my_window_seat: (Default)
On the message board, the question of addiction is raised

The question of why—
we’ve seen the same scare-tactic specials
the skeletal fingers of rib
faces carved alien with nerve, twitching
hands fluttering in staccato to unseen sheet music

The comments construct
a scaffold of self-fulfilling ends
heels clicking in aftershock
toes pointing north then
compassing northwest,

why, and how, how does this happen—

There you are, smile
crooked like a beckoning finger

the surface tremors slightly
talk of blue-eyed devils begins

My eyes are brown or else
you wouldn’t have landed here, safe, in my home,
would have curled instead, hidden
in the dry fountain alcove beneath the stairwell
night stowaway evading surveillance
a quiet hunger, invisible

blue-eyed devils chasing you

Father’s favorite drinking game is calling you Satan
mother wrings the dry towel of her hands
sister, successful escape artist
miles away, twitches fitfully in sleep
ears stopped
It’s the Body of Christ, you say                       
a cringing taste on the tongue
bitter midwife to a state of grace and
oh peace, be still

The mouth sores that won’t heal
one tooth gone, then two more

Phone calls from jail, indistinct

We walk to the river, stuttering
through dead branches and dry brush
you steady me
and I never fall

I can’t do this anymore
You can’t bring that in my house
you have to go, now
the door shuts, a knife sheathed

Your mother calls me, again
You’ve given away your shoes, again
come home tarmac blackened, swollen, cut
Is he taking his medication?
oh, his father won’t pay for it
oh, I see
I see

You are on my doorstep
cautious ribbon of smile

Sitting on the porch, hip locked against mine
you say, you should look up more often
I know you forget sometimes
See the stars?  And the sun tomorrow, that too.
Don’t forget to do that—look up

Isn’t it beautiful?

Devils, blue-eyed and blind
We all need saving, you say


for Anthony

I miss you, hon
my_window_seat: (Default)
You left an empty space
just left of where you were
when you left

and the right thing to do
would be to take what you left behind
for good, and not for granted

but I'm right back where I started
in thinking about this

somewhere off center
nowhere in particular

nothing left here feels right
my_window_seat: (Yuskavage's Girl)
I don't really know what to say.

Thank you to all of you.


Someone very special - is somewhere else right now.

Anthony was very frustrating. He was brilliant and handsome and charming. He was also mentally ill and addicted to drugs.

More than anything, Anthony was kind. He wasn't well understood by most people. Especially the last few years. Most of the people who were supposedly his friends dropped out of his life because he tended to get wild-eyed and rant about his strange theories about the nature of humanity, blue-eyed people vs. brown-eyed people, the war between heaven and earth - and yeah, his tendency to refer to himself as Jesus wasn't really a great crowd-pleaser.

He was over six feet tall, so this kind of energy coming at you full force - and he really had a way of getting right in your face that, if you didn't know that he was entirely harmless and, in his own way, well-intentioned - could freak you right the hell out.

What maybe a lot of people didn't know about him was that he didn't have a mean bone in his body. Occasionally childishly spiteful - but I dare any damn person to say that they haven't had moments where they reacted like a child when they were hurt.

Even at times when I was at my worst, Anthony never held that against me. Even that was frustrating at times.

But whatever he was given, Anthony always tried to pay back, in his own way. He cared more about other people than just about anything else. He could be ego-centric and wrapped up in how others perceived him sometimes, but again, everyone is sometimes.

He wanted to be loved. He tried everything he could think of to make the world feel like a place where he could find that.

He gave away everything he owned - on more than one occasion - and never asked for anything in return.

Even at the worst points in his addiction, he never stole from or took advantage of anyone else. He may have sometimes accepted help that he couldn't go on to make use of in the kinds of ways that could save him from his addiction - but he never, ever took advantage of his friends.

The last time I saw him was three weeks ago. He dropped by at night, unannounced as usual. The same way he always has. The same way he used to when I first knew him.

He was cheerful. A little manic. I didn't understand 9/10ths of what he was talking about, but he accepted that. He was used to that, mostly. About the only thing I can think of to be really glad about at the moment is that that night, I was able to tell him that I loved him. Many times. Okay, so usually when he'd say, "do you know what I mean?" after some particularly long stream of conciousness that I couldn't even begin to follow - but I said about the only thing I could think of, which was, "you know I don't get it, sweetie - but you know I love you."

I got some quality hugs in that night, too. He'd been living on the streets for a while. He asked if he could take a shower. He was in the bathroom for about 45 minutes, and I think he must have been in there in cold water for at least part of it, but he seemed really happy about it. I didn't have any clean jeans for him, but we found the Cure t-shirt he'd given me a few years ago - he was thrilled to have it back again. I was in the middle of making meals for the week, so he kept me company in the kitchen while I worked and had some dinner with me before he left.

He was going to go to OPM later that night. I don't know if he actually ended up going. Club used to be so important to him. If he did end up going, I hope at least one or two of the old crowd were nice to him.

He stopped by two weeks ago, but I wasn't home. He left a note on the door asking if I had any time that weekend. I wasn't home all weekend.

Nikki and I went to the Peak tonight. He really liked it up there. He and I went up there last 4th of July. A couple of the times he disppeared, that's where he went.

One of the last things he said before he left the other night was, "Have you looked up at the sky lately? Don't forget to do that. I know you forget sometimes, and you really should look up more often. Isn't it beautiful?"

I love you, Anthony.

And yes, honey - it really is beautiful.
my_window_seat: (Yuskavage's Girl)
Anthony isn't hurting anymore.

I love you, sweetie.

I love you so much.
my_window_seat: (Default)
Apparently Anthony is alive.

He was missing this time for a week. He called a friend of his parents; refused to say where he was, but he's alive anyway.

Anyone here in town - keep an eye out for him, 'kay? He's not so good at the taking care of himself thing anymore.
my_window_seat: (Default)
Fucking swell.

Just got a call from Anthony's dad. Says he hasn't seen Anthony since Tuesday, and maybe would I know where he might be....?

Anthony, love - if you read this, please stop being a fucking jackass and call your parents.

my_window_seat: (Default)
He's home, and that's about all I feel like saying right now. No drama, no more ruckus. That's all. It's up to him now.


my_window_seat: (Default)

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