Complete dissatisfaction

It all started with an ending. As do so many things, so it started with a break-up, so I wrote, and I still write and I couldn’t seem to stop writing. A break-up with an arrogant, self-proclaimed gallerist who uses people to sell art in order to bankroll his lifestyle of buying beers at Milney’s until close, while searching fretfully for the never-ending party that wouldn’t come, searching for something that wasn’t me. I remember lying awake at night, every weekend, in his bed, in his sheets, wandering when he’d come home. Feeling like a mother, feeling like a fool. I thought I couldn’t leave, felt corrupted by the apartment in the central area, close enough to the CBD and close enough to the suburbs. Felt corrupted by the aura of his secure family, a seemingly secure lifestyle, one I never had. Allured.. corrupted, same thing? Same feeling, somehow. I walked into that world by walking away from another, walking away from a life I had with so-called-friends-who-I-ran-a-so-called-gallery-with and I saw the back of those friendships so fast. Swoowsh. Fast friendships, fast friends. All left to sit in the room with a boy trying to be a man, trying out a so-called-relationship that never seemed to be ‘real enough’. So I found myself begging. And, I sit here, delivered from this past and look back and feel nothing. A swoosh of pain, a mess of things. I find myself walking towards the gym, the pool (it’s all in one place) and look upon a moon, in its crescent shape, holding itself there in sky, in it’s ellipses, it’s half-ness. Held by gravity it finds me in my half-mess, a half of the person I should be, and I’m left wondering if it could all be so different.

Let down by Her, let down by Him, let down by the other Him (earlier) and me, well, I let down an even earlier Him. I hold many, as though by holding them I’ll hold myself. So I come home, turn on the light, open the door, turn on the light, take off my shoes, hang up my jacket, pull out the cigarettes, pull out the lighter, drink some water and look up to see the top light on. Unusual how when you speak your truth they lose their essence, when you expose art it loses its value and when you talk to people they lose their charm. Things shown in the light become unfeasible.. become unreachable. When you expose a moment it is degraded. Existence is degradation being exposed therefore degradation is existence being lived. When you expose your sins and talk about your lies they are absorbed making them lacklustre, faded by the promise that first held it in place. Although, when a glance is exchanged the thingness is maintained. Minimal effort is resolute with the most beingness and being whole is vulnerable to being the most degraded. I felt it. Hard, felt it so hard, in the car, when I dropped off the friends, when I talked to friends, when I messaged friends, still alone. Alone with someone who I thought I loved, still alone, always alone, always collapsing into perception and never being seen. Completely gothic and resolved in my own alon-ness. Hang up the jacket, drink the water, turn on the light, pull out the cigarettes, turn off the light, take off the jeans, turn on the blanket, get in the shower, get out of the shower, maybe eat, here or there but, mostly just be alone.