This Tornado Loves You

I'm 3 years late, but I'm obsessed with Neko Case's album "Middle Cyclone". I think that's because it accurately describes my whole entire life as someone who is a total mess but still needs love. I like how she doesn't shy away from the things that are wrong with her.

I have a lot of favourites on the album, but I think the one I like most is the title track mostly because of these lyrics:

can't give up acting tough
it's all that i'm made of
can't scrape together quite enough
to ride the bus to the outskirts of
the fact that i need love.

(moresque)

The Roof of the World: The Pamirs, Tajikistan

i spent my first night in tajikistan
in a squat toilet shitting out my insides
bent over in a spiderweb of pain.
i was thankful, at least,
for the darkness a squat toilet provides.
thankful everything disappeared
into a black hole in the earth.

in my private squat toilet hell
i imagined them finding me in the morning.
pants down, lying in a pile of my own shit and blood.
barely conscious, begging for water, chapstick,
and a new pair of jeans, and to line me up
against the crumbling wall,
shoot my decrepit fucking body
my head was unfortunate enough to be attached to.

i came back to vomit,
my face in front of a hole full of shit,
bringing up what i had choked down,
with my cellphone flashlight
waiting for the battery to die or the sun to rise,
whichever one came first.

in the morning we drove through the pamirs;
remote mountains near remote mountain borders.
they call it the pamir highway,
the roof of the world, "the world's greatest road trip",
and i slept through the whole damn thing.


Karakol:

click on the pictures to scroll through.

Murghab: 

Asshole Mountain, near Murghab:

sometimes when i have anxiety

domenica,

sometimes when i have anxiety i check your blog to see if you've written anything new. sometimes i don't even read it, sometimes i just skim, like, it's a comfort to just know that you're out there, thinking of things. i think of this now, at 1 in the morning, skimming.

i'm worried that i'm doing it all wrong. 'it' being life.

i know there's no wrong way, but i'm scared anyway. like what if it's just like before. 'it' being this year. there are histories about me that you don't know, intricacies, and stories so delicate i become angry at them. i can't stop thinking about her. from before i met you. all the things i did so wrong i'm scared i'll do again. it has nothing to do with you at all, but it just seems like you're here right now, so i'm mentioning it. briefly, this feeling.

it seems like you're here right now, close, where i can trace your own delicately outlined histories when i get scared, slide inside your skin,

so i let you slide into mine:

it's just that fear doesn't only come at night anymore. it's there in the morning, too. domenica, my eyes are burning from the screen. i'm scared to go to sleep. i'm scared of the light i'll see when i wake up.

10,000 tonnes happiness and sadness revisted

10,000 tonnes happiness and sadness

you're not quite sure what it is that makes you so sad, only vaguely aware that it is here, visiting you in the shower. just some under the surface stuff that you reveal scrubbing yourself absentmindedly. you're not even sure if it's sadness, maybe apathy or lethargy instead. but then a heavier sigh - yes, there it is. sadness, which is so close to happiness that you can mistake one for the other. happiness, contentedness, a sort of apathy or lethargy in its own way. a settlement of sorts? happiness, sadness, what's the difference? you hate euphoria - it scares you, makes you upset. never one feeling without the other. happiness and sadness inside your coffee mug; filtered coffee which tastes good because you can't afford better, made in your kitchen, sipped without thought on the cool tiled floor while your hair dries. something is missing; it's milk and sugar, but you can live without those now.