Scar

You are a good man, an excellent one to be honest. Warm, generous, doffing your hat. But you made a ginormous mistake. You took her in. You took her in and she warmed your gentle heart.
She didn't mean to change you, or hurt you, or twist things around, or make babies with you. She was still licking her wounds. She didn't know what she wanted. The world was frightening and a big mess. She was petrified, but she made you her own. She gave you a name, she smiled for you. You made her smile. You made her happy.
Then one day, she turned around and bit your cheek. Bit your cheek so hard, it started bleeding. She fed you a bit of her acrid self. And then she built a big wall around herself, so that nothing could ever touch her warm skin again.
She didn't want to believe in the voices, but she looked around and saw shadows on your walls. It scared her even more. But she let you in, she wanted to heal for you, wanted to break down the wall.
And you almost succeeded. You almost made her special. And then you stopped, because she had scarred your cheek and it still hurt.

Hatter wore a hat and turned completely insane. In the middle of nowhere, swaggering like the evil rat in the alley,  he aimed to conquer. Turned around, lit a doobie. Saw the trees in the distance, outlined against the sky, still and rooted. Turtle came over, put her hands on her hips and stood behind him, observing the same, thinking about other things: yesterday's game, hysteria and kitchen antics. She sat down in a huff, mouthing abuses. The night gave them both fever. They knew that. They illuminated their room with a thousand lamps.
This was different, however.
Their eyes lit up the wilderness.
Hatter sat down next to her, and smiled wanly.
"What do you reckon?"
"They won't get us this time."
"You sure?"
"When you think egg I think of a poach, perfect, yolk in the middle, just the right amount of wobbly."
"Wow."
"So you won't fuck me over?"
"How can I?"

This, crazy desire to measure night and day

With, your smiling face not far away

Why, I may ask you

Can, that be true?

You, with a frog-like leap

Me, crumpled in a heap

Fill jam jars with memories.

I remember scribbling in class, sleepily, furiously. Stringing words together, discarding them, turning them into doodles. Now it's morning, everyone's fast asleep, mouths slightly open, mouths tightly closed. I can only sink a little further inside this protective cling wrap of music. Curious, like a perfectly broken egg shell, but opaque inside. If I could put my brain up in sunlight, or on paper, I would, for close examination, for some sort of comprehension.
I sometimes wonder about human behaviour and nature, and it completely destroys me.

New songs will be sung I suppose.
Self has to be extricated and re-defined. Determination has to be achieved. Memories have to be erased.
Wish I could have some of that special comforting baked chicken and recreate new visions.

Wish I could splurge futilely, wear a red beret in the rain, write eccentric, run away somewhere, alone.

I don't deserve goodness, maybe I am utterly incapable of understanding these things, they are intangible.

I am 23. I could choose bland, I can have bland. Or I could mix up everything, create more brain clutter, behave like a child, do crazy impulsive things like I do and end up unhappy. Well, happiness is illusory anyway, like everything else. I feel euphoric one moment and furious the next. And unfortunately, I cannot even blame the hormones.

Say what, shabby yet flamboyant, reciting Aiken, travelling, creating useless and pretty lampshades?

Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He’s sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I’m in the hall
How can I explain?
Oh, it’s so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn 


Bob Dylan, Blonde on Blonde

Because Jack White and Meg White should have never broken up

I'm bringing back ghosts 
That are no longer there
I'm gettin' hard on myself
Sittin' in my easy chair
Well, there's three people in the mirror
And I'm wonderin' which one of them I should choose
Well, I can't keep from laughin'
Spittin' out these 300 mile per hour outpour blues

I'm breakin' my teeth off
Tryin' to bite my lip
There's all kinds of red-headed women
That I ain't supposed to kiss
And it's that color that never fails
To turn me blue
So I just swallow it and hold on to it
And use it to scare the hell out of you

I have a woman 
'Says come and watch me bleed
And I'm wonderin' just how I can do that
And still give her everything that she needs
Well, there's three people in my head that have the answer
And one of them's got to be you
But you're holding tight to it -- the answer 
Singin' these three hundred mile per hour outpour blues

Put on gloves, a tied scarf and wrap up warm
On this winter night
Everytime you get defensive
You're just looking for a fight
It's safe to sing somebody out there's got a problem
With almost anything you'll do
Well, next time they stab you don't fight back just play the victim
Instead of playin' the fool
And the roads are covered with a million 
Little molecules
Of cigarette ashes and the school floors are covered
With pieces of pencil eraser too
Well sooner or later the ground's gonna be holdin' all
Of my ashes too
But I can't help but wonder if after I'm gone will I still have these three hundred mile per
hour, finger breaking, no answers makin', battered dirty hands, bee stung and busted up, empty
cup torrential outpour blues

One thing's for sure: in that graveyard
I'm gonna have the shiniest pair of shoes 


T