in·​ter·​view: gray/blue

I lose track of the number of people who have told me at one point or another that they 'just have so much going on in their head.' Don't we all have so much going on in our heads?

Do you?

Of course I fucking do - if I didn't, I'm part of the problem, aren't I?

Would that mean then, that everyone who's part of the problem doesn't have 'so much going on in their head'? That the empty-headed people are the problem?

It's not an emptiness--

Sorry, would 'calm-headed' be better?

I guess calm-headed. Ok. I don't know if I can conflate them, but there's so much going on to think about, people can't just… there's something there, yea.

…

I punched myself in the stomach just before this.

Why'd you do that?

I feel like a wuss too, because I didn't even really do it - I flexed my core so it wouldn't hurt. My knuckles just rammed up against my abs. Then I punched my hips and my legs, like I was waking them up with a series of harsh knocks on the door. My friend did that once.

Punched you, or woke you up by knocking?

By knocking. At the time I wished he hadn't - I was caught off-guard by the disparity of our perceived closeness.

Follow that thought

I think it was a really physical symbol of him feeling closer to me, feeling comfortable enough to wake me up at my own apartment unannounced, than I felt to him. Than I feel to him, I guess.

And has that changed? You mentioned 'at the time' you wished he hadn't.

I wish he hadn't. I wish it had grown on me, become something precious to look back on, but it's only become a pinball flipper that like, plings me right back into my head and thwacks me against the wall and gives my neck this lateral whiplash. I can feel it in my neck, it hurts.

Where is it plinging you to?

To the person whose memory feels like a graveyard. And death is there, and I don't know if he's me or he's looming beside me, but he isn't there, but he's everywhere there. And maybe he's the fog just above the ground, only moving as I step through it. So once I realize that, I don't step any further, so as not to disrupt it, but then I'm stuck standing in a graveyard and I can feel death breathing, not on me, just breathing his gray, washboard breath, and I'm asking (from behind myself) WHY did you bring yourself here again, Ryan? Why are you touching back on this?

And it's because now I'm him, and I have to see what it feels like - I have to ask the mist, 'are you still mist? what did it feel like to vaporize? I see you as this, but are you something else, somewhere else? Have you taken another form in another place, in another field with a beautiful big gate?'

Because I don't want to vaporize, I'm so scared.

What are you scared of?

Vaporizing! Listen! I do this to people, and then others do it to me, and no one is doing anything malicious but everyone's doing it wrong, because no one teaches you how to dream with other people. No one taught me that nighttime is gray but so is the daytime, and so is kissing and so is holding eye contact and so is saying goodnight and holding the door and not talking and talking and talking and not talking and asking about your family and asking if you want help moving, it's all gray, and I wish it were all blue.

Why blue? Is there anything that's blue?

Your fucking mom!

…

Sorry. My family is blue. And I guess the bus is blue, even when it's late. And when I fold my laundry that's ok too. But I'm still scared.

I think we're all scared.

Don't patronize me. Or like, don't… I don't know - everyone being scared doesn't help with anything except the perceived isolation of being a scaredy cat, but I’m not scared of being scared, I'm scared of the things I'm scared of.

Which are?

Doing it all wrong, not learning my lessons and wasting my time. I'm spending time talking to you right now, is that what I'm supposed to do?

Supposed to do?

SHUT up about supposed to, I know there's no 'supposed to' but there is, isn't there? There IS a supposed to, because we have greats and we have losers, and I saw a loser at the bar last night and my boss said, 'little men like that are so fun to play with' and I thought, 'but who loves them?'

When I'd arrived that night he grabbed my back and pulled me into a cheek-kissy hug, and later when I stepped aside from the group he asked, 'are you texting your booty call?' and I thought 'who loved you so poorly or loosely that you have become this way?'

At least 4 people told him to leave. He'll probably be fired soon.

Why are you telling me this?

This is probably so boring to you, sorry. People who don't matter to other people break my heart.

…

And… and I wish my brain didn't ask 'mattering' to look so affectionate.

…

And my body will always be my body, but it won't always look like this. I'm just feeling really temporary, because I'm seeing a lot of directions life can take but also how quickly life can stop moving for good.

Mmm…

I'm hearing you.

Is that our time?

That's our time for today.