SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days

The Reason for Brian at 3 a.m.

I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep when I realized I had Bonnie Raitt on a loop in my head. Mostly it was the chorus, possibly reminding me that art rejects this dreamer. It could be I'm stuck idling over stuff that's easy to do rather than tackle the monster that's been alive in me all these years.

I might pine over a what-would-have-been woman, write her odes she'll never see. But, it keeps coming back to me: what I'm afraid of, intimacy and the ultimate rejection of that which we don't have the mental fortitude to master. Maybe, never had or never will sail that craft. Wrong metaphor? Out of place.

I looked at at dark wall for about an hour, tossed. I knew I could disturb her, in every sense of the word. So, I went downstairs for a respite. Even after telling my wife and daughter I was getting published last night, put on some enthusiasm so they could appreciate what I should be joyful about, I had that gnawing in my gut. Seeing a poem in print isn't what will suffice. My brain didn't negotiate what the dreaming mind keeps relating at 3 a.m. When are you going to write her?

I had a dream about her (LuAnne) again the night previous. My mind is deceiving me into believing we live in two altered worlds. The LuAnne I knew and the story that could have been, at least about her. I had a scene play out in my head that would be the climax to our story. I had woke and was jotting it all down when real life reminded I needed to shower for an appointment. I wanted to revisit her, if even to reread the notes. Reality kept us apart. Though, she didn't disturb my slumber tonight directly, I was reminded I was neglecting her call...the true vision that could make her come to life.

I've wrestled with the story, thought about it from all perspectives. The thought of wading through chapters of disjointed material...it's difficult to separate what really happened to what I could imagine our outcome to have been. That's not something you toy with, like second-guessing if the life you lived is worthless in pursuit of one that was not. It was a path not chosen. No sliding door references, but a portal keeps opening to my past and shoves me back to pursue a woman seemingly unwilling to meet me. So, it's me, not her calling?

We took separate trails. But, all the odes I've ever written, the one most prophetic is hidden in a folder somewhere, begging me to try again recapture the feeling...so I can move forward without her once again. And, my mind will always come back to this place at three a.m. when I'm not thinking anymore about why she didn't love me. She did. It wasn't in the cards. Yet, she (me) haunts me some nights, but leaves me smiling. She's not really gone, you know. As long as I wrestle with writing and some kind of acceptance to validate me (acceptance that I must validate myself), I'll be stuck with this misery. Maybe, I'll stop getting near to others in hope of the same kind of shared intimacy only to shove them away once I've had a taste and find it doesn't compare...(don't you dare sing, Sinead!)

I'm lost like Disney's Stitch. I'm prone to break stuff like David Banner when he's Hulk. I'm running through a village chased like Frankenstein because I'm just too damn ugly, I shouldn't exist in anyone's garden. Stitch finds love, the abomination of revealed science kills his master (or gets a bride, you choose) and Banner will be haunted forever unless Marvel has the decency to kill him like Spidermam (although, like D.C. and Supermen, they'll bring him back. Just wanted to make you feel something since we're all getting bored with all the super hero nonsense and it's like a billion dollar industry). And so...

At 3 a.m., after I exhaust these thoughts, I'll sleep, wake and sober to these meandering internal reflections. Are you ever going to write her, Brian? Afraid to rebuild your monster because you might kill her, or will it destroy you? I'm guessing this lifelong process of wrestling with the art of it all includes suffering, brooding and a need to be misunderstood...yes I like aloof!

And because I can only access a friggin' iPad, I type with one finger as fast as I can, making sure this stream doesn't close. It's closing. Adieu sweet ghost until deja veux?

I'm sorry to all those who have to suffer when I'm around...like a moody goth teen. It's easier to accept your rejection than realize I'm screwed up and am forever figuring out the coordinates to this portal so I can just get inside and destroy it...or forever merge with it. Just had a flashback to 'Eureka.' Look it up.




What I struggle with:

🎨 Before I'm Rejected By You 🖌️  [E] #1152712 The artist fears to commit to his subject. 🥇 WDC Hall of Fame Poem by He’s Brian K Compton

Written 30+ Years ago