tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24833459715144121762024-03-12T15:58:13.706-07:00another sad attemptjosh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-65250524930386329382013-06-26T21:45:00.002-07:002013-06-26T21:45:21.157-07:00Campaigns<br />
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I’ve been obsessed with the simbiosis of campaigning and self-loathing lately. The decay parlayed into something to sell, to show, to shroud. I’m drinking last night’s glass of wine and just noticed the tv’s been on mute for so long the same show’s back on. Oh, I’ve sat through so many loops. </div>
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By campaigning I don’t mean political in nature, although campaigning of every other sort can be political in course. Look it’s me. Look how great I can be. Look at me. </div>
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People confuse adoration with love. Be my fan. Love me. Little monkeys doing tricks for coins that line the pockets of people who couldn’t care less. Still they’re out there campaigning; selling themselves, selling themselves short. </div>
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I don’t know. I just can’t give it a rest. Everyone’s always begging for approval. And then the party’s over and you’re face is in the toilet and the cum in your sheets isn’t even your own. But at least you won the race, right?</div>
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<br /><br /><br />josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-46108343061389699652013-02-03T11:23:00.000-08:002013-02-03T11:26:03.630-08:00PathologicalPathology: it is not the intention of a path; it is the path of the disease. The two are often confused. His pathology is far-reaching; it reaches out beyond his bones and into mine, and into me. His loathing loads across the wires, a telegram telling me I am not who I once was. I am not who I once was. It is pathological.<br />
<br />
Misery loves company and we're an infirmary. We're firm in our armory. We've got all kinds of worded weapons for each other and ourselves. To protect our co-bedding; but this is not symbiosis, it is simply parasitic. I am trying to get well again; I cannot get well for us both. His poison seeps into the safety of coming up close. I'm getting loaded alone, grasping for ways to dull the pain. But nothing cures a cancer that can metastasize in time.<br />
<br />
We are growing older, but wiser none the same. His pathology reaches out to me, like a desperate plea for reprieve. His loathing loads across the wires, I'm a telegram disconnected; the message is there forevermore but lost in translation. There's nothing left but a handful of beeps blaring out into space. And the space between grows and grows at such a disparate pace.<br />
<br />
I am growing out of him, a cantilevered mass, like a bowlby baby who needs to be cut out of some suffocating grasp. I need him 'cause he needs me.<br />
<br />
The pathology is deep here; it is far-reaching. Loneliness is never intended. It just comes and grows and gains and goes from whence it came: Alone. So I'll tether myself to the wires all around me, and I'll double down, as swift as tension will subscript. He pulls at me; coiling and uncoiling. There is no simple path, simply the pathology of some terminal disease. Our intentions are all moot now; we are pathological.<br />
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<br />josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-86706925779538003912013-01-27T11:56:00.006-08:002013-01-27T11:56:47.432-08:00heartsi let him in, again, just like i knew i would. just like he knew i would. i liked it. i hated it. i hated myself for it. i loved it. for all the things i believe in, there are so many things i don't believe in. for all the trust i have for him, i have no trust in him. still i answer the phone, i answer the door. he took little pieces of me, so many for so long. there only but a few left. still i answer the phone, i answer the door. i am broken from him, i am weak from me. i am sick of this. i am in love with us. or who we used to be; of who we might have been. it's hard to have faith in anything. it's impossible to have faith in him. still i answer the phone, i answer the door. i don't even know who i am anymore. i was better before. i was better before. still i answer the phone, i answer the door. and in the morning he texts me hearts, like it means something; like everything is fine. and i'll know it's my fault. and that's all he needs to do. because i let him. because i answer the phone, i answer the door. how can i expect him to care for me, when i don't care for myself? i was better before. i was better before. i was better before. but the phone and the door. and hope. all that fucking hope. i should know better by now. but i was better before.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-77781372262904099892013-01-25T18:09:00.002-08:002013-01-25T18:09:18.923-08:00Fades Awaythe moon is full, my arms are empty.<br />
<br />
somewhere between fourth and sixth the urge to cry began to violently climb my throat. i held it in as best i could; i made it all the way to melrose. alone in the elevator, i finally fell apart. love, fade away. love, just fade away.<br />
<br />
every face looked so familiar, because none of them were yours. you are nowhere. yet, you are everywhere. in everything. you are all around me; i cannot escape. love, fade away. love, just fade away.<br />
<br />
nothing and no one is permanent. but how can something so deep inside me, so coursing through my veins, be gone? you are nowhere. you are everywhere.<br />
<br />
i am skin and bones and devastation. alone in this house, i am reeling; i am reeling myself into tight knots, heavy holds, creases over where you used to be.<br />
<br />
everything feels broken. all these useless bones. all those hopeful promises. what are we of this mess? what are we of this?<br />
<br />
love, fade away. love, please fade away. love, fade away. love, please fade away. love, fade away. love, please fade away. love, fade away. love, please fade away. love, fade away. love, please fade away.<br />
<br />
the moon is full. it means nothing. no surprises, no last stands, not even a ghost. my arms are empty now. i am empty now. i gave it all to you. everything, for you. every little piece.<br />
<br />
love, just fade away.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-58158336768054712252013-01-16T22:03:00.002-08:002013-01-16T22:03:33.662-08:00goodbye, hellothe sound resounds of your goodbye; a slow draw and slower fade. it fades throughout my day. a haze coming up from where the sound meets the sky, indivisible by the words you say and the ones i do not. we don't agree on much, but this is axiom. sometimes you drive me crazy, crazy, harshly, horribly. sometimes i cannot bear to be around you. sometimes enough is enough and i've had my fill. but i love you all the time. i think of you all the time. i thank god for you all the time.<br />
<br />
love is no easy task. love can destroy so many pieces of you, pieces you didn't know were there to fall apart. love is exhausting. but it is such a blessing. it is something to behold, to brave through. love is no easy task. but i love you all the time.<br />
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you're everywhere, all the time. you're everywhere in me, all the time. you kiss me and say hello. and after all this time, after all this... you kiss me and say hello and i still melt into a million pieces.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-79306919674978455512012-12-23T12:42:00.001-08:002012-12-23T12:42:10.758-08:00it'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.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-10494055942490669672012-12-22T15:30:00.001-08:002012-12-22T15:30:16.893-08:00Somjai SetabulIn 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.<br />
<br />
Her husband had cheated on her.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
It happened again 3 months ago.<br />
<br />
It's a story that my mind cannot seem to escape.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-35316332093745174142012-12-21T12:15:00.002-08:002012-12-21T12:15:21.903-08:00this 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.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-67705477700573847182012-12-19T18:15:00.002-08:002012-12-19T18:15:59.575-08:00Lovewornfor 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.<br />
<br />
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.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-48192957132154247402012-12-16T13:15:00.003-08:002012-12-16T13:31:37.577-08:00One 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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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!"<br />
<br />
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."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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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.<br />
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I remember the really sweet but stupid girl from Maryland, who I convinced I was a beaver trainer at the zoo.<br />
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I remember seeing the two girls who were on cycle 7 of America's Next Top Model. "Monique, theyerr on Ant-M."<br />
<br />
"What?"<br />
<br />
"Sorry, I'm so fucked up right now and I have to poop so bad."<br />
<br />
"Me too."<br />
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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."<br />
<br />
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!"<br />
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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.<br />
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I remember dancing in the mosquito net.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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We flew to Bangkok the next day.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-18467360277697230432012-12-14T17:50:00.002-08:002012-12-14T17:50:42.945-08:00Pour Me Another'sPeople 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.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-46185399909687216262012-12-14T17:36:00.005-08:002012-12-14T17:36:52.131-08:00Things He Didn't Sayhe said, "i love your tattoo. you know you're beautiful, right?"<br />
<br />
i smiled meekly and dug my heels into the ground. someone find me a glass of wine.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-76548522424780044022012-12-14T16:00:00.000-08:002012-12-14T17:34:03.545-08:00Funeral ShoesI 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
It's so cold my lips swell. What good would they do? What good could they do? My presence echoes.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-88971068750451359412012-11-14T17:47:00.002-08:002012-11-14T17:47:11.540-08:00Of Spinning Ceiling Fan BladesWhen he and I were still a we and we were still there, whenever we fought we'd lay on the floor and stare up at the spinning ceiling fan. We'd just lay there and stare until our hands found one another. I'm not sure how it happens to us as we grow up, but it stops being so easy. Ego, fear, a need to stand up for ourselves; something always gets in the way of muscle memory, of spinning ceiling fan blades.<br />
<br />
It's the same with books. It used to be so easy to read. Now I find I pick up a book and if it isn't what I hoped it would be, I get bored or frustrated and set it away somewhere to collect dust forevermore. I just can't seem to let it be what it is. I just can't seem to let it surprise me. Maybe I'm terribly afraid it never will. Maybe my will is a little too much, even for me, even for books.<br />
<br />
Here he and I are now, a we, still clinging to what and who we could be if we could just lay down and stare up and wait for our hands to find one another. I've watched him this past year grow into all these things I'd hoped he could be; for me and despite me. It's funny how we never see things changing; we only see them changed, surprised by quick glances in rearview mirrors as we reluctantly stumble from place to place and face to face. We wonder how we could have missed something so big.<br />
<br />
I wonder how I could have missed something so big. I lay out on my back, limbs akimbo, and stare longingly at the empty ceiling. I hope our hands find one another.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-46825345319647160742012-11-04T13:35:00.000-08:002012-11-04T13:35:23.199-08:00The Turtle + The SchoolbusI spent about 40 minutes trying to get a turtle out of a school bus for my boyfriend's 3 year old nephew. I have an innate need to solve problems. Even as a kid I was the family mediator, which was quite the task to take on. I dug around in that little school bus until my fingers bled. Sometimes what's stuck is just stuck. Sometimes you're the only one trying. And you realize you're trying so hard because you're the only one trying; because you refuse to fail. Maybe you've already failed. Maybe you fail a little more each time you try, each time your fingers bleed. You look around at an unmoved room. You spend so much time trying to get the turtle out, you don't even realize you don't care so much about the turtle, maybe you never did to begin with; you just needed to prove you could, prove you were worth it. But who are you proving it to and what's there to win?josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-5584202995729651142012-10-20T10:58:00.002-07:002012-10-20T10:58:50.189-07:00Magic(al Thinking)The tarps in the neighboring construction site flap like birds in the wind. I close my eyes and imagine storks. The dredging and the rain has perked up a family of frogs that croak beneath my window in the morning. The croaking of frogs and the flapping of storks and the sunlight trickling in between the storm clouds. We make the most of what we have.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-86037730580265761962012-10-18T12:56:00.002-07:002012-10-18T12:56:35.559-07:00LionsWhen we were lions, platitudes yet to slowly drift upon our tables. Grimaces only growing in the glare of the light shining in our eyes, like through vintage lenses, as we drive along highways to new old places. A swipe at any foreign hand that lingered too long. When we were lions, we'd lie down safely knowing we were impervious, permeating unto each other. A laugh, a link, a lakeside drive, a little less fear, a little more alive. Back when we were lions.<br />
<br />
Where now we bare our teeth and shrink beneath the wary welts we wear so well. We bare our teeth barely believing in anything impervious anymore. The road gets so big it spreads itself thin. And I can hardly reach you. Lions to outliers to a little more alone than before. I watch the road stretch along the horizon, away from you. I burrow down in any safe ground I can find; it's almost night. It's almost night.<br />
<br />
Back when we were lions, sturdy standing amid the moving lines.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-68927158403773433672012-10-17T17:57:00.001-07:002012-10-17T18:00:31.644-07:00FraudulentBroken stars are supernovas, are glorified. We shuffle stridently through each day, hoping we can one day glorify the damage done. And there on Facebook we face ourselves in light of the harsh light of so many other explosions to which we do not dare compare. We blindly look around at all these people, little celebrities in their own light. We are so silently watched. Trying to make the most of everything that surrounds us, in such tantalizing ways. Trying to feel the ways we hope we look. Only hoping we do not look the ways we feel. Broken stars are supernovas, are glorified. You can't help but feel like the fraud who's waiting to get caught. I'm always waiting to get caught, or just to catch on to everything around me that looks so sincere but feels so remote.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-71756327895857851112012-10-13T00:32:00.001-07:002012-10-13T00:32:49.724-07:00VersusIt seems so often we see the world as how it ought to be and dream of it as we wish it could be. As though it never occurred to us that it could be so grand as our own fantasies. We don't allow ourselves to deserve great things. We create the perfect pictures in our minds and decide those places can never be mine. Those pieces are much too much. Much too much for me, for here and now.<br />
<br />
Tonight was the first real rain of the season. The leaves come pouring down in droves and scatter across the sidewalks and out into the streets. All orange and yellow papier mache. The autumn smells grow stronger and last longer as day turns to night and we all scatter across the sidewalks and out into the streets. The Space Needle seems so much brighter; standing out in the distance, standing out a beacon to remind us that we're here. It's so easy to forget where we are sometimes.<br />
<br />
I breathe in that crisp, cold air and clear my head. You can almost feel it sinking in and cleaning out the fog of summer. It gets so quiet, my footsteps feel so loud. And I think about how it ought to be and how I wish it could be. The I do's versus the ideals. And how I let myself get lost in between them. Why am I so afraid to go after what is good. Why is it so hard to be good to ourselves? Why are we so afraid?<br />
<br />
Everything seems so surreal lately; like I'm watching someone else live it. Or like it's happening all around me, in spite of me, despite me. Suddenly you're 31 and you're not really sure how you got here. You start to make changes, but even the changes don't feel like changes. The days just look different than you remember them; the color's off, the stride has strayed just slightly off course in no unrecognizable way. And then you're just so far in that you forget to look out. And before you know it, you're face first in a pile of leaves wondering how winter tore through you and so many seasons so quickly. Late night coffee is back in season and you can start to see your breath again and all this time you've just been thinking about what happens next.<br />
<br />
We used to sit in the park and talk about the things we had in common, the people we'd slept with, the childhood traumas, the jokes we didn't think were funny. We'd sip recklessly on champagne and stare at the city down below; like we were watching it in a show rather than the backdrop of our days forgotten more fruitfully with each sip.<br />
<br />
Three years later we're all over the place and we're ever so better to ourselves and better to each other the best we know how. Still I wonder, why is it so hard to be good to ourselves?josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-25915315311383090572009-04-22T17:31:00.000-07:002009-04-22T23:48:04.678-07:00one night in seoul (part 13)our guesthouse was up a tight alley in gyedong, nestled just below <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Changdeok_Palace" target="_blank">Changdeok Palace</a>. the entire neighborhood is preserved by the city of seoul as traditional korean housing, including the guesthouse. we were greeted at the gate by two enormous dogs and a little, old korean man who spoke broken english, at best. it was all so charming. we walked through the large garden to our cottage, which was everything you'd expect of a traditional korean cottage. shoes lined the exteriors of each doorway, each door a sliding shoji. there was something so powerful about finally experiencing an image i'd held for so long.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tzeOrCVJ8CU/SfAN_QSMf3I/AAAAAAAAAI4/W5YXYgXkdIc/s1600-h/seoulhouse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tzeOrCVJ8CU/SfAN_QSMf3I/AAAAAAAAAI4/W5YXYgXkdIc/s320/seoulhouse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327773739533500274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;">seoul guesthouse</span><br /></span></div><br />i was permitted a brief nap, shower and shit. and then we were off. we walked the cobblestone road toward the subway, submerged in the depth of a summer unavoidable. even at dusk, the heat resonated, as i breathed in the swimmable air of an escape i'd never fathomed. when everything is foreign, distant and new, for at least a fleeting moment, your past exists on a separate plane. sometimes it's enough. soometimes it's all you need. i relished it, ear to ear. and the persistent buzz of the cicadas, like a wire torn in two, reaked of the disconnected circuitry i was feeling and existing in. it was so welcoming. so freeing.<br /><br />we descended into the subway, which was a world unto itself. a city beneath the surface; shops and restaurants in every cranny, crack and crevice. as most of the shops had already closed for the night, we were relegated to eyeing jewelry, taxidermy and knock-offs purses through the windows as we passed.<br /><br />while i have always lived in very diverse cities (portland being the exception) and had traveled quite a bit through mexico, i found it quite jarring to be so submerged in an asian culture. robert, monique and i were noticably the only non koreans in the station and on the train and seemingly the entire city. koreans brave enough in their english skills would approach us time and time again, asking from where we were traveling. each response of "america" garnered shit-eating grins, peace signs, and almost always a photo-op. i know this would seem an exaggeration, but i swear to shit, see for yourself. you'll feel like a celebrity. i can't even begin to imagine how many photos there are of robert, monique and i with random korean hipster kids.<br /><br />we arrived in the hongdae neighborhood around tennish. it is hands down the hippest neighborhood i have ever been to. it is essentially the mass convergence of hipster, pop, designer-chic and faux harajaku cultures all in fifteen or so square blocks. we drowned in a sea of neon, motorcycles, dolce & gabana and blaring korean and american pop music. there was nary an apartment or house in sight; merely block after block of bars, clubs, cafes and shopping that would make any sixteen year old girl cream herself: american apparel, puma, marc jacobs, flight one, versace, and so and on for what seemed like forever.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tzeOrCVJ8CU/SfAOMoDAYaI/AAAAAAAAAJA/rH5jiB7gX6I/s1600-h/hongdae.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tzeOrCVJ8CU/SfAOMoDAYaI/AAAAAAAAAJA/rH5jiB7gX6I/s320/hongdae.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327773969250541986" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;">hongdae district<br /></span></span></div><br />we squeezed into a ramen bar and found a group of robert's friends, who were also teaching english there. and much to my delight, every single one of the seven of us had lived in new orleans at the same time! this is what i love about that city: everywhere you go, you run into nola'ers; and they're always the coolest, nicest, most interesting people. i gazed at the menu, entirely in korean and simply said, "no cheese, no mushrooms, no weird animals, preferably pork, chicken or shrimp." a humongous bowl of shrimp and god knows what else arrived moments later. since all the other kids had been done long before our arrival, i did my best to slam the mystery concoction, while talking about life pre and post katrina and living in seoul.<br /><br />after we finished our ramen, robert's friends scott and angela smiled and presented robert with a gift. robert than smiled and looked at monique and me, "tonight is going to be so much fun! we have to find something to put this in! to the liquor store!" the entire group walked down a parkside street to a liquor store, where we bought 3 20ozs. evidently, much like new orleans, seoul has no open container laws because we strolled into the park, which was full of drunk korean club kids and rubbish. robert popped the cap off one of the beers and told us to take a few big gulps and then return the bottle. monique and i complied, without question or hesitation. robert then proceeded to poor the contents of a 8oz bottle into the beer, shake it up, and pass it back to us.<br /><br />"drink up." he said.<br />"what is it?" we asked in unison.<br />"it's like ghb-"<br />then scott chimed in, "it's legal here. sort of."<br />i made a face, which was apparent when robert responded with, "you'll love it. it's like being really drunk and a little bit like being on ecstacy."<br />my only concern then was if it would give me the killer hangover ecstacy had when i used to recreationally do it years and years before. robert assured it would not; well, at least not so severely.<br /><br />so, down the hatch.<br /><br />as we drank the beer/ghb concoction, an old korean man passed with a wheelbarrel full of korean wine. robert bought two bottles, popped those open and passed them into the circuit of what was now two beer/ghb bottles, one standard beer bottle, one soju bottle and the two bottles of wine. a few local kids approached and tried their english on us, as we chatted with this painfully cute, yet horribly dumb girl who had also lived in new orleans. when she and her friend saw a collection of white kids, they immediately sidled on. americans in korea seem to do this with other americans.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tzeOrCVJ8CU/SfAOkkEJ1tI/AAAAAAAAAJI/YGh_rRVhCHg/s1600-h/hongdae+park.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tzeOrCVJ8CU/SfAOkkEJ1tI/AAAAAAAAAJI/YGh_rRVhCHg/s320/hongdae+park.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327774380498474706" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;">hongdae park</span></span><br /></div><br />after about ten minutes i felt wasted and an extreme need to shit. am i going to shit my pants, again?* robert told us that the feeling simply meant the ghb was starting to kick-<br />i could no longer speak without slurring or see straight. it was dizzying and horrifying and... wonderful. monique and i looked at one another, grinning wide. we tried to relate the experience; but words simply spilled out of our mouths, a mess of excitement and intoxication, and into the empty bottles and leaflets that surrounded us.<br /><br /><br /><br />it was now close to eleven, and scott would be spinning at a club in the neighborhood, which was only described as the coolest club we'd ever attend; something of a cavern, they said. so we stumbled through the streets of hongdae, laughing, singing and dancing in anticipation of what would become one of the craziest nights of my life.<br /><br />*<span style="font-size:78%;">From: <b class="gmail_sendername">Anonymous</b><span dir="ltr"></span></span><br /><div class="post-body entry-content"><span style="font-size:78%;">Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2007 at 11:15 AM<br />Subject: those magical moments<br />To: [all my friend]<br /><br />as many of you know, my roommates and i spent the weekend inside ill. during this time, we learned that mixing certain cold meds produced a rather atrocious gas problem. however, we also learned that over-medicating ourselves made this gas problem much more manageable. </span><div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">well, by the close of monday night we were all starting to feel better, and were definitely experiencing cabin fever. so, i was determined to do something with my evening last night. i woke up, had some sudafed and dayquil and ventured to work. i had my usual morning coffee and doughnut, and went about my day in the typical manner. perhaps it was the combination of over-medication and determination to enjoy the evening that led me to answer a phone call i'd been avoiding for weeks now. you see, the ex-boyfriend's best friend had been trying, unsuccessfully, to have a few drinks. for all the obvious reasons, i'd been resistant to this idea. well, she caught me off guard and plans were made. drinks at the bar across the street at 8. </span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">in the meantime, i'd made plans to meet a friend for coffee at 4. (for those of you keeping track, that's: 3 coffees, two tablespoons of dayquil, two sudafed ams, 1 chocolate bar). after coffee, i ran a few errands and arrived at home in time to prepare inna for her date. by the time inna got out the door, i had about ten minutes before i had to meet the ex's friend. so i threw on my big coat (it was raining pretty heavily) and walked over.<br /><br /></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">over a glass of wine, we did the chit chat thing. and once that had exhausted itself, the inevitable conversation found it's way to the bar. sparing you the details, the bulk was talk of reconciliation. much to most peoples' chagrin, this was not something i was adverse to. the conversation began to get somewhat deep and heavy, and was interrupted when nature called.<br /><br /></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">for those of you who haven't been to the bar across the street, it has two unisex bathrooms; one on either side of the bar. the one to the left is at the end of a short hallway, which contains a side door that exits onto the street, and is directly across the street from our front door. the bathroom to the right has no hallway or exit door. more often than not, i use the bathroom to the right, because the bathroom to the left is somewhat bigger and we all know my fear of large bathrooms. i did not deviate from this habit last night. unbeknownst to me, this decision would become the greatest mistake of my life.<br /><br /></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">(for those of you keeping track: 3 coffees, two tablespoons of dayquil, two sudafed ams, 1 chocolate bar, 1.5 glasses of wine)<br /><br /></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">i faced the toilet, unzipped and started to pee. and then... then...<br /><br /></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">i was greeted by the worst surprise ever.<br /><br /></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">i shat my pants. </span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">i shat my pants! </span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">ohmygodohmygodohmygod. i shat my pants.<br /><br /></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">i was overcome by a shitstorm, if you will, of panic. sparing you the grim details, i will say i was able to restrain the majority of nature's little accident. so i did the quickest 180 ever, and deposited the remainder in the proper receptacle. and then... then i didn't know what to do. i was trapped. i was trapped with only me and my shame. had i chosen the bathroom to the left i would have been met by a door to clean underwear and moist towels. but i chose wrong. horribly, horribly wrong.<br /><br /></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">now it has been told that some in this same situation have celebrated by throwing their feces onto the walls and clogging up sinks and showers. having been raised with dignity and etiquette classes, i had to deal with the situation with grace. i assessed the damage, and decided that my newest, cutest pair of american apparel underwear were not disposable. i knew i had to make haste, to avoid being gone for too long and creating suspicion. i called inna, who did not answer. i'm not really sure what i thought she could do to help resolve this situation, but like i said i was somewhat panic stricken. so i did what any mature, responsible adult who shits themself would do. i wiped ferociously and then poured heavy doses of soap into my pants and returned to the bar to finish our wine and conversation.<br /><br /></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">the next five minutes have become the most uncomfortable five minutes of my life. there is no feeling even remotely comparable to that of talking to your ex-boyfriend's best friend about the reconciliation you plan to make, while the toxic sludge one can only call "shoap" roots around in your ass. but i am proud to say i was a pooper trooper, and finished my drink without even a hint at the atrocities quietly happening to me. after our drink, i slid off the barstool and slid on my long jacket (thank god for rain), said goodbye and non-chalantly walked home.<br /><br /></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">upon entering my house i did what everyone does when they shit themselves. i called colette to brag. and then jen.<br /><br /></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-size:78%;">inna returned from her date, with her date, to find me standing in the living room in only my underwear, laughing hysterically into the phone. i immediately hung up and regaled both of them of the night's events. and then i apologized for being rude and introduced myself to her date. </span></div> </div><!-- spacer for skins that want sidebar and main to be the same height-->josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-29575845754570288172009-04-04T09:59:00.000-07:002009-04-04T10:29:14.214-07:00welcome to korea (part 12)the flight from portland to seoul was a long 16 hours, including a 2 hour layover at narita airport in tokyo. i had slammed two double shot bloody marys before boarding the plane, in hopes they would knock me out. instead they merely reduced me to a slightly drunken mess that had to pee every hour or two. i dozed in and out of a few brief catnaps, and upon waking would check the flight map to see how far from home, how close to asia we were. it was a strange feeling to see the little cartoon plane so far out to sea. so far from everywhere i had ever been. so close to adventure, to mystery, to my ex. i lost myself in the vast sea below.<br /><br />when i deboarded the plane in seoul i was immediately faced with my reality. i was farther from home than i'd ever been, in a foreign place, about to meet to complete strangers with whom i'd spend the next 3 and a half weeks of my life. two complete strangers with whom we'd have to rely upon one another to travel through and experience so many new things. it was overwhelming, but so exciting. i was recharged and energized, even on no sleep for literally days.<br /><br />i exited through the arrivals gate and into the lobby of the most beautiful airport i've ever seen. incheon airport truly is a marvel of luxury. corridors of high ceilings, lined with orchids and sconces; high end shops as far as the eye could see: dolce & gabana, fendi, marc jacobs, rolex and so forth and so on. it's almost a place you'd want to spend a day, watching exciting travelers walk and shop and talk their ways to new places, to loved ones, to grander and wider days away.<br /><br />i planted myself on a bench in the lobby, not quite sure what to do. there was no sign of robert nor monique, i had no phone, no idea how to get anywhere. after about ten minutes i began to panic a bit. i was alone, in the middle of night, and-<br /><br />then i saw two small figures rushing toward me at full speed, clad in backpacks, laughter and grins. once they were close enough to identify, robert and monique immediately swung around and continued on, at full speed, away from me down the corridor. robert was tall, lanky, awkward and eminated fun and excitement and energy and was just a supernova unto himself. monique's curly hair was shaped into a high mohawk and dyed yellow, pink and black. it was hard to take your eyes off. i smiled, too tired to chase or even get off the bench. i stood upon it instead, crossed my arms, and tapped my foot with exaggerated impatience. they stopped in their tracks, turned around, and then almost aimlessly returned to me with hugs and hellos.<br /><br />i was too overwhelmed and exhausted to make any opinions on the greeting; and just happy to make our way to the guesthouse, where i was told i could nap for an hour. it was now twilight in seoul, and robert had big plans for us. we made it to the bus terminal in time to find we'd missed our bus back to the city. with the little korean robert knows and his massive amounts of charm, we were able to exchange our bus tickets for cab fare. thank god.<br /><br />we rode the twenty miles into the city quietly and with wide eyes. i watched the mud flats of incheon spread and thicken and harden into soil through the cracked windows of the cab. and suddenly the dark and dense no where broke into the bright lights of one of the largest cities in the world. we crossed the river into a blur of sounds and signs and insanity. it was exhillerating. we rolled the windows down entirely and let the wind wisp across our faces as we drown in the expanse. i turned to robert and smiled.<br /><br />"welcome to korea, monkey."josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-66609956575336534062009-03-26T22:17:00.000-07:002009-03-26T22:30:06.394-07:00interlogue: what issometimes when it's late at night and the room is silent and you're all alone, you wonder how it can still sting so harshly. if you should be allowed to feel it resonate still. still when it surrounds you. maybe repression begets obsession. when it comes, it comes in droves. you think of all the things you want. you want so little. and you wonder if you can get through this. if you can get to them. it's hard. and hardest because no one told you it wasn't going to be, because no one says it still won't; but because you continue to refuse to let yourself accept how hard it is. to allow yourself your grief. you're a hard person. time has made you stoic. time has made you still. still you ache to just break down. just once. into arms. but you don't know how to ask. you don't know how to tear the veneer. how to just be. even when you write about it, you write it as though it's someone else. as though it wasn't you. you write it as distance, as distant; an insistent nag. but it's not. this is you.<br />this is me. this is me. it's me.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-88622945539812565912009-01-23T18:37:00.000-08:002009-01-23T19:09:35.491-08:00getting there (part 11)i am not the type of person who sits around waiting for rainbows. i am not an optimist. i am hopeful, but not optimistic. i have a hard time believing that just because you are a good person, good things will happen to you. i think at some point, forever ago, i did. i don't know how or when i came to lose that. but i did. i don't sit around waiting for rainbows.<br /><br />i am not a religious person. i won't go into all the hypocrisies and fraud i see there. i just don't believe in god or praying or angels. but i do believe if i had a guardian angel, it would be robert.<br /><br />it was sometime after hiv and before colette that it happened. i will forever be enslaved to social networking sites. i love them. i like having all these little windows into the lives of people you know and knew and barely knew way back when. how you can see the ways they see things. how you can see the minutia of their days. how you can see different shades of almost anyone. i love how they change the way we see people. the way we see each other. i, at some point, have been a member of all of them. eventually the older ones fall by the wayside, only to be remembered upon some random email. and that's how it happened. that's how this whole can of worms was opened. this whole, wonderful, life-changing can of worms.<br /><br />most people don't know the real story about how exactly i found myself in asia. had i told most people the truth, they probably would have demanded i stay behind here. my mother would have had a coronary. so i skewered the facts. had i told people it was a complete stranger who i would be meeting in korea and traveling through southeast asia with, well, they just wouldn't have understood.<br /><br />it was sometime after hiv and before colette that i got that random email. a gmail message from the long-forgotten friendster, letting me know i had a new message. i'm not even sure why i even checked it. i was at the end of my rope, not much mattered to me, and certainly correspondence from strangers on friendster did not. maybe it was after insomnia had begun and i was bored. maybe it was one of the lonely days. i don't know. but i checked it.<br /><br />the message was from a guy named robert. he had found me on friendster, and then myspace, and liked my profiles. he, too, had lived in portland and new orleans; sometimes overlapping my own stays. i have been blogging since i was 19 years old. and, well, he found all the blogs, too. and he read them all. every one, every page. he read about the rape and the hiv and everything that came before. the heartbreak. the moves. new orleans. the momentous occasions in my life, that now somehow meant something to someone other than me. he said he was inspired. he said that he'd laughed and cried and had become attached to me and my writing. he said that i was someone worth knowing. and right then, in that moment, it was all i needed from anyone.<br /><br />and with that came the proposition that made my jaw drop. he wanted to fly me out to korea, where he was teaching english. and from there, off to somewhere new. he said the worse case scenario would be i get a free trip with a guy i hate. and the best case, i make a lifelong friend and do something i'd never otherwise be able to. and for him? he gets to do something for someone he respects, who needs good news. it was insane. it was way too much. and there was no way in my right mind i was ever going. i couldn't do it, right? no way.<br /><br />when my roommate at the time came home from work, i couldn't wait to tell her about the crazy guy who offered to fly me half way around the world. she sat down across from me as i told her about his email. she made a face that implied he was creepy crazy, and this was before i even mentioned the offer. and when i did, she became incredulous. she demanded i hand her the computer so she could see this lunatic for herself.<br /><br />"i know him! i fucking know this guy!"<br />"from portland?" i asked.<br />"no! from philly!"<br />robert had mentioned that he used to live in philadelphia. my roomate had grown up there. and way back when they were friends. and had lost touch shortly after she arrived in portland, two years prior. she called him beautiful, insanely nice and one of the most fun people she'd ever met. she said i was stupid if i didn't accept the offer. and then she demanded his email address, so she could email him.<br /><br />a few days later, we found out our next door neighbor's boyfriend was very good friends with him in portland, and that they still talked weekly. a few days after that, i found out two other good friends (in new orleans and sf) both knew him. and as my world got smaller and smaller, i became more and more sure that this was an opportunity i had to take. i don't think i even realized that my disposition had slowly changed from hopeless to excited. but suddenly i did realize that life was good, because now i had something look forward to. something to live for. and four months later when the tickets actually arrived, when the trip became tangeable, i found myself wondering how something so good could happen to me. wondering if maybe rainbows will come, if you wait long enough. if you wait out the storms.<br /><br />during the insomnia, robert and i talked every night. when i was at my lowest, he was there. when i was excited for our trip, he was there. i had gone from alone and miserable to having this life savior, who was always there for me. everything changed, so quickly. so necessarily. he saved me; and i don't even think he knew it. i had something to look forward to.josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-65168282122088979902008-12-16T16:02:00.000-08:002008-12-16T17:03:57.751-08:00our misfortunes may become us (part 10)i have severe abandonment issues. in all relationships, i only see an end. i spend so much time nervously waiting for the phone to stop ringing, for the door to close on me, for something to happen that will tear the people i love from me. i have severe abandonment issues.<br /><br />as a child, the people i loved either left or left me in the hands of people who would hurt me. i watched my grandfather beat the shit out of my grandmother. i watched a family of alcoholics drink themselves into rages and tear each other apart. i was molested, for years, by other family members who were supposed to be looking after me. i learned not to trust that people would take care of me. i learned not to trust. and i learned that the people you love will either leave you or hurt you. or you'll watch them hurt themselves, helplessly. it's not now what i believe, but it's how i've been conditioned. and so i have severe abandonment issues. and these issues, this fear, has caused me to inadvertently live a very isolated life. in a crowded room, in the arms of a lover, in the eyes of my parents, i feel alone. i fear departure. i panic of loss. i try so hard to hold on, but always feel so powerless.<br /><br />i don't remember much between ryan's departure from me, and my departure from san francisco. it was as though i became a ghost that day; the day he left. i'd finally found someone i believed would stay. someone i believed i could hang onto. and then he was gone. he was gone. gone. and suddenly, i was nothing more than a ghost. each day just blurred into the next. every action and inaction seemed pointless, seemed moot. it was like each day existed only because it had to. i floated through the walls and my words were merely exhalations. i was alone.<br /><br />and then i ran away to portland. to escape the traces of him and who we were. to escape the traces of who i was. and perhaps, just maybe, to exist as i had felt: alone. to get lost where i knew no one, where no one knew me. to lose myself in foreign faces and places. to lose myself in a lack of history. to lose myself.<br /><br />instead, though, i built myself a home. a life. a new history. i tried to date, but no one ever measured up to him. no one was ever enough. and then i got hiv. and everything changed. or, merely, returned to how it had been before i left california. i felt alone and isolated and barely there. i was losing more and more of myself every day. i was withering away into bottles and bed sheets and brittle bones. i stopped eating. i stopped answering the phone. i drank myself dizzy, night after night. i was becoming a ghost. again.<br /><br />and then i lost my job. and then my boyfriend. and then i just lost it. i totally lost it. i had stopped coming up for air. i had stopped coming up at all. each day existed only because it had to. insomnia set in and got so bad i could no longer distinguish my dreams from reality. there were days i laid in bed and did nothing but fantasize about blowing my brains out. sometimes those were the good days, too. paranoia overcame me. and i became completely distorted by it, by the dreams, by the booze. and the scariest part about it was i could walk outside, with a smile on my face, and hang out like everything was peachy-fucking-keen. you'd never know. they'd never know.<br /><br />and then i broke. i called colette and simply said, "i've been thinking bad thoughts. i've been thinking about dying. i'm not all right. i'm not okay."<br /><br />she was out a week later. and i started to feel safe again. and i started to eat again. and i started to see straight again. and i started to let go. of all the rage. of all the pain. of all the fear. i did my best. for a while, at least.<br /><br />eventually i started to erode to it, again. i began to push the people who cared about me away. so they couldn't leave me. so they couldn't hurt me. so i could be in control of something. so i wouldn't feel so powerless to loss. it's fucked up. it's totally fucked up. but my heart was so broken, i could make no more room for cracks or tears. i could make no more room for love. i needed permanence. and permanence seemed so impossible to come by. nothing and no one is permanent.<br /><br />---<br /><br />and then i met a boy. and he sure did seem to love me. and i thought he was great. he was great. and i thought, no one will ever be ryan. i will never love anyone like i did ryan. so someone great will always have to be enough. and even in that shitty paradox i had prefixed, i needed to hold onto him. i needed permanence. i needed a normal, easy, simple life. i needed a simple life so badly. i needed something new to live for. i needed soething new to experience; something new to help me forget. i needed this to work. i needed it to work.<br /><br />so after a month and a half, i asked him to marry me. and he said yes. and within a month, he was all moved in. and the life i painted for myself would surely begin with this little step. i was prepared to settle for consistency. i was prepared to contently settle in whatever promised to be simple and routine. i needed some stability. so i created it out of fear and heartache and necessity. because i have severe abandonment issues.<br /><br />and then i left for asia...josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2483345971514412176.post-75185842888265415842008-11-18T15:49:00.000-08:002008-11-18T16:29:05.196-08:00no (part 9)<div class="entry-content"> <div class="entry-body"> <p>judgment. we all make judgment calls. we all quietly judge. because, whether we want to believe it or not, these judgment calls are what get us through life. it all boils down to judgment. and we will be amazed by the things we're willing to do to protect ourselves from the bad judgment calls we will make. even as this cursor blinks away at me.</p> <p>it's our hands first. when we realize we've made some <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">disastrous</span> mistake, our hands are the first to react. be it flight or fight, our hands will clench. we'll try to push away the problem with our hands. and we only hope, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">whatever</span> the problem may be, it is smaller than our hands. me, i have small, trembling hands; from an accident, in a pool. </p> <p>and when our hands can't protect us from our bad judgment calls, we rely on our heads. when our hands can't stop what's happening, we rely on our heads to fix it. to change it. to make it easier to swallow. we change the parameters, we hypnotize ourselves, we reprimand ourselves; all in effort to ensure we never make a bad judgment call again. we blame our judgment when bad things we can't control happen to us. and that is how we protect ourselves. </p> <p>we protect ourselves by protecting our loved ones. we put our faces to the corners. we hyper-sensitize everything. we put our backs to the walls, and judge with severity and intensity. we lose sight of everything but protecting ourselves from the bad judgment calls we will make. we cry when we know no one's listening. we half-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">heartedly</span> convince ourselves there was nothing we could do. not because this is how we feel; simply because this is how we should feel. instead, though, we chalk it up to bad judgment and try to laugh it to nothing. we try to make it so small we can't allow ourselves to feel it. we try to make it so small we can fight it off with our small, trembling hands. </p> <p>i stood in the intersection, in the rain, a bag full of broken glass at my feet and pickles rolling around me. i stood in the intersection, defeated. i stood there trying to figure out how i would juggle the 5 other plastic bags in my small, trembling hands, collect myself, and pick up the mess at my feet. i felt myself start to well up inside. i felt the tears starting to hold residency behind my eyes. and all i could think, as i came closer and closer to crying, was, "i was really excited for those pickles." i was frustrated. i was tired. i was standing in the street, in the rain, cars driving around me, with pickles rolling around at my feet. twenty to thirty mini pickles rolling around before me. and i wasn't sure if i was about to laugh or cry. or both. it wasn't the pickles. it wasn't the mess. i made a bad <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">judgment</span> call and my hands were too small. it was my god damn hands. too small to hold it all together. too small to push away. too small to do anything but tremble under pressure.</p> <p>i must have stood there for at least an entire minute, just staring down at all the tiny little pickles. then i heard a woman at the nearby bus stop call out to me. "sometimes you just have to walk away."</p> <p>"yeah. sometimes i think <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">i'm</span> invincible." i said back to her. "and then it surprises me when i realize <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">i'm</span> not." she chuckled. and i took her advice. i left my mess there in the street, and walked away.</p> <p>half a block later, two girls pulled up and told me to get in. "we saw what happened back there. it's raining. you have a lot of groceries. you shouldn't have to walk." so, i got in and they drove me the four blocks home. i sat in the backseat, next to a child's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">car-seat</span> full of home made blueberry muffins. i wanted one so bad. i was so hungry. </p> <p>i made a bad judgment call. i made a bad judgment call and something bad happened. i was trying to root for the underdog, and i got bit. and my hands were too small. and my words meant nothing. and i woke up hypnotized. simply hypnotized. sometimes i think <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">i'm</span> invincible. and then it surprises me when <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">i'm</span> not. it kills me when <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">i'm</span> not. and so, sometimes you just have to walk away. i made a bad judgment call, but it doesn't mean it was my fault. it doesn't mean i had any control over it. </p> <p>we will be amazed by the things we are willing to do to protect ourselves when something bad happens.</p><p>---</p><p>i had been in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">portland</span> for less than two weeks, still lost in the break-up that broke my heart. but now lost amongst foreign faces, in this strange new city, in the coldest winter <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">i'd</span> ever experienced. we'd just been bowling. i hate bowling now. i hate it.<br /></p><p>he was one of four people i knew in town. he'd just returned to the area from an assignment with the air force. he was so nice and welcoming and sincere. and a dead-ringer for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">patrick</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">dempsey</span>. he was someone i was glad to have met.</p><p>he called me at around midnight, crying. the guy he'd been very loosely seeing had told him the relationship he so wanted wasn't going to happen. he was heart-broken. and it was late. but if there was anyone i could sympathize with at that moment, in the wake of my own break-up, it was him. i opened a bottle of wine and waited by the door.<br /></p><p>had i known he was already drunk, i wouldn't have invited him over or opened that bottle of wine. that bottle of wine was the last i had before alcohol changed for me. the last i had before life changed for me. this night would become my centrifuge. this endless spinning vessel. despite his intoxication, i poured two glasses. then two more. until the bottle was empty. we talked. we played scrabble. i didn't know what to say. i felt so horrible for him. for what he was going through. for what we were going through. and then i kissed him. i kissed him. i started it. i started it all.<br /></p><p>we ended up in my bed, making out. not for long, however, before i realized how stupid it was. this was not how i wanted to start my life in a new city: being the drunken rebound for one of my very few friends. i suggested we stop, which seemed to go unheard. so i repeated myself more firmly, louder. but he didn't stop. instead he pulled my pants off. i was shocked by his brazen disregard. i told him to stop. but he didn't. he didn't stop. he never stopped. it never stopped. i found myself lost in the word, as i repeated it over and over again, so numbly. no. no. he was bigger and my hands were too small. i fell away from myself, except the overwhelming constant thought: i did this. i did this.</p><p>when it was finally over, he kissed my forehead, rolled over and went to sleep. in my bed. in my bed. like it was nothing. like it didn't matter at all. a kiss on the forehead as though to console. to construe some good intention. to compensate for the life now left behind.<br /></p><p>even now, i wonder if he knew. even now, i wonder if he knows he gave me <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">hiv</span>. i wonder if he cares. but i always cut myself off. i can't think about too long, or else i lose it. i lose myself. my bones go limp and my heart sinks into my stomach and hatred is all i feel. and so suddenly my anger just permeates. through every pore and word and whisper.<br /></p><p>i made a bad judgment call. i fucking hate bowling.<br /></p><p></p></div> </div>josh hallmarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11915667424010748038noreply@blogger.com3