after christmas, the thrift store is full of brand new semi expensive candles.
i find numerous candles cluttering a forlorn white metal shelf. i wonder if they are already discarded christmas gifts . last minute purchases bought hastily and on impulse. a confused husband or boyfriend wandering bath and body works trying to find something for the girls and / or women in his life.
maybe they are unwanted stocking stuffers or thoughtless secret santa purchases driven by the need to consume, to purchase, to do something, to be a part of something.
i’m too cheap to buy these things new. i experience all facets of human misery for my money and don’t want to trade my tear stained cash for $30 candles. so, like a vulture, i haunt the shelves of thrift stores for candles and incense, picking up remains like a conservation officer driving down a highway and scraping up roadkill.
except my roadkill is unburnt “cinnamon vanilla sugar toast”(?) scented soy candles in bougie jars, or a bath and body works multi wick candle that’s supposed to smell like “evergreen” (i guess it does).
the darkness of january is all encompassing and lately i have been burning candles all the time. i like them in my room when i’m writing, or scanning documents, or sending flirty texts on snapchat. i like them in the bathtub where i go to think and drink kombucha and meditate in the darkness. i like them when i’m watching tv just before bed, learning about nature or the vietnam war or grisly true crime before taking some magnesium to help me sleep.
i like a candle when i’m reading, cozy in my daybed, studying a book about ancient religion, or reading carl jung, or some insane poetry by people fascinated with guns or sex.
i like candles when i’m on the phone, asking my mother how her day is.
i make candles too, hand poured soy with dried herbs and oils, real hippie ass shit i make in my bathroom while i’m listening to hip hop and looking at my ass in the mirror seeing if i can twerk yet (i can’t). there’s an antique sign i hung in my bathroom from an old church advertising worship services and sunday school and i study it while listening to doechii and sza.
i realize i haven’t really bought brand new candles since she died. she used to like this vanilla kind and those voluspa ones from the expensive bookstore.
i remember burning them in the bathtub at my old place with the antique clawfoot bathtub that i painted black to cover up the shitty white paintjob someone else did. black seemed so much gothic and on brand. i painted the living room red as the devil’s arse and hung an antique goat head above the fireplace.
sometimes, i wish i could go back there, just for a moment or two.
i am shaken out of this reverie by the nice girl at the thrift store letting me know i can ring up my armful of candles. i didn’t realize i had been holding up the line thinking about death again.
hospital vespers 