winterize

I've become so warm...
so very warm.

The kind of warm, that melts the glacier
surrounding my heart...
instead of winterizing with a quart
of anti-freeze...

I belong in the burn unit,
with the fire you’ve lit underneath
my skin.

Patron and Twinkies

Christmas is a time of confession.
I mean, I have to be on my best behavior for Santa, right?

Well… I have a big one to admit. Sort of… I mean, let me explain.

I wrote a blog about this time last year about love. Just general thoughts/feelings on love/relationships. It was not a declaration. It was not a manifesto. More like a statement of feeling. SO… With that being said, here is my confession.

I, Stacy Swinney, have plagiarized my own writing to create a not so original love letter. I copied and pasted the following blog entry into an email and sent it off to a suitor who requested to know my feelings for him. Well, seeing is how I didn’t have feelings for the suitor, I couldn’t write something amazing and original… I instead was lazy and chose to copy/past and change a couple of pronouns.

Now maybe dear readers, you are horrified.
Or rolling in the aisle with laughter… Either way, I now have posted this here with the intention of making this a copy/paste love letter for all to have and enjoy. Feel free to edit it and make it your own.
I have also found out, with continual changes of pronouns it makes a great Dear John a.k.a. break up letter. It takes a bit more work… but it is worth it for the gentle yet firm you-don’t-light-my-fire let down that Hallmark doesn’t make.

And look! I have done this just in time for the holidays.
Need that NYE kiss? Send here this. Want to ditch the zero before NYE and start with a clean slate? Look no further.

Stacy Swinney’s Copy/Paste Love Letter
(or Dear John Letter)

There is only one question we need to ask ourselves: who knows how to make love stay? (Because, you see, its rare. it’s rare for it to last and it’s rare to find).
If you answer me that, I can tell you rather or not to kill yourself; if you answer me that I can ease your mind about time, space and the beginning/ending of time; if answer me that and I can tell you the purpose of the moon.

Above all of things, this, love, this infatuation is nothing but a patina glaze over the previous encounters. The encounters that had all but short of the lasting impression in pressed memories of vulture shadows and wolf howls, cocaine highs and explosives... and then some.
I've been nothing but burned, till now-- I think, and thusly I have a black belt in haiku and was practically a waitress at the last supper (thus enabling me to start over with our breakfast)... I have been through heart-break boot camp and now am a counselor in training. .

don’t think I am lamenting the fact that I have been loved, lost, fucked, found, beaten, broken and left standing alone... barely, but alone on my own two feet with all ten toes and ten fingers intact.
from all my lessons learned I know only this: I thought I knew what love was and how to make it stay, but now, I haven’t got a clue-- I am completely stupid on the subject, like convex vectors and how to translate homer.

But I did come up with way to try to convince love stay (aside from access to my bank account, pin 4456) 1) I’m telling love I am going to the sick deli off Franklin to get sandwiches and cheesecake, if it stays, love can have half (but that deli closed like a mo0nth or two ago so that is out. OR I have to find another equally great Italian style deli.). 2) Well... haven’t thought of a second one... even more so now that the first is out of commission.

Maybe a better way to put it is, the prince really IS a toad and you, the princess just has a reptile fetish OR even better, the princess has halitosis. People are never perfect but love can make you over look that; and the only way that the mediocre and vile are transformed by finding such a love (or an equally vile or mediocre person to attach too). Point being, loving makes love. Making it work makes love.

Or maybe; somehow love is this mythical ultimate outlaw. It just won’t adhere to the rules. The most any of us can do is sign on to be an accomplice, a partner in crime... and accessory. Instead of vowing honor to obey maybe we should swear to aid and abet. That would mean that security is out of the question and the words "make" and "stay" become inappropriate and no longer apply in this reality.

My love for you is free. Love for you is no strings attached; no back end deals with conditions or punishments but no strings attached in the purest sense of those words.
I thought hard. I thought I might want to follow you to the ends of the earth. And I could, if Columbus hadn’t fixed that.

I bet you are reading this, slightly confused, and a little amused. Glaring at the screen the way I glare when I need a vice fix: a smoke, a bite, coffee, piece of ass or fast story... and instead I get philosophy... or bad art. Or Wu-Tang.

So here, I sit, typing away spouting off random thoughts of love and the life altering/ending impacts they have and how to avoid the latter of the two choices. I sigh. I should be doing anything but this. Looking for a job, mending my life, figuring my shit out. I should... do whatever.
But I want this out and off of my chest.

So here I am, praying to Elmer, the Greek god of glue, that this sticks and it works.

All I want is someone to shoot patron and eat Twinkies with me. ;)

Pop Culture Infiltrates Life

I’m a big fan on honesty.

I mean, for the most part, it’s what each of us deserves right?

Well, sometimes other people’s honesty goes too far. It borders on too much information. And really, there are something’s that I have NO desire to know about.

Perfect example is a 334AM text message saying: “Smile like you mean it. I am in love with someone else.”

I had to read it twice it was so insane.

And then, my thought process was, “did you just quote the killers.” Followed by “wtf.”

That is when I saw the timestamp stating it was 334. At which point, I am sure this new “love” is not in the picture… and if he/she is, they have no idea that you are texting me when you should be sleeping/fucking or doing anything but texting yours truly.

The same morning at a more normal hour (11ish) I re-read this. And start to formulate the perfect answer back… using lyrics from The Killers. Because, I have the image of this guy searching painstakingly through the discography of The Killers catalogue trying to find the perfect line to sum up his… triumph? Of getting over the relationship and moving on… (This btw, as everyone knows was over before this. And he originally ignored the initial break-up) which took till 3am.

So here are the answers I considered sending:

“Mr. Brightside”

“Believe me, Natalie”

“Andy, You’re a Star”

“Nobody Dances with Michael”

“Somebody (already) Told Me”

“This Is Your Life”

“Goodnight, Travel Well” (the winner, in my book)

“Forget What I Said”

“I Can’t Stay”

In the end, I sent nothing.

Why open up that kind of damaging communication when my life is going perfectly fine, and this person tried to disrupt the universe.

So yea…

Between that and a series of unwarranted “imissyou” “istillthinkaboutyouallthetime” “icantlivewithoutyou” messages; there was a trifecta of crazy going on in text land. This is not fun for me.

But I powered through.

And got 2.5 minutes of amusement out of it.

thoughts

Just the thought…

If there was only one it would be so much easier. But instead, I am raked back by constant bombardment of thoughts and emotions that crash down in such swells that I am convinced I will crumble and erode away into some cavernous abyss where I will ultimately be labyrinth-ly lost.

The thoughts, they race, they are not competing but merely swirling and stewing in the cauldron of my mind… that I apparently left over the fire too long and now everything is this unidentifiable mush that looks like something that may or may not have carrots and potatoes in it.

Am a caught off guard by the magnitude of what I am feeling.

Because I have no way to approach, organize or even process them. The feelings rise up behind my eyes and burn. In the way only true things do burn from with in.

And instead of going with my instincts and trusting what nearly every fiber of my being is telling me. I cross-reference it… try to compartmentalize it and truss it up to be something else… anything else than what I know it might be.

And I know, that’s wrong. I know that that is not the right thing to do. I know where that puts me… smack in the middle of nonsensical circular logic.

But at the same time, how do you ignore something or even just accept something that is setting off so many DIFFERENT alarms. It’s like, even when the smoke detector goes off, you sniff for smoke, even if you know its just the cheese in the bottom of the oven, that has flaked off from the dozens of pizzas you made, burning, and re-burning. YOU KNOW it’s not a fire, you know its pizza. But you still double check.
And you are totally reassured that yes, yes, that is pizza in the oven… and damn, I am ready for some pizza.