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[Jul. 2nd, 2008|04:44 am] |
God, two years without a word to anyone and suddenly I can't shut the fuck up. Tonight I hit the bar, found the exact opposite of everything I want and took it home.
I hit the Louver, no-holds bar. The art, the metropolis. It's been a while. Can I just tell you, she --- Christ, she's forgiven me as far as I know. Her lover has signed in. I have been craving not just--- her touch, but the contact of others. Celeste, she send me a message last night. As much as I don't want to hear from Armadeo, I want to hear from her. Isn't that ridiculous?
I wish Sabine was mine, I keep admitting this -- both publicly and privately. And yet, as I told her this evening-- I want her to be happy. Who can ever be happy with this immortal bullshit, besides another immortal? I don't even know if the concept of _happy_ is sanction-able.
Regardless. I am in Paris. I will try and find Nate. That's priority-one. News from Armand will wait -- no matter what it is. And then? Nicolas. Right behind it will be Celeste. If she wants to see me? Christ, if she wants to see me --- my Sabine --- I will do whatever I can to surrender—without, of course—surrendering.
God, grant me serenity I'll need to see her. Please. Give me the strength not to touch her. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 16th, 2008|10:44 am] |
I have said-- so many times, so many times-- that I should come back to this place. I've been following my heart for too long. I get lost in my head. You've seen Escher's mazes, right? That's what it's like for me. Following the rhythm of the human-machine. Finding myself locked in someone's cage. That's the way it has always been, even now.
This one? Beautiful. Painfully so. Not so angelic, but he's still beautiful. Hard. Sharp. Fierce. Not a drop of the blood in him, but still so angry and driven for revenge. His mind wavers like a metronome, back and forth, the constant cruelty of so much guilt. Self-loating, self-sacrifice, the pain! That's what drew me. And still, I never touched him. Never said a word. He never knew I was there.
I lose myself in watching them. In wanting them. In needing for things I'll never let myself have.
Now I'm laughing-- I am so tortured, aren't I? These people, oblivious, all of you! You should feel sorry for me. Tortured artist. Twisted devil.
Marius, too many years ago to even remember how many, he once told me, "There's a fine line between sanity and madness, Daniel. Be careful how far you tread." See, I listened old man. It's time to say something to more than just air. |
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| My Open Letter for Sabine |
[Feb. 22nd, 2007|03:27 pm] |
I’ve started this letter a dozen times. Start. Stop. You’d think as a writer I might be able to get a hold of these words, make them work for me. I’ve never been much good at manipulation.
I don’t know how to go about apologizing to someone I love.
Apologies never really existed… before.
What do I know? I’m still a kid. Maybe you never really know what you’re capable of until you grow the fuck up. But I’m still here, stuck in the same landing patterns. Touch down, take off, touch down again. Never the same city for more than a week. I keep moving, Sabine. A shark can’t stay still or he dies.
But I’m not afraid of death. So I have no fucking idea what makes me this way. Why I can’t apologize to you for always being on the move. You deserve more, you deserve better. And God damn me for doing it again! Manipulation, Daniel, you don’t even know you’re doing it, but you are.
I don’t know what to say to you, Sabine. I think, for us, the immortals, we only let in a few, a very few, a seldom few. It’s more for our safety than for yours. If we don’t kill you, you make us weak with want for what we can never have. I think that’s what Armand was trying to tell me all along. But I can’t go back to him. I can’t and I won’t. Marius has left messages everywhere. Billboard sized messages. I turn the other way. I want… I want to settle into this skin, Sabine. I want to beg your forgiveness. I want you to understand me. I want you to know that I don’t run from you… I run from _everything_. I always have.
There are times I think about you. When I’m on the shore. The moonlight washing wan over frothed caped waves. I talk to you. I tell you about my mother and my father. I want to tell you about them. What it was like growing up as a boy in San Francisco, Taipei, Bahrain. Did you have any idea? There’s so much we don’t know about each other.
There is an inscrutability to the world that keeps calling me, Sabine. Furled secrets. Dark mysteries. The immortals used to follow them from continent to continent. Now they’re only bloated on their egos. Choking on their luxuries. Waiting… for what? Death?
I can’t be like that. I can't be like them. I can’t sit still in the water. I’m a shark out here. I’m not looking for anyone to seduce, or for anyone to seduce me. I’m just searching for the pulse. Mine, yours, theirs. All the sinners. Whatever layers sit between Heaven and Hell. This is not spiritual, it's metaphysical. Need, drive, call it what you will, but it owns me.
I'm sorry, Sabine. I can still feel you running in my blood. All your confusion, your anger, the walls you'll have built. I have to tear them down every time and rightly so. It's my fault. This is my fault. There's no do-over here. No reset button. I can only tell you that I don't dive off the cliff into the pitch black ocean and think of any other face... but yours.
I miss you.
- D. |
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| The Weeping Martyr |
[Mar. 21st, 2006|08:30 pm] |
Have you ever done something to hurt someone? Have you ever been cruel and malicious just for the sport? Have you ever broken someone's heart and left them all alone? Have you ever passed ancillary judgment on someone without walking in their shoes? Have you ever been guilty of any of these sins, yet lacked remorse?
Tonight I saw a woman weeping on the corner. An older woman. Lost, cold, sobbing as her body shook, her shoulders heaving under such dead weight. I watched from a distance, as I always do. The silent observer. Mankind's witness to fragile inconsistencies.
Her tears fell heavy to the pavement in perfect round droplets. I watched with a vampire's eye, a sight that can't be put to words. But each drop was unyielding in its perfection; such weighted things of solid hamartia. If only she knew that in that one moment of weakness there was still such infinite beauty to be found. To be found right there.
Silently I watched as each moan abated, until the faultless climax of pure expression held like glint in her eye; acceptance. No more resistance. Only tangible abatement.
I didn't want to know what thing she had lost. I didn't want to know what memory she had recollected. I didn't want to know what horrible tragedy she'd relived. I only wanted, for that second, to share with her the exemplar of her own weakness.
If only we were all so bold, to recognize and believe that we are these catastrophically flawed things. Maybe then we'd all atone. |
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| These Violet Eyes |
[Mar. 20th, 2006|07:56 pm] |
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I should write here, I know. Inspire me. Show me what is under your skin. Come, new friends. Motivate me. |
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