Letters...

Tonight, Phoenix floats in and out, audible, then inaudible.
The thoughts are consuming and have been so for weeks, now.
They are louder than the lungs of these Frenchmen.
Though, they can't help but cease momentarily
in concurrence with and reverence to
the notion of alphabetical existence.
Alphabetical.
Alphabet.
Letters.
Here are some of those.


To the one who judged me:
You took your position as such from the day of our meeting. This defendant continuously pled her case for the duration, hoping to sway you for a "not guilty" ruling. But, your verdicts no longer determine my sentencing and weigh heavy upon my shoulders and thoughts. I will never again have to sit through another lecture as my eardrums suffer yet another inundation of self-righteousness and pride. Perhaps it is time you turn the gavel upon yourself? I feel as though your eyes only saw me as another in need of your pearls of wisdom, but I never was and never did. Diatribe after diatribe, my tongue began to atrophy from lack of usage, and when it was, I spoke in parables and of casting stones (but, to no avail). You were born with cotton-stuffed ears. I am content to be freed from the chains of your constant disapproval and watchful eyes.

To the fledgling:
Don't you dare look back. If you do, I avow you face the same fate as the wife of Lot and will be instantaneously turned to a pillar of salt. These hearts are hard and gazes cold; it is due time you experienced the warmth. Run from here with the speed of an Olympic athlete. Dance on the sands. Fly.

To the one who loves me:
I will always love you, too. You are the love of my life.

To the spiral:
Reverse your direction. Head north, fair one. If you continue downwards, though, I shan't leave your side. I have become numbed to being sucked into the vortex created long ago, and have gone from spiral to plane throughout the years. Constancy and stability and ears and shoulders and arms are all I can offer, and are rare, generous gifts. It is scarce that one human being will genuinely offer that to another, as most prefer to keep their ears and shoulders and arms selfishly to themselves. But, mine have been donated to your cause. If only you could see with my eyes and see the light and the beauty radiating from your skin and your soul, shooting off in all directions, refracting. To you, I avow: I am good, I am honest, I am true and of the purest of intent.

Me,
you,
the city skyline,
Bjork,
and a bottle of Italian champagne.
Kid, we owned it all tonight.


This numbness is a new genre that I have yet to experience. I have become numb to the negative and neutral, only feeling the positive. The positive is, of course, hindered in getting through my shell, and it is riddled with nostalgia and the bittersweet, but, oh, the vibrations are marvelous as they wash over my consciousness.

Allow me to courteously declare neutrality now, no matter the matter. I would like to remain blissfully uninvolved and remove myself from reality. I am functioning on autopilot and am content that way for the time being. Take me anywhere, say what you will, do what you will to me. I am along for the ride; I am the Bonnie to your Clyde, dear friends. I avow I will not be a backseat driver. Pull my puppet strings to move my limbs; contort me into the most awkward of positions... I have not a care in the world. "It is easier this way," said the recluse.

I do not wish to have control in a world where the sacred spots of my youth are destroyed, paved over, built upon in the steady march of progress. Was this monstrosity you are constructing worth it? [Though we do not speak, I longed to phone you tonight to tell you of the destruction of our hideaway. The best and worst of times were truly shared upon that soil.] Soil. There is no longer soil anywhere... just concrete, metals, eyesores. [Don't worry, officer, no criminal mischief was afoot; I was simply looking to recover a mere iota of the inner peace and solitude once held in this locale, but you have the situation under control, now. Carry on.]

Oh, James Hagan, where were you tonight?

I do believe there is some conspiracy against me. Everyone in the world is in on it but me, in a very Truman Show-esque way. I am not allowed to be happy. I am only given brief tastes of happiness as a teaser, what I could have if I weren't me.

The world holds so much beauty, but I go through much of my life with such jaded, cataracted eyes and difficulty in seeing it. Lies, betrayals, absence, sorrow, pain... it all turns to this calloused cataract, building and building, coming closer to permanence.

I don't know how I keep on going with all the knives in my back and pins in my voodoo doll, but I do, somehow. Maybe it's strength. Maybe it's my going within myself at all times. Maybe it's that I never really let people all the way in. Maybe it's the numbed state I exist in most of the time.

I should stop allowing myself to be pulled out of that numbness.
The numbness has never let me down.
I've become quite the fan of feeling nothing at all.
I should be a more loyal fan. Nobody likes fairweather fans.

And then, enter: the tiger...