#lauraizabela

[lauraizabela]

TEMPERATURE CHECK no.71

15/01/2023 2:50PM / Breakdowns happen so we move on. Divine intervention, they say. And the intervention is, if you care to notice, always to look within. I've been terribly close for so long, I've lost sight of my own eyes. Exhausted. It is only a necessary breakdown of my ways: all my silly, slimy, obsessive ways that worked for a little while, but no longer. I must regain myself at all cost, for where I'm living now is far too in-between and one doesn't like to replicate without reason. How do I rekindle the fire? The fire that has always been a part of my soul. Where to? How long? Oh, the glow. Where have you gone, my little one? I am here. I am loved and standing in my power without fear.

[lauraizabela]

TEMPERATURE CHECK no.66

21/05/2021 07:05AM / And you say things are good which they are, but my heart hurts uneven. Ever since they cracked my bones, a day or two ago, I’ve been feeling different. Change scares me -- it resuscitated some kind of melancholy in me. I have no way of diagnosing this little sadness, I thought it was gone for good: for the past countless yesterdays, I’d been waking up euphoric and lovable, adored, indeed I’d been intoxicated to the point of forgetting about the numbness that lives somewhere along my spine. I suppose, in the end, it helps me see all the grieving I’ve been doing behind closed doors, but it still hurts regardless of its name. And I forget that sometimes the sun goes away for seemingly no reason; like a child, I worry it will never return. These storms. I’ve always been the soft one no matter what I say. I miss him fervently. In reality, I miss them both. I just want to be safe, be okay. I contradict myself to no end, but this is just a small portion of my insanity. I can still feel his affection, this warmth, sweet kisses, even from miles away and quiet. I no longer keep myself at a distance: I am within reach, somewhere, in the darkness I stand tall. Because, in the end, I am just a girl. I am afraid. I’m just trying so hard to be good. 

[lauraizabela]

TEMPERATURE CHECK no.67

02/07/2021 9:50PM / I am awake and there is a small sadness in my heart. This year has felt like a vacuum for so long, and now I am only forced to go deeper. Velvet Underground’s Jesus is playing in the background and I still feel dizzy.  I don’t want to waste any tears. Affection breaks through even when I am lost at sea, but words don’t reach me: I’ve disassociated myself from them for so long, he tastes like air. And what if I drown again? So what, I want to say. So what. For all those years of sorrow, there is no sin in celebrating something even fleetingly sweet. But, oh dear sister, I might’ve lost myself again. 

[lauraizabela]

TEMPERATURE CHECK no.61

29/03/2021 11:33PM / A few days ago, unbeknownst to anyone, I said: The only thing that is real is the blinding fire in my eyes. It remains to be so. That is the only thing that never wavers. Today, I am completely disconnected from my new sparkling love yet again. I’ve done it before, but it’s different this time. I haven’t uttered a single word his way in days (I do not wish to), and I am tired and rid of desire, but I’ll return. I sense his importance, his influence over my life now — his name is Refinement and I shall grow into it/him ‘til I can grow no more, all while he stays sweetly by my blazing side until the day we die together comes and a sorrowful goodbye is due. I have a tendency to get drunk on this saccharine fantasy offered by the Other way too fast and blindly, but it isn’t my final wish. It never was, save for my hours of delusion. In truth, my pretty ones, I am a blade that severs fat from bone; the mistress and the magicienne of illusions; a loaded gun. I have neither shame nor fear, not anymore, which should and shouldn’t fill you with glee/fear. I have the most heavenly by my side. He is dearer to me than most, but everything pales in the face of this flame I call myself. Two nights ago, I dreamt of warped time, rebirth, mismatched bodies, my old one true Love. There was a boy-stuck-in-the-body-of-a-girl stuck in an elevator rambling about Shakespeare, a tarot reader whose fingers I guided with mine, an old photographer with stars in his eyes only for me. In the third dream, I was stung by a bee which was a blessing — no, a blessèd cure. When in doubt, Dearest one: write your words like you’re slicing off your flesh. Each word, a sacred movement.

[lauraizabela]

Espressos are for lovers

I used to drink midday espressos every day. 

It was never about the coffee, though. It wasn’t about love, either. 

My primary concern was the strange childish longing, whether coming from my brain or heart or body, that controlled my actions, and which I attempted to kill (numerous times) with a controlled dose of caffeine. 

I constructed a ritual around it. Each day I would sit at the balcony (1), ostentatiously place one thigh over the other (2), put my notebook on the small table in front of me (3), listen to the buskers (4), look around (5), sip. I’d lose myself (6) because I wanted myself gone. It made time quite irrelevant for a split second and I liked that. Just like that, there I was new, new, new, outside of time, and growing newer with each sip. 

I wasn’t myself anymore, I was someone else: someone brighter, better, shinier. (And certainly, someone high on caffeine.) 

I mean, this wasn’t true. It really, really wasn’t - but I wanted it to be true, and so it was.

It never concerned me. I was ruled by my desires and it so happened that my desire for a daily rebirth aligned with the desire for a cup of espresso (or rather, one triggered the other) and so it worked, at least for a while. Each day I would let my skin fall to the ground and secretly turn into a new woman. I was content (though filled with ever-growing self-induced anxieties) and that was all that mattered. 

Only problem was, your delusions catch up with you quick, and once they do, there is nowhere else to run.

[lauraizabela]

TEMPERATURE CHECK no.11

21/04/2020 3:38PM / I’m tired, yesterday I was sad. I’ve seen so many police cars, and my dear friend from New York still hasn’t replied. The wind is quite strong and the sun is lovely: apparently, it’s meant to get hot again (I’m upset). I have to finish two more poems by tomorrow and, frankly, I couldn’t care less. Everyone is back to emailing me about something or other, which in itself leaves me feeling quite fatigued. Ah, yes, the promise of more things to do in the future (I wish I could get a smoke break once in a while). I am not doing well as a person again; would rather abandon my body for a while, if we’re being truthful. I couldn’t tell you why (I don’t know). I dreamt of failure two nights in a row, I think - I wish I could sleep for longer, though I am also scared that when all of this is done, I will once again surrender to complete inertia. That should be avoided at all costs. So is spending and borrowing money. At least now I have this to keep me sharp. 

[lauraizabela]

TEMPERATURE CHECK no.7

15/04/2020 6:46PM / I miss the old days when peace and solitude were easily found. Unplugging is virtually impossible nowadays. (I miss when virtually meant just almost). Anyway. The children still play. Everyone is still pretty miserable. I haven’t got anything done today. Finally watched What Did Jack Do? by Lynch, though. Brilliant, brilliant, hilarious, and absolutely brilliant. So that was that. Right now my tea is getting cold, my hands are dry from all the fanatical washing, and I haven’t yet replied to anyone. I am curious about morticians. 

[lauraizabela]

A writer’s prayer: notes on form

The more descriptive or detached (outside) or capable of immersion, the better or more relatable (in tune). May the text be like an ocean (always the ocean) - vast, deep, equally known and unknown (vague, personal), and deadly immersive. 

The muscles should stay invisible, do their job without the slight thought of the applause. The symbols shall remain severe and throat-cutting. The text itself must be as organic as possible (though with the utmost respect to form and one’s self) like an ivy vine or a rose bush. There is no room for laxity.

The horizon must exist only in the mind; still, visible to the naked human eye but never reached by the naked human hand.