Break the Membrane

A conversation I had once in a crowded bar in Bernal Heights with a woman named Kate. K: When I see people whispering, I assume they're talking about me. A: Really? K: Yeah. It's easier to just assume that then to wonder. Instead of thinking the worst, I think the best. A: I see. K: Then I assume they're talking about how awesome I am. A: So you maintain a conscious fantasy? How does that have any value to you? K: It protects me. A: It protects you to make up stories you know aren't true? K: But it might be true. A: Sure. But anything might be true. K: Exactly. So I create my own reality. A: Do you really? Or do you focus on creating fantasies to hide from something you can't accept? K: What thing? A: That you don't really like yourself. K: .... A: Are you ok? K: You're not supposed to know that. A: Then you shouldn't have told me. K: When did I tell you? A: It was the first thing you said.

When I was three, and the new to my family, I met one of my best childhood friends. Her name was Dusty and she was a big Long-Haired Collie. Being only a very tiny human at the time, she appeared to me to be as big as a horse, and of course, since you ride horses, it was only natural that I would ride this dog. It did not go well. She nipped me in the eye. Luckily, her teeth did not gain purchase on my eyeball because of the shape of her snout and the fact that my eyeball is recessed in a socket, but it did terrify me and I got off her back and ran crying to my mother. In Dusty's defense, I don't think she ever would have nipped at my face if she could have reached somewhere else. As it was, she could barely reach me at all since I was on her back! So she did what she had to do and when I think back on it I realize she actually was very gentle considering the situation. Crying, I told my mom that Dusty was a mean dog and that she bit me. I remember my mom being surprised and asking why Dusty bit me. I quite innocently informed her that Dusty bit me for no reason whatsoever! I was trying to ride her like a horse, which was perfectly natural, and she just bit me! This was the point at which I learned that no matter how big a dog looks, you do not ride them. I remember struggling in my mind to understand this concept. My mom explained to me that Dusty would only bite me if I was doing something that was hurting her. It took some mental adjusting for me but I eventually understood that Dusty was in fact not a horse and that riding her would hurt her. This was the only scuffle Dusty and I ever got into. After this incident, the boundaries were clear and we were best friends. I remember laying my head in the fluffy, soft fur at her belly and cuddling with her at night. I remember her comforting me when I was sad, sitting next to me while I cried with the worried dog look in her eyes. I remember running back-and-forth on my front lawn and she would chase me and playfully nip at my heels. I remember brushing her long hair in the winter and marveling at how much extra fur she had. I remember how sweet and gentle and loyal she was. For a big dog, Dusty lived to a ripe old age. I can't remember anymore exactly how old she was when she died but it was in her teens. I was in the fifth grade when her health suddenly declined. Our house was in a disorganized uproar because a fire had burned down my parents' bathroom, part of their bedroom and part of the roof, and the smoke had contaminated everything. We had two very nice guys in the house for weeks helping us clear out contaminated things and get everything clean. I imagine the stress of that time contributed to Dusty's failing health. I'm not sure why, maybe because of the stress of her home being in chaos, but she kept leaving the yard and going down to the lake which was about a block from our house and not coming home. The last time I found her down at the lake, she was stuck in the mud. When we got her out and brought her back home, we quickly discovered that her back legs weren't working anymore. At the time I didn't know the phenomenon where animals go off somewhere to die peacefully. I think now maybe this is what she was trying to do. She probably could've lived a while longer even without the use of her back legs. We didn't know for sure that this development meant she was going to die soon, but we were going on a long trip that summer to Europe and my mom decided she didn't want to leave Dusty alone in this condition. My mom was never very good at loving things, but she did love Dusty and we actually decided together that we didn't want Dusty to die alone while we were in another country. Before I could really process what was happening, the two nice cleaning men had put Dusty on a sheet and were carrying her out to the car so we could take her to the vet and put her sleep. My Nana was there and I was standing with her when I watched my best friend being carried past me on that sheet. I turned around and buried my face in my Nana's belly and cried. At the vet, they put her on a table. I don't remember all the details of what happened I think because the last details obfuscate everything else. I remember her on the table. I remember her body shaking and trembling. I remember seeing my mother cry. I remember Dusty looking at me with fear in her eyes. I remember the vet apologizing to us for taking so long to find a vein. I remember that it couldn't be helped because Dustys veins were in such bad condition. I remember when she did find the vein and injected the substance. I remember holding my beloved dog and feeling the gradual fading of her trembling. I remember how soft the feel of her fur was against my forearms and face. I remember how her muscles relaxed right before her life left her. I remember hugging her with a gentle ferocity and telling her how much I loved her over and over again. I will never forget being there for my dog in her difficult last moments the way she was there for me during all my difficult living ones. I will never forget one of the best friends I ever had. Here's to you Dusty.

Somehow, surmounting time itself, Hemingway challenged me today to write the truest sentence I know. In each moment, of course, the content of truth varies, just as in each moment one's ability to pull it from the depths of one's little-known self varies. In this moment, I have triumphed to tell it and here it is: I often dream of the love I want and will never allow. In these dreams, which are different in detail yet the same in essence, what I think is love is actually betrayal, but what I rail against as the butchering of my heart is merely the inevitable outcome of my own choices.

Corporate ambition for power unchecked will grow into something worse than Hitler. We cannot conceive what exactly yet we feel it like a pit in the blood of us. We sense it will be a thing of horror we cannot imagine, and because we cannot imagine it, we will not heed our own message. We will let it be born. Only after we have sunk deep beneath the surface of a gaping river of our own spilled blood will we stop it. This is the human condition.

There is a story I fear has slayed me. I have lost the great winged battle, am left a charred husk under its fiery breath. I meant to be the hero. I meant to save myself. All I did was die.

The weaver taps at the underside of my soul. I am almost there, it sighs. I pull my spine straight in anticipation of the envelopment. The god of the word is about to become me.

I make impassioned pleas. I sigh and scream. I writhe in your night, waking you, making you sweat, but I sweat with you, a communal pool of salty liquid us. I express and exude with fervor, with grace, I hope. I hope. I fling my hope, my hopes to you amidst this highway of over-informed, this brightly lit distance. Mostly, it all falls short. And what is this? You say. At my feet? You say. Oh nothing, just a little raw genius, just a little bit of what’s in all of us. Step over it, I know you will. I must, you say. I must.

Through pithy repose we gild as obdurate thought to which valid society is obscured I expunge sanguine vicissitude find torpid delight above my lair of beauty reach munificent paragons of vapid veils or by obtuse gall let ameliorate her fecund observations like temerity from zeal upon you

I know this will come as a surprise, but...it just isn't working out between us. You want one thing and I pretty much want the opposite. So, I'm sorry to break your heart like this, but I'm leaving you. Forever. I'll never forget all the things you taught me; you were such an important step in the evolution of me, but it's time for me to move on. Goodby dear writer's block...good bye...