Finally we must lie down to sleep.
The dream is
like millions of other oddities,
spread out over the earth
belonging to all, to each,
in a circle of a dance
undisturbed.

John likes girls who bleed

John likes girls who bleed
not ones who read
dead poetry in tears
lamenting all their fears.

Eating You

That tongue of yours
it is a vial thing.
Horrid
and
Sordid
it is your greatest fault.
If I were to cut it out
I think I would like you better.
                10/11/03

The Good be Encircled

I grouse my way into Tim's office the next day. Louise and last night's conversation has opened my eyes to what is right in front of me. Tim's office is a disaster of weaponry and holy artifacts. It's been this way for weeks. The foregone conclusion, he's known of the swarm for weeks. I hadn't the faintest idea until Louise put me out of my misery and informed me. I knew we were extra busy, but I never thought to ask why.

I never know why.

Tim reads my face and tries to smile, but it comes out more of a grimace. There is pity behind his eyes, just like there is sadness behind mine.

I sink deeply into the leather couch. It's weathered folds envelop me like the hug I secretly yearn for.

"How long," I ask.

Tim doesn't bother trying to act ignorant. I like that.

"There's been signs for about two weeks now. Before that, there was word from San Diego about a possible swarm headed our way."

Two weeks to sense that there is trouble. Two weeks and I didn't. I can't help but feel like this was a test and I failed miserably. How many times have I come into Tim's office and blatantly revealed my ignorance? Too many, I realize. My face burns with embarrassment; humiliation.

I nod my head in understanding. But, understanding to Tim's report or my own revelation, I don't know.

But Tim continues to explain, "There was a sighting last night near Sherman Oaks. A large group of us went out to investigate, but the swarm scattered as soon as we came into range. You were carrying around Louise's medallion, so I knew you were safe. Did he give you his old one like I asked?"

I lift out the medallion, as Tim calls them, by way of answer. Tim nods in satisfaction. It seems like everything worked out like he planned. I should feel grateful, and a part of me does, but another part of me feels mortified. I hadn't known that Tim sparred the extra effort to watch over me. I didn't know I needed to be watched so carefully.

"I'm different, " I whisper morosely. I don't know how else to say it. "The only time I sense danger is when I'm already in it. I'm empty, isn't that what we concluded? I have no particular ability. I have nothing and I can't protect myself with nothing." I shamefully add, "I can't earn my way into heaven with nothing."

"Layla, you know that's not the way it works. Killing demons won't get you back into heaven. No amount of strength or power will break you in. Because God's grace cannot be bought or even earned," he adds with a pointed look, "You have to choose it, and succumb to it without armor or shame."

Sitting in Tim's office like that, just the two of us, I feel like I could do it. It seems so easy. But I know, that outside these walls, I will falter under the expectations of others and more significantly, my own personal expectations. Out there, it's only natural to feel the pressure of performance. You have to carry out good faith and not simply carry it within you. It’s stupid, but so very true.

You look but you don't see; anything. You don't even know what I mean.

The Center of the Issue

This will go on forever because I say so.