Magnolia

“…and you gotta believe me, this is really happening.” PARTLY CLOUDY , 82% CHANCE OF RAIN will you? should you? would you? can you? save me. save yourself. wake up. wise up. go cry. go wail. go scream. go try. go move. go hide. go on. i know. i know of all the material your weighted air is knit from. i know of all the love you want so desperately to give out for the people in your life and of your inability to express said love in any meaningful or appropriate way. i know of all the limitations your language is held back from. i know of all your constant struggles at trying to keep a grip on things while strung out on everything one could possibly think of. i know of your vivid heart who’s beat fills only the systems you’re built from; it’s rhythms remaining incapable to reach the people around you. i know of your silent praying. i know of your slouched, hollow body that stays congruent and tethered to the stark cold under your bed. i know of your desire to move on towards sparkling seas and sun-tilled fields; and your self-inflicted paralysis which prohibits you from seeing said beauties. i know of your potential that your lack of motivation let slip by. i know of all the efforts you put into pleasing everyone and how badly you want people to recognize your intelligence. i know of the keys which only promise fulfillment that cease to effectively fit the holes they’re shaped for. i know of the fragile razor blades you keep hidden underneath piles of clothes in your closet. i know of the countless attempts. i know of all the appointments you got signed up for. i know of all the daydreaming. i know of the thrill you get from sabotaging yourself; a thrill unconventional and inarticulable to most other people solely because of the guilt you receive from it; they could never understand, how could they? i know of your dependency on chemicals and seeking for quick, temporary pleasures which leave in the snap of a finger; all the noise quickly being replaced by an over-bearing silence who’s absence of anything resembling comfort brings back a world of trauma and psychic pain. i know that you want to fool everyone into thinking you’re clean now even though the road still remains rough, rubble filled, weeping, trembling, and far away. i know of all the ways you numb the pain by postponing the inevitable. i know all of the times you tried running away; eventually returning back to the empty, blunt vibrations of home because there was something calling. maybe it was the wraith of your father, a ghost, a metaphysical presence telling you that it all needs to stop. it called from a place unfamiliar to here, a place beyond what’s underneath the soil; it called because it had something to say. it called because it knows regret does nothing to undo the past; and it ain’t ever through with us. it called because it knows of the writhing, pulsing molecules that are etched deep into the scars across your skin. it called because it recognized your suffering is undeserved. it called because it’s time to let go. or maybe it called for no reason at all; maybe you just projected all of this meaning into something which rejects any kind of labeling at all. all of these strange things happening around us like the strange skies and mysterious coincidences going unexplained. all of our convoluted connections and intricate histories that may or may not ever cross paths. all of us children born into a motherless world. what do we have to do for this all to fade away? maybe none of this matters, right? but what matters is you need to let go. you know this. we know this. there’s something waiting out there for us; it may be time to go see what it is. end the cycle. everything seems so fucking impossibly distant; but maybe it’s closer within our grasp than we think. maybe all those clichés we avoided were really true. the ceiling bulges and recedes, the weather threatens a heavy downpour of a plague, the tide is way out, — and we can’t run from the rain. save yourself. suspend your disbelief. “Brother, see we are one in the sameAnd you left with your head filled with flamesAnd you watched as your brains fell out of your teethPush the pieces in place, make your smile sweet to seeDon’t you take this awayI’m still wanting your face on my cheekAnd when we break, we’ll wait for our miracleGod is a place where some holy spectacle liesWhen we break, we’ll wait for our miracleGod is a place you will wait for the rest of your life” — Two Headed Boy pt.2, Jeff Mangum