Such options presented themselves to me in that moment!
[Perhaps tootootoo numerous. So spoiled am I.]

Some news-worthy/prison-worthy:
Obviously I did not opt for those;
I doubt they'd let me blog behind bars.
The acceleration would have felt exhilirating, though,
the revving and roaring of my blue death machine!

Some shameless/troublesome:
Which, also were not selected,
though they frantically raced in circles 'round my brain,
like lab rats in a maze.
To verbalize just one sentiment would have brought shallow satisfaction,
momentary, fleeting, and ultimately hollow.
But, quickquick my neurons silenced my loosened lips.
No ships were sunk. Though, you sunk my battleship,
& 'twould have been a fair trade.

In this split-second explosion of
contradictory thoughts & weighing of consequence,
what was chosen seems to be a trend:
LAUGHTER.
It was all that could be done in a moment of such irony and power.
Oh, the power I held.
Oh, the choices I had.
Oh, the places you'll go.
But, you'll go nowhere.
Oh, the places I'll go while you rot.
You are the living dead and I, the vibrant.
My power over you extends far past that moment;
it is life-long and infinite, as is your failure and mediocrity.
It was the best choice, after all.
LAUGHTER.
LAUGHTER.
LAUGHTER.
LAUGHTER.

Under the city lights, we danced.
(twirl.swirl.dip.shimmy.repeat.)
The post-bar smell of stale alcohol perfumed.
The post-bar feeling of slight intoxication.
Oh, to be/feel intoxicating as well as intoxicated.
Ridiculed by the headlights of the passing cars,
not a care but for keeping rhythm amidst stupor.
Your 6 and my 3/4, we must have been a sight,
a sight for the sorest of eyes,
for my sore eyes.
SilverSeas&VictimoftheCrime.
'Twas a victimless crime,
embracing the feeling of being alive,
and put me in shackles if it was, after all,
for I will not forfeit easily this time.
Revival, renaissance, and renewal.
I was reborn under those streetlights,
andyouhavenoideawhatyouhavedoneforme.
The freshening of my tired spirit overpowered my tired limbs,
and I danced. I danced. I danced. I. Danced.
I did not want it to end, dear friend,
but basic physiological needs won in the end.
To answer your inquiry, yes, I say.
It was enough. It was the perfect amount.
As we danced, I felt the glimmer return to my eye,
the sly sparkle that has evaded my iris for what seems like an eternity.
The flush of youth&exhiliration returned alongside it.

I am alive. Alive, am I.
Je suis vivant!
I will shine and sparkle, diamond-like.
The Diamond has made her glorious&triumphant return.
Welcome her with open arms.
She has missed you dearly.

"And if I don't make it, know that I loved you all along" - Our Lady Peace

Angels, all of you.
This, I believe in earnest.
When I set foot in the room, I see your smiles and kind eyes,
but am overwhelmed by the air from the beating of your wings.
The breeze is refreshing, something I have yet to experience,
and something I never thought would be experienced during my earthly time.
But, angels do walk amongst us, and I have recently encountered several.
Came into my life with the most perfect of timing, you have,
at my time of deepest despair, need, want, and desire.
I thirsted for something real, something pure, something beautiful,
and my prayers were answered in you.
Your kindness, acceptance, and warmth are serving as my salvation,
helping hands along this long, hard road out of this hell.
So open are your arms, while most hold themselves and themselves alone
with a vice-like grip.

This is my gratitude in the best way I can express it.
I live tight-mouthed and incapable of formulating the words,
unable to utter it,
but the words flow freely,
pouring from my fingertips like water from a broken dam,
pent up and wanting so badly to be made manifest.

I humbly thank you, and hope that this is merely the beginning.

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...