Before a trip, the one where we borrowed her car, she left the song cued in the cd player so that it would be the first thing we heard as we headed out onto the open road. The spot in my solar plexus that burns when I think about the Alf Christmas Special lit up and everything felt right with the world. Reminded me of mom and dad hiding notes and candy in our suitcases when we or they had to go away for any length of time. Reminded me of staying up late in to the night, drinking coffee and pontificating while our inebriated peers filled the bars and staggered home, hours later, us still awake, trying to spot Orion.
A few seconds later I was back in the car and he had turned off the song and was grumbling about it being too early for music. I finished my coffee and watched my breath put fog on the windows.
It's just not the kind of thing you can learn. This is what I'm figuring out. You either get it, or you don't. Ranger in Arizona either makes you die from the weight of all the beauty in the world, or you don't notice him at all.
18.12.06
10.12.06
Tonight I'm dealing wolf cards.
I am a real bastard sometimes, I can be selfish and cruel and horrible. I have this ability to smell out weakness and exploit it when I feel necessity dictating.
Sometimes I am not good. He is running scared, and I can see it inside of his eyes when I look into them deeply. There is a hesitation not in the word, but in the look. A small resistance when he looks back into mine, the fear of what might be there. That was the first drop of blood. And the silence, the reticence, the walls made out of stone to try and keep me out. Keep my bastard brain out.
It's always midnight and I've always got a pack of wolf cards in my pocket. Stalking, tracking, I fight for what I want, for what I think is my own like a wild animal. I am no longer kind, the coldness of night fuels me but it's wrecked a part of me. I am leaner, stronger, but now there's also a fierceness who wants no ally.
Sometimes I am just not good. But I stopped apologizing.
Sometimes I am not good. He is running scared, and I can see it inside of his eyes when I look into them deeply. There is a hesitation not in the word, but in the look. A small resistance when he looks back into mine, the fear of what might be there. That was the first drop of blood. And the silence, the reticence, the walls made out of stone to try and keep me out. Keep my bastard brain out.
It's always midnight and I've always got a pack of wolf cards in my pocket. Stalking, tracking, I fight for what I want, for what I think is my own like a wild animal. I am no longer kind, the coldness of night fuels me but it's wrecked a part of me. I am leaner, stronger, but now there's also a fierceness who wants no ally.
Sometimes I am just not good. But I stopped apologizing.
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