learning to i-n-h-a-l-e

Suzannah Linnekin

[blueblazers-blog]

The Man's Magical Paws

The dog in the back doesn’t know he’s tied to a tree. In the morning, he wakes up and sees a giant ball of fire floating in the sky, bringing light to every blade of grass around his paws and he stares God in the eyes and smiles. The light is unlike anything he’s ever known- it’s different from the light in his dreams, and it’s different from the light of the moon because it is warm and smarter than the moon. The light in his dreams covers everything in an even coating, with no variation or shadows because it is a dream and he creates it all. But when he runs along the grass in this new light, he can see his own figure below him, a dark dog-shaped friend beside him, following him wherever he goes. He smiles at his friend and calls to him with a laugh. When a man comes out of the giant block in front of him, the man is carrying something in his magical paws. The dog bounds to and from to show the man the way the light works. ‘Look! Look!’, he calls, ‘The light is here and it is beautiful!’. The man sees the light and places the item on the ground, touches the dog with his magical paws and the dog feels every hair on his head relax. In the moment, he realizes that the man’s paw on his head makes the world even brighter, makes the ball of fire in the sky burn, makes the dark dog-shaped friend follow him, makes the grass tickle his pads, makes the leaves in the tree flicker like fire. The man makes him a part of a connection and that makes him important because a connection requires two things and the dog is one of the things connected to the most important thing. He has a purpose and that purpose is to show the man the things that he finds because the man is everything and maybe he can make use of these things that the dog finds. And he has a purpose to place his head under the man’s paws so that the man may have something to touch and feel that is soft like a dog’s head. His ears fall and he pushes his head into the magical paw, hoping it may rub off on him, and some day he too can carry things in his paws. As the man walks back into the block, the dog bows his head- he lays down in respect for he may never see the man again. For the man has returned to the block and the dog is alone again. For the man has magical paws that feel so good on his head and bring such great things to the dog. For the man doesn’t have to come back if he doesn’t want to. The dog lays on the ground and feels that it is warmer than the air. He rubs his head against the ground to feel it’s warmth but it is not the same as that of the man’s paw. He sighs heavily and brings his jaw to the ground, bringing his eyes to the level with the grass. His friend has disappeared for the moment, and the ball of fire is far above his head and the man is gone. He watches the grass rustle ahead of him and his ears perk up. He watches the rustling intently until a small black dot appears in the blades of light. The dot is not light like everything else. It is black like his dog-shaped friend, but it is different. It is darker and moves on it’s own. The dog smells the dot and it does not smell like a dog. It does not smell like the ball of fire or the man. It smells like a black dot. This is great, because he never knew what a black dot smelled like until now and now he knows and now if the man ever comes out of the block again, he’ll have something to show him just as wonderful as the light. ‘Look! Look! A black dot is here and it is beautiful!’ he calls out and smiles, and he bounds to and from around the black dot, careful not to lose sight of it. And he watches the dot so closely that he may show the man if he ever comes out of the block. And he watches the dot for so long that he forgets about his dog-shaped friend, and he almost forgets about the light and the burning ball of fire until it starts to fade. He looks up to see that the ball is leaving and the light is following it and the dot is still rustling in some grass. The man may never come out of the block and the light is now gone and the dog never said goodbye to his friend. But maybe the man will come out soon, and maybe he can show him then and dear God, that would really be something. Maybe the man will come out soon and maybe he can show him then and dear God, that would really really be something, wouldn’t it? Maybe the man will come out soon.

[blueblazers-blog]

6/15/13

if I'm going to be honest-

(and I've started to think that honest is the only thing I know how to be) (and I've started to think that I've never been honest with myself) (and I'm starting to wonder if anybody can be honest with themselves)

 I can't see where I'm going  I can hardly see where I've been  I haven't read enough books  I don't know any good music and I haven't seen any good films

if I'm going to talk out my ass- 

(and I will)

- I am sick of myself. - - You know how you're sick of me? You know how I talk too much and say too little? You know how I have low expectations of myself and how sometimes I cry to myself in bed for no reason? You know how I'm too soft and even more transparent?  - Yes. - And you know how I hate it too? - Yes. - And that makes it all worse, doesn't it. - Yes. 

And I can't tell if maybe you're still hiding from me or if maybe you're just very good at lying or if maybe I never stopped being the child who cried every time I got pushed into the lake. 

(because the water was so cold and empty) (because my cheeks were round and red) (because I never learned to swim and I've never been so scared)

But I can't stop thinking about you and the way you laugh. And how your hair falls on your face in the morning when you're still asleep and I'm leaving for the day and all I want to do is crawl back between the white covers of the white room and fit my skeleton into your skin- and my god, if you would turn and wrap your arms around me like you used to- when you didn't want me to leave- my god- I remember when I'd put my shoes on at the edge of the bed and you'd press against my back and hold me low and loose and put your legs on either side of me. 

I guess if I were a bear, I'd have some kind of courage- at least to protect the things that are mine and the life that I live. I guess I would know that I'm a bear in a forest with claws and a good coat of fur.

And I guess if I were a lion, I wouldn't really care who came and went because I'd be a motherfucking lion and I would know that as long as there were others, I would never go hungry. 

But I guess I'm a dog and I've always been a dog and all I can do is run run run run run and sometimes my fur gets matted behind my ears and I have to scratch it with my foot like a fucking idiot.

[blueblazers-blog]

3/5/13

I can't stop thinking about a boy I never met  and the girl I know he loved.

and the summer's so far away.

Blankets are all I have now, and two hungry cats at home who just want to look at me with eyes expecting some kind of a glorious production. 

And I guess I want to feel better. And I guess I've felt so much worse.

And I guess this is what happiness feels like, because I'm sick of thinking there's something better out there- because I'd rather think about my doodles and all the Vonnegut books I haven't read and the first time we had sex-

(which I'm pretty sure she doesn't remember.)

(Which is okay with me.)

But I've still got some things to admit. I feel like a better person the more I masturbate and 

the more gin I drink. the more smoke I sip. the more meat I eat.

I don't want to live here anymore either with the men on the bus who touch themselves with the woman who stares out her window every night with the kids who ride the train to Howard and back with every eye on a screen and everyone's fist in their mouth

So instead I'm listening to his favorite music and letting him remind me how little time I have. 

And I'm thinking about a teenage boy riding his bike down the streets of his hometown late on a summer night after drinking his parent's whiskey with his best friend at the beach. And I feel the thick air brush his cheeks. And I feel his smile to himself.

Yesterday, I decided that I was done being embarrassed of loving the people in my life.

[blueblazers-blog]

Introduction

We've all got stories to tell-

that being said, they are just that- stories. And these stories of our lives are just a series of verbs and nouns. Actions enacted by things upon other things. They are really nothing more. Yet we add these adjectives and with those adjectives come tones and pre-conceived notions and colors and detail, which adds what we pretend is some "meaning".

And we are all humans, after all, and if we don't act like what we're saying means something, then what have we got to separate us from the animals?

[blueblazers-blog]

you are a wonder to me,

you all are-

wondrous and detailed; like the most beautiful carving ever made, the smallest castle ever built,

like the inside of a woman's wrist watch.

And the awareness of wonder is wonderful in itself- or maybe the awareness is simply a lack of matter-

to you-

whether you are wondrous or not. 

To me it matters, because I think this wonder may be all I have.

Your wonder, that is. 

I worry that the reason you all are so wonderful to me.

(I worry) the reason you all are so wonderful...

to me. 

(I worry) ...is because I lack that wonder. 

But I wonder about you all, very much. I wonder when your hands learned to tell the time and who carved your freckles out of birch. I wonder constantly. Where you learned your wanderlust and what makes your stomach weak.

I wonder where you were the last time you were a child.

I wonder what worlds you would show me if you could.

I wonder which you wouldn't. 

And all the while I wonder

(I worry)

I wonder

whether I am too translucent to solicite such wonder

from you all.

[blueblazers-blog]

eight dollars and seventy-three cents (exactly)

There's a pile of styrofoam on the stove, a pile of bottles and boxes spilling over the trashcan. The sink, as always, is talking to itself. 

Every light outside is orange and my eyes are drowning in white paint. 

Today I bought myself a notebook and two pens. I bought them from a store that specially sells things like notebooks and pens and spent too much money on all of it. 

I still haven't used any of it because I'm kind of scared.

I'm afraid of starting something new when I can't remember what I did last year. Or the year before that, or the year before that. 

I've started clearing space in the storage closet, throwing boxes away, leaving pieces of furniture in alleyways and the laundry room in the basement of my apartment building. The room is filled with things left behind

things not worth taking

things that were too heavy to move

things that didn't work anymore. 

The sink, as always, is talking to itself.

At some point, I'll find something to write down. But not until the brain in my stomach calls the brain in my head and the two decide who's turn it is to take out the trash and who owes who money for what food that who paid for with what money.

And I never remember this kind of beating in my chest. A different, hollow noise; like a crackling log. 

like a bag of bottles

like a sink that's always talking to itself.

It's not like when I was ten and I wrote that letter to myself where I said I knew I could get better and I knew I'd stop crying someday because I knew someday I would run out of tears and I would have to stop and I knew that day I'd know how to be happy.

It's more like thunder rolling in the distance

like some magic clouds crawling up the sky

like something spectacular

like drowning in white paint.

[blueblazers-blog]

A Final Frontier

As a 13-year-old, I would walk down a frozen sidewalk. Red fists shoved in green pockets, I kept my eyes to the ground. I knew what the sky looked like. I knew what the trees looked like.  I had walked this path too often not to know. I watched my breath escape as each block of concrete passed beneath until I came to a path of dirt. With a quick glance behind, I would turn to the path and jump the small rusted gate. Were it summer, the flickering lights and murmuring buzz of insects would fill the field, but most nights it is cold, the tall grass is long dead and the insects have buried themselves deep in the earth. Some nights, I could hear the coyotes kill a goose. Some nights, I could hear nothing at all. And as I reached the water, I would kneel beside the rocks and pull small fists from pockets, cup my hands to my face and breathe warmth through my fingers. It was here I learned how to pray to nothing, how to praise the sky and how to listen to the never-resting earth. 

  As a 16-year-old, I would drive a dirty black sedan with one spare tire and a missing tail-light. The car would be named Oscar and have no heat, a bench seat and a floor of empty paper bags. I would drive with the windows down and a fresh pack of reds, to a forest cornered by highways. I would follow a gravel path and park next to the van of the man who lived there. He would be there almost every day, sleeping in a crumpled pile on his steering wheel, a newspaper over his eyes. Through the grass and past the bridge, I would make my way to the top of the wooded hill and find the fire pit beneath the fallen log. As I leaned my crooked back against the stump, I would listen to the squirrels above. They would chatter incessantly: challenging the birds, laughing with each other, waiting for the night. The sun would break through nature’s gobos and leave patterns on the ground. I would close my eyes and feel it flicker to and from. It was here I learned to watch the rabbits and learn from frightened birds; here I came to stare in awe as a doe approached me; a stagnant, silent waltz.

  As a 19-year-old, I would walk down crowded streets in brown boots. I would watch the eyes of countless others and weave my way past women in tracksuits and men with small white dogs. I would breathe shallow breaths, with smoke and smog alternating through my frail, half-empty frame. As the buildings began to bow, they turned to churches and ornate offices, slowly shrinking until they meet the grass. And beyond the grass, I would watch the bobbing staffs in the harbor as taxi horns and barking dogs got swept away with the deafening wind from the lake. Once I reached the water, I would stand and face the horizon. I know the lake is small. I know that I am smaller. My grey eyes follow the infinite line between us and the sky. I would sit and dangle lanky legs over the concrete and watch the water fight the rocks. The sky would expose it’s hues of orange and purple and the air would become sharp as the light slipped away. It was here I learned how man can move everything but mountains, how the wind will overcome the steel and the lake will run the river wide, and we will wait for the new ocean. 

[whitefishblackfish-blog]

[blueblazers-blog]

work in progress

[blueblazers-blog]

hello! I just wanted to say that I received my On The Cusp and your words were beautiful! Have a lovely day!

Thank you! On The Cusp is an awesome zine, I'm flattered you liked my work. I hope you like the stuff on my blog; you have a great day as well!

[blueblazers-blog]

For some reason, they've returned; the night terrors that kept me awake for so many years. I thought I'd outgrown the constant jolting from sleep, in a cold sweat and sobbing. I've come to fear death again. I hate feeling it's hollow hand brush my back. But waking in gentle arms is a comfort, and having someone to kiss goodbye in the morning before work feels like home and happy people.

[blueblazers-blog]

Last night, I dreamt of you. We didn't speak, but my eyes caught yours across the train tracks. I called your name; you looked to the ground and I think I saw you cry. (What a fascinating thing to see: another human distant in their sorrow.) But I don't believe you weep for me. And when I find myself at the bottom of my well, wading in shallow pools of past, I pray to the trees you love so much. I pray that you will not weep for me as I have wept for you. 

Yet, it is strange to see you in my sleep and awake in the arms of another.

[blueblazers-blog]

Conversations With People I Know (V)

V.DAVID

I think I loved him too much. But for too long I tricked myself into believing it could be more. I still wish it could have been. After we finally broke up, for the last time, we needed space. We needed time to heal. I needed time to regain my self and he needed time to trust me again.

We went a couple months without speaking really. I couldn’t bear the hurt I might have caused him, I couldn’t face my own confusion manifested in an amazing human. David has never said a cruel word to me, never done a thing to hurt me; he is smart, kind, passionate and truly, deeply, compassionate for his fellow man in a way I’ve never seen. And yet, I fear I had hurt him, I couldn’t bear the thought. So we drifted for months.

Until one day, we just talked. And like that, I was reminded why he would always be in my life. I was reminded why I would always love David. Things could never change between us. I knew that months could pass, weeks could slip away from us, years might grow slim, but I will always love him.

And as we walked through our hometown, side-by-side, I told him this. He just smiled, because he knew. He knew he’d never lose me, and I could never let him go.

(full piece)

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Conversations With People I Know (IV)

IV.BURKE

“I’m sorry. I’m going through a lot of stuff right now.” (I just wanted to tell him, but I was so angry.) “Like what, Suzannah? What are you going through?” (A knife.)

(A silence before the floodgates.) (A sniff.) “What, Suzannah?”

From our respective beds, we sat together on a wooden boat through the lines of a telephone, just waiting for the wood to crack and the boat to sink. We had never fought before; never for real; never like this. I had never been so sure, so scared, like this.

“I’m gay, Burke.”

And the waves came crashing over us both, every crest and valley of salty foam burned our eyes as we fought to stay afloat. The current dragged us further from one another as I screamed to him and he whispered, after a struggle:

“I think I’m gay too.”

Suddenly, the waters calmed, it seemed the shore was sure and safe, within swimming distance. I never learned to swim though, and Burke could never explain it to me. Without words, we clung to a piece of drift wood and floated, carefully, quietly to the sandy earth.

(full piece)

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Conversations With People I Know (III)

III. MADDIE

The lake shook the sun from it’s shoulders and danced against the pier as we waited for Burke. Maddie and I had driven up to Wisconsin to visit him at his summer home, it was a beautiful house on a small strip of land on the lake. We sat in matching chairs out back and drank cans of iced tea as the sun began setting beyond the lake. The sound of gentle waves and buzzing mosquitos droned across the water as we talked.

It had been over a year since we graduated, although the distance seemed longer. She was my best friend, and would always hold that piece of my loyalty, but it seemed we had hardly spoke for months. We had certainly seen brighter days and darker nights. (woodendoors/hospitallights/ browncouches/blackmetalchairs) But for a year, I lived in Chicago and she stayed in our hometown. We got caught up in our own lives, and separate from each other, we grew. I started talking to her about the things I had come to love and how I was changing in ways I could only describe as right. She started talking about the time she had spent home. She talked about the inescapable bubble that is our hometown, how it was draining her soul and crushing her spirit. She said she needed to get out, and I knew she was right. She talked about California, working on a farm, becoming a nurse...

I would beg her to move to Chicago, all she needed was a change of scenery. I knew that town of mansions and barren roads could do nothing but convince you that life was pointless. You might as well get a job selling overpriced purses to your mother’s friends and marry the boy down the street, hopefully you’ll have a son, maybe he’ll play football or sing in the school choir. But Maddie has always deserved better than that, always. If this world is fair and right, she will do all the things her beautiful mind can imagine. She will draw and act and write and sing. She will laugh and love and smile with her eyes like she can. And she will leave that small town someday; leave it behind in the feathers of a memory, like rain on a windowsill after the storm.

(full piece)

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Conversations With People I Know (II)

II. COREY

I don’t remember who was there, what had happened prior to the poetry. We had drank a good amount of whiskey, that’s all I’m really sure of.

This was before we passed out, but after we got the sound complaint. Corey and I are the only people I know who can get a sound complaint from reciting poetry too loudly. It was our house- warming party, that was our excuse, wasn’t it? Our new apartment inLincoln Park had a green porch out front and a small deck out back. It had shoddy pipes and dripping faucets, three small bedrooms and a great big living room.

I sat in our red chair with a cloudy mind and watched him read; he stood and read each line with a desperate grasp for understanding as the whiskey burned through any walls we had left standing between us. His poem talked about sex in every sense of the word: the beautiful, the musk, the perverse and passionate. I’d never heard a friend speak so candidly, in poetry or not, about their deepest human desire; the one we all have buried deep inside our loins. And when he finished, all I could do was offer every word I could find to describe how close I felt to him and how right he was.

In a way, I wanted to kiss him. Not in the way that lovers kiss but in a way I feel like friends should kiss. In the way that love is platonic and just as beautiful. In the way that light shines through browned beer bottles. In the way that a child imagines a tiger or a man loves his bear.

In that way, I wanted to kiss him, because in that way, I love him.

(full piece)

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Conversations With People I Know (I)

I. ABBY

Once, when we were younger, I explained the monster in my mind. This looming shadow in the distance that I had started to believe. I told her how, for whatever reason, I felt like after we graduated high school, I would cease to exist. I told her my morbid understanding of my own death and how near it felt. She told me to never, ever, believe those fears. I remember she cried. I don’t think anyone had ever cried for me like that before. Not like she did.

(There were years of my life lost to strangers and a wandering mind. I spent far too long thinking about any life but my own; how a butterfly’s wings can shift oceans and a word among strangers could shift lives. It seems I always found my way down a straggling path in the forest, and Abby would follow close behind to walk me back when I got lost. Sometimes, when my foot got caught in silver teeth, she would be the one to cut the chain and drag me back. I don’t know if I ever thanked her for that.)

Years later, we would sit in silence in her car as rain trickled down the windshield. I didn’t know what to say. I had lied. I had gotten lost again and lied to her. I don’t know why I lied, I don’t know where I told her I would be or who I needed to see. I had been shifting for months, my insecurities had started burying me alive and I took solace in all the wrong people. Abby sat in the seat next to me and asked me simply:

“Where have you been?”

I knew for months I had been an absent soul, someone other than myself. I had created another persona, like the air spray you use to cover a foul oder. I didn’t know what to say. I had nothing to say.

The silence dragged

until Abby spoke again. She said she missed the person I was before and wondered why I never came to her. I was so afraid of relying too heavily on her, so afraid of becoming another stress in her life, I couldn’t bring myself to ramble about my feelings, it seemed like a waste of her time. She told me to never, ever, believe those fears. She told me what I meant to her, and how she loved me. I remember I cried. We cried. We cried for the time that we had lost, and agreed that no matter how dark the forest got at night, no matter how lost we may become or how deep the teeth might dig into our ankles, that we would always be there to help each other find our way back.

(full piece)

[blueblazers-blog]

I guess

the thing I missed the most was the stars.

And the silence.