The Thousand-layered Complications of the Heart
A new kind of standing up
I drink a thousand bubbles straight from the neck. Give a desperate kiss to the cold green glass.
I listen to Miles Davis and remember complicated stories about his life. But here is my life and more often lately I think we should let the music simply be.
Coca-Cola in the shower, Coca-Cola in the bath, Coca-Cola in all the late nights and the hugs between.
I cancel plans for Katie, for Remi, for Zoos. I lie and I vote and I howl out why.
There’s that one day and the day right after. Soft light bathing us in a field of pink. How you say this is completely fucked up but is it so wrong to be this excited to just spend time with you?
Sixteen cans of coke.
This feels like death by a thousand cuts. Oceans 11, 12, 13. I cannot relax fully until I turn over every single stone in the river of grief.
Hook, ET, Goonies, Grease. Music is not safe but that cover of America will hold me.
Falling from sometimes, I wish I could remember how to feel. I sip tea from a chair in a different room and gaze at all the versions of this one beating heart. With walls freshly dusted and pictures hidden behind years, the spell is always broken by this goddamn phone.
I drink the bees of my grief and I am shocked to see myself there. Half consumed, half full, mostly wet. I swill the dregs and peer forward. Their silence is wrapped in moon dust. My eyes stare back from the cup, illuminated by the light while my nose and mouth fall into darkness.
17 cans of coke.
I begin studying all the hues of your eyes. Soon I can tell the difference between shuddered and stuttered and laborious breath. Identity, Supremacy, Ultimatum. This is what long term love can feel like.
I buy tubs of cheese from the supermarket and bring them to the bath, to the couch, to late nights and sleepovers and faded mornings. On that day in November I bellow out what’s left of my heart. Each scream hits my dashboard, my mirror, and all four windows. It’s just me and the thousand impossible layers. It’s what is ahead and what is behind us. I obsess about those who cross to the beyond and how easy it is to change always to never.
2025 IN / OUT
I love this concept of ushering in something new at the beginning of the year, whether it be thoughts, people, a vibe, a tone. Here’s my personal areas of focus and things to leave behind for 2025:
IN
vinyl
RPGs
nerve
handbags
possibility
nudes
late nights
news bulletins
gaggle
OUT
playlists
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gut
fannypacks
schemes
mixed signals
structures
secrets
pair
With love & possibility,
Jordan
