{"id":1175,"date":"2005-01-23T10:05:00","date_gmt":"2005-01-23T10:05:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/2005\/01\/23\/he-firmly-signed-goodbye-my-love\/"},"modified":"2005-01-23T10:05:00","modified_gmt":"2005-01-23T10:05:00","slug":"he-firmly-signed-goodbye-my-love","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/2005\/01\/23\/he-firmly-signed-goodbye-my-love\/","title":{"rendered":"he firmly signed, “goodbye my love”"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>
laguna beach<\/a>
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue<\/a>. <\/span><\/div>\n

It’s quarter to eight and I expected to come home and be able to sleep, but now I’m awake and likely to stay such. <\/p>\n

Sometime while I was out, Alastair sent me a Dear John letter. It’s quietly brittle and contains some rather odd thoughts about me regarding things I never considered to bring up. There’s no way to have guessed that I needed to dispel faulty reasoning as I was unaware of any thoughts along these particular paths at all. Communication breakdown without guitars or passion. That what I consider my Family could be construed as sexual is unexpected, as well as the rather odd accusation that I have no compassion or inhibitions. I miss him and I wish I could soothe such things from him, but I suppose if nothing else, such a letter clearly shows things weren’t working out. It’s almost a list of misunderstandings and implicated I know you better than you know yourself, which begins with the line, “Your idle plaything forgotten as you move on to greener pastures, I wasn’t half the man you wanted me to be.” Something nags at me, telling me those are song lyrics, but instead I shake my head, seeing only pathos I can’t access.<\/p>\n

Times like now, I wonder about myself. I construct my days honestly, my actions speaking a candor mean, so how is it that I can be seen so skewed? I’m scrupulously aboveboard. What information is required to mend the glass and show the image clear? I want a friend to tell me how they see me. My ferret is curled up in my bed and I look to him and know he’ll never accuse me of treachery. Damned skinny boys with their charming eyes and closed off souls. Forgiveness shouldn’t be construed as chasing my own tail in a denial of “pathological fear”. The things I’m scared of are more shallow than I’d care to admit. I fear that my friends will die, I’m scared I’ll grow up to be a lunatic, I can’t bear to think of living blind, and I hate myself a little every time I can’t figure out what to do. I have a veracity of thought which denies my inherited viciousness. I’m not that different from anyone else. He thinks I’m scared, a misuse of thought brought about because I refuse pressure. I played that game once under the idea that I never have to again. Now it repels me with almost physical force and I never received time to ease into what was required. Perhaps I should apologize for being artless. I don’t know. <\/p>\n

I suppose understanding other people is a tricky thing when emotions are strongly involved. After Bill, I sincerely told myself I would never involve myself with anyone else who didn’t trust me, but I must resign myself that I did it again, which was only stupid. It’s not like there aren’t enough people who would shed blood for me, it’s not as if I don’t live as part of a collective of people who breathe the stuff in the face of devious culpability. Our faith is in ourselves and our integrity. Despite my best efforts, I can’t lie to myself. I know at the time. There’s no healthy survival in this particular devotion addiction. It’s a mistake played three times now, three strikes, you’re out. No self respecting honour for idiot girls after that. It’s like turning on myself, relationships which wear me out, that I can’t afford anymore.<\/p>\n

There was so little for me when I was there that it hurt. Hardly did I feel my company was appreciated and now my persistence is rewarded with the accusation of being emotionally distant while I had tried so hard to find something to hold. Apparently my coming down for a month didn’t mean enough, it seems that even when present, even when trapped, I’m unavailable. He looked at pictures I took while I was there and they seemed unreal. I’m sorry I understand. I told him that my recent time in Laguna Beach doesn’t seem to have existed. A white room, the couch here, the chair there, a blue sailors chest for a coffee table. Rain in the morning and it’s all a shrug at having a home, nothing to sing for, nothing welcoming in the morning alone, like memories bleached with age, though I returned Monday. <\/p>\n

This week I feel released back into time.
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

laguna beach Originally uploaded by Foxtongue. It’s quarter to eight and I expected to come home and be able to sleep, but now I’m awake and likely to stay such. Sometime while I was out, Alastair sent me a Dear John letter. It’s quietly brittle and contains some rather odd thoughts about me regarding things … Continue reading “he firmly signed, “goodbye my love””<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1175","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1175","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1175"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1175\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1175"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1175"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/foxtongue.com\/dreampepper\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1175"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}