The Comfortable Dark Catastrophe

I said to my boy last night, “My head is a a dark, scary place to be. It’s all right to visit every once in awhile, but you wouldn’t want to live there.” He just laughed. He does that.

All that aside, here’s an interesting dive into my head I made on 3/24. Now, a month later, it seems there’s been an ocean of time between then and now. That’s why when couples say they are “going slow” I have to call bullshit. You move how you move and it may seem to you aeons while it seems like u-hauling to the outside world. Doesn’t really matter anyway. Your relationship is all you. You are the one to keep the ship afloat, and indeed, if you listen to too many seagulls, you may lose your navigation.


Nostalgia Al: The Comfortable Dark Catastrophe (3/24/14)

If Heaven has no music, I don’t want to go. How can it not though? It’s almost as terrifying as considering death itself, or the daily terror of existing without weights to hold this hot air balloon down.

Opened a vein for them and bled all over the sidewalk. It served only to have them complain that I “missed a spot,” my color not quite bright enough to wash all the dirt away. I tried, I say. I tried.

Let me remember the simple way you encircled my spine, and asked me if I was ready to go. Yes. I’d follow you anywhere, into multiple deja vu false memories when I told you that as you created a computer password for me and fell asleep on my couch, I was falling so hard against you. You can’t be real. It simply can’t make sense as it seems. Entropy and particle physics won’t allow this magnetism. Read aloud from my spell book and we will combine like solute. You know what I need better than I do. No physical necessary as we let blood. Bulls eye. You missed my breast and pierced my brown, dirty eyeball problem area.

Promise me, Love, that we’ll watch feminist manifesto documentary and then make our own on the unseen male gaze. Promise too we’ll never say those harsh words we hear on the lips of heredity. Aching to be so inspired. No sleep until you take me upstairs to that dark catastrophe.

I thought the Beatles were a deal breaker, but then I remembered I’m an idiot. Can’t build a mountain on a strawberry field. I though the wizardry world was there I wanted to meet my samurai, but a ninja appeared in the night and set it all aflame. From the cinders he gave me so much terror. So satisfying after nothing but sugary, bitter-sweet forgery for years and years. The addict is awake. She realizes now that she’s been starved, and withdraws as you dunk her head under. The cold faucet of reality is the only reliable detox. Hold her under. She’s not junk free yet.

Pandora had a chest of drawers, but you won’t open even the smallest one. Orpheus went through hell for Eurydice, and got so many burns for the pilgrimage. Trust me to follow you, but try and control the walk through hell and I’ll disappear into my eternal self-punishment sphere.

Acknowledge that I’m a damn fool for you, who loses her words, and throws self on pyre to rake in some useless paper currency. You charmed me with song, but there’s vipers all aground. In the woods, it all looks just like…Doesn’t matter. Don’t trust your eyes.



Maybe one day I will write something that doesn’t smack of angst and melodrama, but today’s not that day. Would you believe me if I said, I’m happy? Again, your validation doesn’t influence it either way. Have a great day everyone.


-Anna R. Kotopple


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