowds of Korean hipsters, all toting beers, neon and designer handbags. People stopped us sporadically, to ogle, to take photos, to scream, "Yeah America!" We stumbled along the streets amid a blur of bright lights to an old, unassuming office building. The lobby was white and barren and in ill repair. A handful of drunk girls leaned against the wall adjacent to the elevator, giggling and slurring. Korean slurring sounds infinitely sloppier than English. Scott pressed the up button and I looked around for some clue as to what we were doing there.

Being relatively new and high as a kite, I didn't want to ask any stupid questions. Perhaps someone had mentioned needing to stop by an office and I had just missed it? Was I hallucinating? Had I drunk too much of that strange man from the park's wine? Drinking strange wine from strange men in foreign countries where people don't speak English probably isn't advisable. Perhaps this was my punishment? Is this what ruphies feel like?

The elevator doors opened and we all piled in, along with the drunk Korean girls who had spent the better part of the wait staring at me. Wait, were they staring at me? Was I just paranoid? Were they even there at all? Wait, how am I drunk and high as a kite on GHB in Korea with a bunch of complete strangers? Oh my god, what have I gotten myself into? I need to pee. Robert looked down at me, "You're going to love this so much!"

The elevator doors re-opened on the 5th floor to another sparse and barren lobby. It was completely empty, not a door nor sofa nor table or window. Nothing except a large hole, that resembled a doorway, in the wall across from us. Next to the hole was an umbrella stand full of plastic bags. Am I in the Matrix? This is Lewis Carroll's worst nightmare. Everyone walked to the hole in the wall, where Scott grabbed one of the plastic bags and started piling everyone's shoes into it. He looked at me insistently, holding the bag open. I hopped around awkwardly trying to slip off my shoes for what seemed like 20 minutes but was probably closer to fifteen seconds. Robert finally pulled them from my hand and dropped them into the bag, "Let's go monkey."

And that's when we all walked into the hole in the wall which led immediately to an old, rock spiral staircase. We walked up two or three flights of this ancient stairwell in a hole in a wall in in an ugly office building with nothing in it, lost amongst the busy and drunken streets of Seoul. And then, then we emerged into a cave. Seriously. At this point I knew it wasn't the drugs, because there was no way I nor my mind could have made this up.

The music was blaring and echoing through this large complex of caves with stalagmites and tiny fires and narrow riverbeds. In the center of it all a giant mosquito net hung from the highest point, full of people dancing in the ice blue light. We passed the bar and found an empty cavern full of pillows, where we tossed our plastic bag of shoes. And that's when details get blurry. I remember ordering two Hites at the bar, "Cum saw hominy duh Hite" I stumbled over my over-thought words while holding up 2 fingers. The girl behind the bar giggled, and I giggled back unsure of why I was giggling but feeling it was probably the appropriate response. The I handed her $100 instead of $10. Robert smiled, said something in Korean, then handed my money back to me.

I remember the really sweet but stupid girl from Maryland, who I convinced I was a beaver trainer at the zoo.

I remember seeing the two girls who were on cycle 7 of America's Next Top Model. "Monique, theyerr on Ant-M."

"What?"

"Sorry, I'm so fucked up right now and I have to poop so bad."

"Me too."

I then took a moment to try to repeat myself. I had to concentrate hard, "They. Were on. America's. Next. Model. Top. Top Model. America's Top Model."

I don't remember who, but someone chimed in with agreement. Then Monique and I walked over to say hello. That conversation was a total wreck, but somehow resulted with me making out with one of them. Incidentally, two years later in a bar in San Francisco, I would run into the other one. I happened to be drunk at the time and just ran over to here screaming, "I made out with your friend in a cave in Korea!"

I remember peeing in a waterfall and then talking about how amazing it was to pee in a waterfall in a bar and how all bathrooms should have waterfalls to pee in.

I remember dancing in the mosquito net.

I remember being told that Koreans don't practice public displays of affection, so I should stop making out with that America's Next Top Model girl.

And everything else is a blank tape. Until morning, when it was horribly bright, disgustingly hot and all I wanted to do was vomit and then die. I downed a banana milkshake, some shitty coffee and a piece of stale toast before we made our way to Seoul Tower for some traditional American tourism. Did I mention that I wanted to die? I really wanted to die.

We got off the subway and took a taxi up a long and winding road. It was so long and so winding. So many turns. So much turning. For so long. My body and stomach swayed with each turn. Monique stared out the window while Robert giggled at my pain. We got out at the base of the tower, where we waited in an incredibly long line that wrapped around the tower. And this is precisely where I threw up on one of Korea's most famous national monuments, in front of hundreds of people.

We flew to Bangkok the next day.

Pour Me Another's

People don't have patience for sadness, if not for a fuck or a kill or to laugh. They throw lots of tiny, colorful pills at us. Smile or something, it's a gift. Spin it into a sinew. You frighten off the strangers. Bury it into the voices in the background, all the clanging of glasses and pourmeanothers. Keep it to yourself. Burrow in for winter, for winter's sake. Anything free is hard to swallow; it won't be enough to be rich. People don't have patience for sadness, but they love to watch us break.

Things He Didn't Say

he said, "i love your tattoo. you know you're beautiful, right?"

i smiled meekly and dug my heels into the ground. someone find me a glass of wine.

Funeral Shoes

I slide my shoes on, they feel like funeral shoes. I deny. I bargain, too. I hope, out of habit. Sitting front row, witness to the passing of a life not fully lived. They say it's something like a rite of passage. And time has passed by so quickly, while I've been holding so tightly to hope. Hoping he holds on so tightly out of more than just habit. And if I could spend a day inside his head; a quiet ghost. Instead I clomp around in funeral shoes, the sound of singular footsteps echoing louder than ever. My presence echoes, even when it's been so long since I've been touched that I feel like a ghost. Some rowdy spirit haunting this place; these old, persistent bones erect out of habit, out of hope. One day I'll float from all this. But not today.

I keep having these dreams where everything is as it should be. As anyone would hope it could be. Where he tells me he loves me. Where he means it. Where he means all the things he says. Where I feel real, tangible.

One day I'll float from all this, out of habit, out of hope. But not today. Instead I slide my shoes on, like funeral shoes. I deny. I bargain. I hope, out of habit. It erodes from the inside out. One day he'll be able to reach right through me to grab a beer or book or blanket to keep the chill away.

It's so cold my lips swell. What good would they do? What good could they do? My presence echoes.