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og in 2005 would have derided the entire scene without clemency would have railed on about the injustice the building the business the women working there and the men wandering through all burned at the stake with no capacity for preference or exception age has a funny way of softening lines of widening gaze of evolving what s right and what s wrong into a spectrum and thereby gleaning some meaning in the place of an answer there s one client who doesn t park in the rear not in the literal sense anyway my entrance to the highway seems to coincide with his night shift ending at the mill and i often see him either when i m at the light or stuck at the tracks as he s exiting his car and heading inside sometimes he hangs around outside his car smoking a cigarette with an expression on his face that i mull over whilst changing lanes what is that expression it isn t defiance although he could be described as such since he refuses the indignity cloak of hiding his car with everyone else s it isn t ambivalence because he certainly knows what he s doing and it isn t smugness because however much of a habit this has become i doubt it s his first choice acceptance i think it s acceptance while others i have seen hastily enter or exit the building chins tucked into the collars of their waxed jackets eyes downcast and identifying features carefully concealed he stands casually smoking blinking into the sun in no hurry at all comfortably unencumbered by the stream of witnesses driving past immune to their swift judgement he looks free of concern to me and i m a little jealous of anyone who seems content to live instinctively unfettered by outside opinions see a need fill a need i m past questioning morality and unprovoked by its type of religion that s been the gift of my thirties it looks a bit like not caring but it s more about just embracing relative thought and rationale while abandoning the incredulity that governed my younger days and to some degree it s about acceptance a willingness to consider the origin story and not just the resulting series of acts every morning i watch different men walk through a door to pay for sex i don t wonder why i know why there are a set of physiological needs that need to be filled it s all been neatly tucked in an inverse triangle that i remember from high school if you have a beating heart and breath in your lungs a roof over your head and a job to go to it is a matter of time before you seek out whatever means are required to experience physical love emotional love fits in there somewhere as well but it s a few tiers up and in the immediate sense less necessary human beings require touch they require release they require two eyes looking into their own two eyes without the threat of rejection and it doesn t have to be the real thing but it helps if it looks like the real thing everyone pays for it in a past life i worked in pubs i started at 18 and spent more than a decade waffling in and out of the industry it s a lot of staying awake til 4 am sleeping in til noon the next day listening to men talk about missing their wives or about hating their wives and letting them get drunk enough to not remember the difference ah it was all so glamorous most of them were lovely guys humorous ex pats with their puns and their banter and their weird rhyming slang but even the loveliest can slip into darkness after one too many on one such occasion a discussion about what kind of man pays for it cropped up and i well rooted in my bold youth declared that it was the territory of predators looking to garner some sadistic pleasure from taking advantage of drug addicted or otherwise troubled women that is who pays for it said i and the once lovely now darkened gentleman sitting opposite me leaned in with his eyes half shut speaking in that familiar snarled drunken lilt of the you re not better than s said everyone pays for it in fact i m paying for it right now am i not oh and the fires of hell that swirled up in my stomach at the impact of those words i m a barmaid not a whore said i everyone is a whore said he i m paying you to pour my pint and stand in front of me smiling while i look at you and call you beautiful don t wonder if it s true ask yourself why you don t mind nevermind i ll tell you it s because you need someone calling you beautiful just like i need someone smiling at me just like johnny whoremonger needs his bird to tell him he s her favourite client ah reckoning i couldn t see it then but i can see it now human beings need love you can punish yourself for it if you want to you can pull around the block and park in the rear collar high and cheeks flared red or you can stand in the open unapologetic inhaling a cocktail of cigarette smoke and factory fumes but everyone needs love some version of it some context of it and it s a need that will find its own way of being met if left to its own devices in desperate times even the most tenuous grasp on the worst incarnation of it brings some measure of appeal causing you to squeeze your hands into fists around the rusted edges and tightly close your eyes until it starts to look familiar until it starts to feel like the real thing posted by diadima at 2 32 pm 1 comments saturday january 03 2015 and then tab me out people like to tell me their stories usually i don t really give a shit i stand on one side of the bar and they sit on the other they pay and i pour they talk and i appear to listen they tip and i might pay attention there s a lot of give and take a lot of pretend every once in a while someone tells me something that i haven t heard before something new something shocking something i have to lean in to hear because it s all they can do to just get it out with half a voice the other night a regular customer was sitting at the end of the bar barely anyone else was in he s always been a loud boisterous individual kind of tough works in construction laughs loudly talks loudly drinks a lot and fast we got to talking about kids i know his wife had two when they got together later in life a second marriage for both and he speaks of her kids often it occurred to me i ve never heard him talk of his own kids so i asked if he had any ordinarily i wouldn t ask a personal question like that ordinarily i couldn t care less but i did ask the question and as soon as it was out the look on his face suggested it was a mistake big drunken smile vanished eyes cast down uncomfortable shifting of weight no no kids i mean i was going to have kids like i was going to i was married before eight years married young for no reason had the house had the cars had the whole set up we were gonna have a kid i mean to say she was pregnant at one time i thought to myself oh shit he s going to tell me she miscarried what do i say what do i say what do i say yeah yeah we were supposed to have a kid i thought but in the end she didn t keep it i nodded ah she lost the baby not really not exactly i mean to say she didn t keep it she had an abortion she did it secretly because she just didn t feel ready i mean that s what i told myself i guess because she never did give me a reason i said you were married for eight years and she secretly aborted your baby yeah yeah she did that i thought we were going to have a child i wanted kids and she did as well and we were excited but then she came home one afternoon and said what she had done and i was i mean i wished she was dead instead i left i walked out the door and she moved down to cleveland i just walked out the door and left it swinging i was drunk for six months i said nothing i stood there stricken and stunned now that s some heavy shit i know she wanted to reconcile with me years later she moved back up here she was back in town but i can t even look at her i have no stomach for her i wish she would have just lied to me because i am haunted now and i ve been haunted ever since i mean this is over twenty years dead and buried but i still think about that baby i still think about that life i created and i had no say and there s no changing it anyway no no i never really had any kids other than that i ll uh i ll take a double scotch neat when you get a sec hon and then tab me out posted by diadima at 11 29 pm 0 comments thursday november 20 2014 this must be the place you re in a place and the object of emotion is somewhere else there are no telephones no airplanes no long distance wavelengths and there is no end in sight posted by diadima at 2 42 pm 0 comments tuesday october 21 2014 like sleep to the freezing sweet and right and merciful fall always comes on to me like this damp chill and decay fills my airways stirring up the tide and kicking up every leaf that settles i was born with this addicts heart it thunders away in my chest making me want what i want what i want what i want until i have squeezed everything out of it and i am fully sickened once more with a longing for other more better different new and how i want that affliction and how i want to be agonized and how i want some yearning to tear me apart and leave me sick and breathless and up all night but ask me and i will say i sleep peacefully every night every addiction comes with its own set of rules its own book of lies its own sweet promise that guards the door to the truth those sweet promises are so filling so appetizing i made a meal from them and fed willingly now all that surrounds me are these photographs these snapshots of peaceful love like some sepia toned cameo that i keep clutched to my chest just some fantasy just to bolster me across this blood stained beach just to get me to the other side just til the war is over everything you swore lies tucked inside and i squeeze it hard until it cuts into my hand i squeeze everything out of it it hangs from my neck full of every instance in which you pledged fidelity with eyes green from my disease because you were born sick as me we are the same species and if you ache for other more better different new keep it quiet love just til the war is over posted by diadima at 4 52 pm 0 comments thursday december 06 2012 a single spark explosion i am a creature of habit i know this my heart is the heart of an addict and i don t deny it it searches for nutrition for satiation in a word or a look or a hand on my hand it searches in eyes that close a tenth of a second too long to qualify as a blink but not quite long enough to justify how much time i might spend later on wondering what was contained there and then the bright lights of morning i m a lover of mornings though i admit that it s not well known due to the fact that i frequently sleep through them this morning the bedroom was awash in a pinkish light that flooded and dimmed as the blind swayed against the window frame it s that rhythmic song of inhalation and exhalation that leads me to believe that i could still find you even if the brilliance that s holed up inside of you didn t fill every room that you walked into didn t blanket every inch of me in warmth didn t leave my eyes smarting addiction fixation energy a word a look a hand on my hand someone put this here someone dreamt this someone painted those two hands the finger tips of which are laden with electrical current when they re pressed against my skin my body hums the euphonic morse code of your heart beat and every other thing every other thought every other word melts into that pinkish light i dreamt last night i saw you a single spark explosion negotiating with the dead by the bright lights in some icu on my chest you put your head and said there you are there you are t here s my heart posted by diadima at 10 37 pm 6 comments wednesday october 22 2008 a gradual curve logic and reason they are two forces by which i have so rarely been ruled they float around my consciousness like so many bits of dust and debris their influence more often overshadowed by the force of my heart they beg me to go slowly to take care to think through each word before it leaves my lips but my heart works so much harder and my heart has so many other plans since the first day since the first moment there was a clarity from which i couldn t disconnect to which i couldn t relate any reason and so instead of being patient and quiet i memorized the sound of your voice the shape of your hands the movement of your eyes the pauses in the conversation that were already striking me like lightning logic and reason dictate to us that these things take time they take years to stretch and grow and ebb into a gradual curve like old silvercoated photographs that blacken in the natural light things that happen too quickly can vanish just as quickly but my heart works so much harder and my heart has so many other plans posted by diadima at 11 37 pm 4 comments sunday october 12 2008 never cut what can be untied it was somewhere between eastern quebec and edmunston where we lost an hour and i saw my first east coast sunset the highway 2 runs through a section of new brunswick that is largely untouched and there was little to distract from the streaks of pink and orange that stretched across the horizon i find it hard to sit still at the best of times if nineteen hours in a car teaches you anything it s patience the highway provides the ideal circumstance for a captive audience and so i sat sideways in the back seat and watched through the rear window perception is such a funny thing like every sunset that starts off as a full expanse that then focusses into a single point of light before flicking away like a light switch and like darkness blaming the absence of light for it s condition those excuses that you carry around with you are little more than redundancies the things you do and say that move you along and fill up the hours of your day are written in your own ink and no one else s whatever else you might claim i have a heart that s working all the time feeding every inch of me and repairing reserves along the way for additional employers i got a sense from time to time of your inability to do the same of an alarming disconnection bits of soul and light and thought and all of those internal organs like so many links of chain that wound themselves slowly into knots a complicated mess to be sure but believe me when i say you should never cut what can be untied posted by diadima at 8 14 pm 1 comments the nature of recovery for my eleventh birthday my uncle gave me a book called a glow in the dark guide to decoding the night sky the pages were filled with maps showing the movement of major constellations throughout the year since i was born in the early fall my constellation was virgo looking at that arrangement of stars it was bewildering to me that someone could have ever deemed them to contain the shape of a woman i remember standing outside that night with a flashlight running my fingers over the raised dots and their eerie chemical glow trying to compare them to the bits of colourless old light in the vastness above me for the ...