I Shouldn't Be Here: Parallels of "Your House" and the Age of Stexing

*A brief note before reading: I recognize that the occurrence of actual online stalking or cyberstalking--that of unwanted attention and harassment online by a former lover, acquaintance, or stranger--is very real, and can be very traumatizing.  If this is happening to you or someone you know, please seek help and support.  You can find more information here and here*


I first heard "Your House" off of Alanis Morrisette's "Jagged Little Pill" well over 15 years ago as a teenager in my friend's bedroom.  After having listened to the major tracks of the album, the hidden track didn't hit me with any intensity at the time, possibly due to my own naivete about the tumultuous and dangerous compulsions of love and attraction.  However, yesterday morning, as I scrolled through my social media newsfeed, I happened upon an article mentioning the album's 20th anniversary.  I allowed myself to enter the raw and intense song once again, not realizing at the time that I might as well have expected to walk through fire unscathed.

I wasn't prepared, even with the explicit warning of the article itself, since I merely thought it was more internet hype to be ignored.  The song is already uncomfortable in the explicitness of the lyrics--or more accurately, the explicitness of the act being carried out--yet it is also uncomfortable because of the familiarity of strong, unrequited desire.  It is quite possible that this is all a scenario being played out in the singer's mind, and that she hasn't actually chosen to violate the physical boundaries of her desired lover.  

All the same, I felt ripped open by the song's conclusion, and cried tears of recognition.  On some level, I identified with the lyrics, but not because I had ever done those things--not in any physical way.  However, upon further reflection, I could not help but think about the parallel that could be drawn between the act of entering someone's physical house with that of entering someone's virtual house (i.e. their online existence).  

Much has been written about--somewhat seriously, somewhat satirically--the online "stalking" of one's ex, or as I like to call it, "stexing."  It has become a norm that no one really likes to admit to doing, and yet most people seem to engage in, especially in the first stages of a breakup.  We know it's not good for us, and there's even proof that it can inhibit our ability to move on with our lives (see linked articles above).  And yet, we still do it, albeit in varying degrees of intensity.

I went to your house
Walked up the stairs
I opened your door without ringing the bell
I walked down the hall
Into your room
Where I could smell you
And I shouldn't be here, without permissionI shouldn't be here

Google, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, etc. have become both the unlocked door and the house(s) in which we live.  (Also, I did wonder why the door in the song was unlocked in the first place.  Then I realized that it could be because Morrisette is from Canada.)  We go into our exes' "rooms", smelling out their presence, smelling out the clues of their lives.  And we know we shouldn't.  Not because we don't have permission--we DO have tacit permission due to the permissiveness of the web (save private or even blocked profiles).  We know we shouldn't engage in stexing because it drives us further into our own personal hell, and it takes more than it gives.  Still, we live for those bits (or bytes?) of cyber crumbs because we get that jolt, that bit of fuel we need to keep the flame of hope burning, no matter how false that hope may be.   

I took off my clothes
Put on your robe
I went through your drawers
And found your cologne
Went down to the den
Found your CD's
And I played your Joni
And I shouldn't stay long, you might be home soon
I shouldn't stay long

We already spend countless hours on our computers--at work, on our way to work and home, and at home.  The internet is our world, the facets of our profiles--status updates, tweets, pins--are our drawers and cd's (or vinyl, if you so choose).  Stexing is yet another time suck--and we shouldn't stay long.  But maybe it's because of the anonymity, or the appearance of anonymity, that allows us to relax into the rut of emotional stagnation for countless, indeterminate periods of time.  There's no one to watch for to come in through the door and discover us in the midst of our online rummaging.

But then the flame of hope turns to an inferno, and we get burned.

I burned your incense
I ran a bath
I noticed a letter that sat on your desk
It said "Hello love, I love you so love, meet me at midnight"
And no, it wasn't my writing
I'd better go soon
It wasn't my writing

So forgive me love
If I cry in your shower
So forgive me love
For the salt in your bed
So forgive me love
If I cry all afternoon

That moment when you see your ex's relationship status change.  When your mouth goes dry, the lump forms in your throat, the heart drops to stomach and stomach falls to your feet, as you see their profile picture change from just them to them with someone else...who isn't you.  Or when you see a status update that tags your replacement, paired with words of love and affection.  Or you see them pin a quote about love that is exactly how you felt (or maybe even still feel) about them, and realize it's about their love for their partner.

Time to go.  You haven't been found out, but you have just found out more than you bargained for, and it's hard not to feel exposed.  All of your flights of fancy wither in the light of reality, and you are left feeling empty, dried up, used.  Nothing a good cry in the shower won't alleviate.  Until the next time.

Acronyms of Old

Every once in a while I look back at some of the stuff I wrote years ago.  It's funny how I might have written something at one time and thought, "Meh, it's ok." only to go back later and think, "Wow!  This was actually really good!"  Hence tonight's entry.  I wrote these acronyms about five years ago.  The context doesn't really matter, but let's just say...I was upset.  So, without further ado...


Hella
Upset
Regarding
Treatment


Courage
Of
Which
Abundance
Reportedly
Diminished


Frustration
Ultimately
Concerning
Kicking

Your
Obstructive
Underlings


Label
Indicating
Embellishment


Made
Altogether
Distraught


Particularly
Irritated
Sentiment
Sustained
Especially
Demonstrably


Acrimonious
Nature
Gaining
Ebullient
Rage

Unknown Connection

This is a poem that I wrote the other night after receiving confirmation that someone I knew a long time ago was here on the east coast.  I had sensed his presence without any other evidence, save only my own intuition.  (This is not the first time this has happened with him.)  The confirmation, while it should have been reassuring, threw me into more internal chaos, not less.  I suspect this was because while it was still only my intuition it was safe...I didn't have to do anything with it.  I just let it be.  But now since I know that I was right, it's difficult to know what to do with this, if anything.  

Anyway, some notes before reading: there's a part in the poem where I talk about "seismic waves of elephants."  This refers to the not-so-well-known fact that elephants can communicate to a certain degree using seismic vibration.  There have been studies that have shown that these vibrations can be felt as much as 20 miles away.  There's also a nod to The Little Prince...see if you can find it.  Finally, as I was writing this post and seeking an image to accompany it, I found that there is a word in Hebrew, Mizpah, which, although it is not its literal definition, apparently refers to a connection between two people who are separated--either physically or by death.  In this case, I'd say that's an accurate description.  So, should I maybe change the title?...

How cruel it is to feel without seeing

To know without knowing

To hear without fully comprehending.

I felt your presence with a resounding "yes"

That vibrated like a gentle hum within my bones.

Your visage never appeared before me except in

Daylight dreams

But your vibration I felt like seismic waves of elephants.

The certainty of yes faded like ripples in a shallow pool

And questions were answered only in echo.

I accepted your absence, only to feel a shadow cross

My threshold again.

The warmth of yes now replaced by a cold fog of maybe...

And confirmation came by way of a green door and I

Became undone.

I shook and trembled with the fearful certainty that once again

Connection 

Is no figment of the 

Imagination.

It is a stronghold in the endless storms of

Space and time.

Its light shines invisible in the drab darkness of the 

Ordinary,

And shouts into ears gone deaf from

Disbelief.

You, at some time, awakened me to myself--

Connected me

With some other that was

Known

And yet unknown--

That was you.

That I cannot un-know because it is forever tied to

Now.

That I cannot unsee because it gave me my

Vision.

But now I am bereft because I am able to

Know

But not explain...

I can see, but cannot describe--

All words fall 

Mute in the attempt.

My heart sees with clarity the essential

Though reason sees fit to blind with 

Denial.

But now reason can rest in what my soul knew,

Leaving me to lie awake in a new

Unknown.

Bye Bye Blackbird: Memories of a Mad Englishman

I was probably three when I first heard his voice at a wedding when You Are So Beautiful played during the first dance, though I have no recollection of it occurring.  I definitely heard his voice during the opening credits of The Wonder Years back in the late 80s, but I still had not been fully awakened.  I didn't know it at the time, but I had also heard him sing When a Woman Loves a Man  on the Bull Durham soundtrack.  It wasn't until I was nine that I knowingly fell in love with Joe Cocker.

I was in my dad's living room, settling in for a card game, and Dad put on Joe's Greatest Hits album.  When those opening guitar chords of With A Little Help from My Friends hit, I immediately recognized it as The Wonder Years theme song.  Although I was engrossed in the game at hand, a part of me was soaking in this soulful yet gritty voice.  It screamed and howled like a wild beast, yet at times it could be soothing, deep, and rich.  But it wasn't just his voice.  It was how it melded with the music, and how everything he did he made his own.  (I didn't know at the time that almost all Joe did was covers.  For the longest time I thought he wrote the song that he is so famous for covering.)   The days that followed would find me plugging in the headphones to my dad's stereo and practically blasting my ears off (along with dancing my nine year old tail off) to tracks like Cry Me a River, Feeling Alright, and Delta Lady.  (I was particularly fond of the latter due to the guitar riff near the end where my left shoulder would give a little shimmy.)  I lost track of how many years I listened to that album on repeat, but it remained a constant favorite.  

I can still remember that moment when, not long after my new found fandom, I was watching Sleepless in Seattle for the first time.  There's that one scene of Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan each walking alone on their separate coasts, and Bye Bye Blackbird seems to say everything that a script cannot, and never could.  Being ten years old at the time, however, I could not feel the depth of emotion that the scene evoked.  But I recognized the voice, and that was enough.  It wasn't the screaming wolfman with persistent drum beats, wailing organs, and growling guitars; it was the man behind the animal: mournful, soulful, and beautifully brokenhearted.  "No one seems to love or understand me," his rich voiced lamented, and somehow, even at the tender age of ten, I felt like I understood what he meant.

In middle school I brought home a cassette tape with him on the cover: a little shaggy in the hair and the just-grown-in beard on his face.  His appearance and expression is not unlike that of a dog that's been on the streets for far too long, yet is still looking for his master: hardened by the road, yet still soft behind the eyes.  Little did I know, but I found what I believe to be one of his best albums.  Other than You Are So Beautiful, "I Can Stand A Little Rain" yielded no other hit.  Yet, I wore that tape out, falling asleep night after night to tracks like Don't Forget Me, Performance, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, and Guilty.  It is decidedly a more mellow album with only a few tracks that are dedicated to his more rock and roll roots.  But it's also an all around consistently good album, with only a couple of odd tracks.  I love it precisely because, overall, it doesn't try to be something that it's not.  It's just Joe doing what he did best: interpreting the works of others and making them his own.  (Side note: the album was released 40 years ago this year.)

Strangely enough, dedicated fan as I was, I had yet to see any recordings or footage of one of his performances.  It wasn't until I was in high school when I happened upon a PBS showing of "Woodstock" that I finally caught a glimpse of the man behind the voice.  I was both appalled and mystified by what I saw.  I tried to take in what I was watching: a man who looked like he was on the verge of a drunken collapse, with uncoordinated bodily contortions, and a face that seemed like it was possessed by some underworld entity; yet he could hit every note and musical phrase with perfect timing and expression, not to mention his voice was so completely and totally present (if not altogether coherent in its annunciation).  My viewing of the performer did not change my love for the singer; it just gave me a more complete picture, and later, an appreciation for the artist as a whole.

In college I finally acquired the album that he is probably best known for, and which helped rocket him to fame in the 1970s: Mad Dogs and Englishmen.  Here again, I found myself gyrating in my room to my heart's content to songs like Honkey Tonk Woman and Sticks and Stones, along with live versions of Feeling Alright and Delta Lady.  I also found myself being lulled to sleep with his and Leon Russell's rendition of Bob Dylan's Girl from the North Country.  In particular, Joe's under-phrasing for the verse about his love having a coat so warm was goosebump inducing in its tenderness and longing.  Finally, the track Space Captain contained both the screaming soulfulness of Joe, the playfulness of Leon Russell's piano as well as the backup singers' intermittent "woos" and "ahhs" that made it one of the most enjoyable tracks of the album.  In addition, it contained a message straight out of the decade that they had just left behind: we gotta learn how to live together till we die.  It's as true then as it is now, though the level of optimism seems to have diminished significantly over the years.  Even so, the sentiment and energy contained within the track has not diminished even after 40 years.

I'm not sure why, but it seems to be my habit in life to approach things backwards.  (Just ask me about how I ended up reading the Harry Potter series.)  Joe's debut album was the last of his that I bought, and it was largely due to happenstance.  Had it not been for Change in Louise coming up in my search for tracks by the artist, "With a Little Help from My Friends" might not have shown up on my radar.  It is probably my least favorite of his albums that I own, though it's not without appreciation.  His cover of I Shall Be Released is the stuff of end-of-life send off unlike any other, and seems a more than fitting track to acknowledge when remembering a man whose voice was simultaneously ethereal and nearly-six-feet deeply rooted in the earth.  It is the epitome of his gift: to breathe a life and a soul into what was already beautiful, and make it a new being to behold.

Joe Cocker, the mad Englishman and the broken soul man, has followed me throughout my life, even before I knew who he was.  His music was his gift to everyone who would listen, and has been part of my personal soundtrack on so many occasions, more than I can count or remember here.  I held no interest in his most recent releases, preferring to remain instead in the annals of his hey-day for the most part, so I cannot say that I will miss him in the sense of feeling the loss of potential new creations.  But I say I mourn his passing because the presence of one who brought so much light and uniqueness to the world of music is now gone, and I wish he knew how we are all the better just from him showing up.  

Two and One

2

0

1

0

Twenty

And ten.

Two

And one.

Adding up to three.

You

Her

And me.

Me came early,

And you just in time. . .

But you couldn’t stay.

Your heart pulled away,

And left mine with all the weight to carry.

Two zero one zero.

The heaviness of that year still aches

In my memory.

A dead

Weight.

I languished over our death

While you left

And met

Her.

I let go

And five months was all it took

For you to live again.

Timing is everything, it seems.

But time has erased nothing.

Time has bored

Into my skin each passing year…

One

Two

Three…

And now four.

You

This weight

This scar

Lives in my bones,

And I was but a scratch on your surface.

Ten and twenty

The number of days I anticipated it would take

To get you out of my system.

The hurt wasn’t the worst.

It was more.

It was deep,

But not deeply felt.

For months I dwelt

On the unfairness of the hand

I was dealt.

Yelled

Cried

Screamed

Kicked,

Because what was more unfair

Than you never loving,

Never wanting,

Was the grief that I had to bear.

I resented its presence most of all.

So I left it,

Like you did me,

Like I did you.

And it has found me here,

In a year

Too far removed

From there.

Two

And none

One

And four.

Here I sit,

Bringing you back…

Doing what I should have done before.

Resolution for No Resolutions

How many times have we all made promises to ourselves that we weren't able to keep?  Even just on a daily basis.  We promise ourselves that "tomorrow, I'll clean the kitchen" or "I will do the laundry!", or in my case, "I will work on my paper due in x number of days!"  Sometimes we follow through, but most times, we fail.  So why would resolutions for the new year be any different?  How is the start of a new year different from the start of a new week, or a new day?  This doesn't mean that the new year can't be significant in its own way, but it's also more of a question of how it will be significant.  It's not about resolution(s), it's about intention(s).

Two years ago today, I decided to give my room a good cleaning.  My way of starting out the new year fresh.  I opened the windows, changed the sheets on my bed, put things in their proper places (or at least in a drawer where they could be dealt with "later"), and did it all to the sound of old timey 1920s jazz coming from my clock radio (thank you, NPR!).  One of the very last spaces I tackled was my bookcase.

Besides my sacred collection of books that I hardly ever read, my bookcase also served as an altar of sorts.  No, I didn't make offerings or kneel before it, but the articles and objects held a special significance, or so I thought.  Candles of different sizes and scents, an incense burner, an oil diffuser, wooden carvings and small figurines, all found their way to the space somehow.  I held onto them for so long that I stopped contemplating the reasons for their existence.  

In my cleaning, I decided to remove everything to give the space a good dusting.  After I had scraped away as much caked up dust and candle wax as possible, I started to put things back in their place.  But then I hit a snag: I couldn't remember where it all went!  I decided to rearrange them instead, which wasn't a foreign concept in this case.  However, I found that even this was a daunting task.  There was so much stuff, and it was hard to figure out where it all should go.   So, I started from scratch.  I pulled everything off again, then chose the pieces that spoke the most to me, the ones that I was drawn to.  There was no logic involved, just feeling.  As I went through this process, I realized that what I wanted instead was more space, more room to see and interact with everything, not more things to interact with.  There was a feeling of lightness and openness in this act of letting go.  And from this feeling came the idea of what I wanted in the new year.

I had long given up on new years' resolutions.  I, like many, failed to complete what I had set out to do.  So, each year, it was "I resolve to make no resolutions."  (Ironically, the following day, 1-1-12, I resolved that I was going to buy and learn how to play the ukulele.  I managed to follow through with the first half of it at least.  But that's another story.)  But as I was reorganizing my altar, a new idea came through: what if, each year, I chose a theme or an intention rather than a resolution?  It wouldn't necessarily be something that I would have to keep in mind every day, but it would be something that informed how I looked at the life I was living.  In this particular instance, it came to me almost without thinking: Create space.  This notion of "creating space" was not unfamiliar to me, as it was often used in the yoga classes I attended at the time.  There was frequent talk of "creating space" within the body for the breath to move; "creating space" in the mind; "creating space" for emotions long buried to come through.  The theme fit perfectly, much like the objects that I chose to remain on my altar.

Throughout that year, I found the theme arising on its own, showing itself to me in various ways: letting go of relationships, letting go of a job that had not suited me for a long time, cleaning out my physical space, letting go of ideas of how my future would play out, and so on.  I created space for the good things to come through, for the surprises to come in (some in more pleasant ways than others).  It wasn't always easy, but it proved useful.  I was able to let go of the life, and the people, that I knew, and embark on a new adventure all the way across the country.  It allowed me to immerse myself in a new life: a graduate program, new friends, new experiences...

So, because this idea of a theme for the year worked so well the first time, I gave it another try this past year.  This time, it was similar to the first, but different in its own way.  I chose "Recreate".  But the result wasn't the same as the last time.  I didn't notice how the theme of re-creation came to play in my life.  I even forgot what the theme was for a while.  But, looking back, I can see some places where it did arise.  I re-created the vision of what relationships should look like.  I re-created the version of myself that I thought I knew.  I re-created my perceptions of others.  I did this all unconsciously, and that's fine with me.  Maybe that's what needed to happen.

Which brings us to this year.  I think, a lot of times, resolutions are about trying to achieve our highest self.  We need to stop smoking, stop drinking so much or altogether, enrich our minds, enrich our relationships, take care of our bodies, etc.  But instead of phrasing it in terms of "need" or "should", why not look at it from another perspective?  Why not see these goals, these attempts, as a way to express and experience love for ourselves?  I don't mean this in a solipsist sense, and I certainly don't encourage the self-indulgent mindset that seems to permeate our culture.  I mean real love.  Love that challenges, pushes, but is also compassionate and forgiving.  Love which understands limits, but is limitless in its abundance.  

It is with this in mind that I have decided on my theme for the new year: Self-love.  My intention is to examine my words, my actions, my ideas, and my relationships through this lens.  Instead of setting a weight loss goal, I'll ask myself if the choices I am making are showing love to my body.  Instead of setting the goal of a certain number of dates, or even becoming involved in a relationship, I will ask if the people I involve myself with show the care and respect for me that I deserve to show myself.  Instead of berating myself for not studying harder, I will ask if my procrastination served a purpose, or if my actions were in line with the larger goals I have for myself.  

Resolutions are about strict and formulaic goals, but themes are about perspectives and looking to the road ahead.  Intention isn't about what we do, but how we look at what we do.  Intentions and themes inform our lives, and can subsequently enrich them.  In the end there isn't the same sense of accomplishment that may come from a resolution, but instead a sense of deeper knowledge of the self.  It is more subtle in its expression, but also more deeply felt. 

We shall see how the theme for this year plays out.  I may even post an update or two.  Until then, happy new year.         

        

Still

Your story
Our story
Came up
As a surprise conversation.
I revisited dusty corners
That I had thought were clean;
Opened boxes of
Faded pictures of memory that still
Held some color of recognition,
That still
Let me know
That still
This loss has been left ungrieved.
I have held you
Locked safe
In a deep well
Of still water,
Drawing you up from time to time,
But without all the pain.
Without the still sinking feeling of regret.
But it waited for me,
Still,
Like some stalking predator,
Lying still
In the grass, waiting
For some movement,
Some sign
That now is ripe,
Now is time
For the stillness
To be broken.
My lips formed the words
In fits and starts,
And my breath, slow and steady,
Pushed them away,
Even though I knew that still
The wound that still stung
Like it had been born yesterday
Bled from beneath that still
Surface.
Still pools formed in my eyes,
And the rivers flowed
Like tears.
The you that was still
In me
Became real again,
Even though I knew
It was still a lie
To believe that what once was dead
Could still live.
I still have a shred of your ghost,
Which I fear will meet the real you someday.
And all will be lost.
All which was hidden will be revealed,
All which was closed will open,
All that has lived, that has survived,
Will die.
It will hit me with the cold
Weight of time,
And I will stand still
Waiting for it all to begin
Its end.
And yet,
I still know that even as
I fear it,
I still wait for that day.
Still not knowing why.
Still knowing that when your face meets mine
You will see that I am
Still...
Yes.