writethis

nothing

j. tyler blue

I have nothing to say. I suppose I am letting you know that now in case I say something later and you happen to stop reading before that moment, just know it was nothing. I don't think I should even post this.

I am not eating as much. I am not writing as much. Maybe they are connected. I ate today, I am writing now. Life is a cherry or something else, something stupid. Eat toes. I am not up on politics like other people. I have a boring job so I won't talk about it. I don't date so there is nothing to say about that. I don't have friends. I do I suppose but not really close ones. There is nothing to report on these people. My kids are fine. Hooray. I don't take pictures so don't look for them. I have been dreaming lately. At night, in the morning mostly between alarms. During the 'snooze' time. Some during the day.

My mind feels diseased. I feel diseased. I say this to myself for my records. Maybe this can be read by someone, maybe me and I can say yes I was diseased then, but I am better now. The fall is coming. Then winter, then spring, then summer. Another year will pass. And I wonder how much more will I go on like this, how much more will I?

Some days ago I was at Barnes and Noble. They have a Starbucks there and I sat down near the window with my henry miller book and I was reading it and eating some sandwich I ordered there with an iced chai. I was reading and sometimes I would stop and look out the window. What I was doing, yes, what I was doing was looking out the window and reading in-between but I would like to say and think it was the other way. But it was not.

I was looking for you

I was hoping I would see you

I was hoping, yes, waiting, for you to recognize me there in the window and you could come in and sit next to me and we could talk. We could share laughs and we could skip down the street and we could do whatever we wanted to do. Yes, I was waiting for you. But you did not come. And I ate alone, and drank my chai and read my book and watched the people go by.

There were so many people, young and old. And fat many people were fat and I thought if I would end up that way fat and alone one-day in the window of Barnes and Noble will that be me? Will I be there then waiting for you and what would you wear when I am old and fat? I do not want to think about it. It is a terrible depressing thing to think about.

I saw some women walking. Beautiful women and I began to see that I really love women, all sorts of women and I can see that these women or most of them anyway are sad. They are not lonely like me and they do not see me because I am there in the window to be seen so naturally they do not see me. I am something ugly to them I am you see something ugly and terrible. I am alone and nobody wants that. But...I see them...and they are sad.

They are sad because their life lacks substance and I can see this in the way the walk and how they talk to each other. Their eyes dart around looking looking looking for life. The ones with men, yes, these ugly men with their dumb tennis shoes and their beer bellies and tanktops and baseball caps they do not know that their woman next to them is dying. And I think, and I know I could save them. In them I could rescue their lives.

I am, you must understand, a starving man who can see. I have eaten well, I was raised with the talent and means of a fine life but now I have fallen on difficult times and I am starving. And I see these women, these women are beautiful things to be eaten and enjoyed and they are dying with this man of theirs and they know it. They know that their gift and their talent is being wasted on Thursday nights in fifteen minutes of pumping and a few moans and a few groans and it is now 12:00 and TV and fart and sleep. Slobs of men. This fruit in their face and they turn their fat bellies, their ruddy cheeks, their small cocks, their bad teeth to the side. Get me a beer honey. Hey let us go out to the bar. Let us die a little slower tonight honey. That is what these slobs of men say but they do not even know it.

And these women settle for it because they are scared to be alone, like me. So instead they are sad. And they are dying. And they are wasted.

One night and we could both be born again. One night, this is what I dream, one night with one woman and we could both be resurrected from our early graves. What is more delicious than a woman? What is more ready than a man who dreams of such things? I would savor this; I would not bully my way through like some brute drunk off of whiskey. No! My nose my mouth my breath my tongue need to bask in these moments. Soak them up and slowly I would peel away the inhibitions of you. Your hips are nice to bite. Does he bite them? No! He is a fool. He only does what? Abc on your velvet! What amateur. What nonsense. What pathetic skill.

I would make you beg for my tongue inside of you. I would make you beg for my fingers to insert themselves and they would. And still I would bite your hips. And still I would grab your hand and still I would not let you go. No. You must wait. You must be reborn and rebirth is not given so easily.

And so I would treasure you. Your treasure and I would become intimate and lovers. And your body and mine would glide

And CLAW and GRAB and RIP and FIGHT and BURN and PULL and TEAR and FEEL

Yes we would feel –feel- feel what it is be alive. And this is not over at midnight and this is not TV and this is not Thursday night and we would wake the neighbors the kids the dogs the small animals outside! They would all disappear to us and we would appear to them.

I am in you. And we fight to stay together and to break apart because it is just too much. My skin is not enough to hold me. And you begin to tear it off of me and I begin to eat you out of your flesh and we leave this world. We leave it behind

What moves do we do? What positions and such things? We do not think of them. We do not even remember them in this fury. Who can remember birth?

Who can remember becoming alive?

Like we would be.

And this is why I am late to work everyday. And this is why I hit snooze. And this is why I wait for you at bookstores. And this is why I write nothing. And this is how you have diseased my mind. And this is me

still waiting…