I can go months-
Years without a cigarette.
Until I get a certain sad that only smoking (thus far) relieves… maladaptive or not…
it’s a coping skill too…
Said certain sadness passes…
Cue subsequent guilt for even purchasing…
Then! (as if to punish myself for it)
I am compelled to finish the pack.
Oy.
We’re never really finished, I guess.
Surrounded by the ever present Spectre of death…
Mortality itself has haunted since the 11th year-
Family & friends dying like the Hemingways and Fondas having a competition…
Addictions and violence permeate a life… a society… a culture.
Supporting those you love,
Facing my own fears;
Tasked with aiding those in grief…
A lifetime of training?
They don’t tell you the right things to say…
Or even the wrong things to say.
“It will always come in waves… they just get further between…”
Weak tea for the knock kneed.
God
Life
Energy
Grief
Stages
Birth to death and all between;
Beautiful acceptance to righteous anger-
Fuck this mortal coil.
Thought I was the Gallium,
It seems I am the Indium.
Electricity shorts out in tears-
Frazzled charges,
you can’t predict.
I want to be surrounded:
Encompassed;
Supported.
Find myself mixing in
Like T-1000, shapeshifting
All the parts of myself
into a palatable poison.
It’s true….
I make a sufficient version
Of a reflective surface
To provide you foundation
For building.
Liquid transistors from
Your quick silver mouth,
Unintentionally spewing mercury.
Not understanding the rise in heat…
As I stretch myself into thin circuits.
While in non-consensual secrecy,
I constantly pour myself out.
Waiting for the reciprocal…
(All the while, knowing the odds)
Praying for a recharge.
Poking keys into outlets-
Waiting for the spark-
(That I known is going to hurt…)
Pressing tiny diodes,
Like perpetual LEDs,
Embedded in fully cured resin.
An unassuming alloy,
Hidden and presented as an ally,
(im)patiently waiting
for the moment…
you decide to let me in.
Another crystal lattice,
I should have known better.
(should know better.)
I’ve seen this pattern before.
But here I am,
Tonguing all the nine volts,
Wishing you would just touch me.
Sometime last year my friend Daniel posted a video of a girl sitting in a car with a crazy system. She appeared to be, well, really enjoying it. I called bullshit. Maybe if it was a Harley I said, but not “just” bass.
Well, this previous summer I had to buy a hamster car…totally stock 2013 Kia Soul, but it has a freaking badass stock system. This song came on my Pandora station and suffice it to say, I was driving down I-84 and had to pull off for a second or 4 minutes.
Straight up.
No joke.
I doubt most computers can pick up the low frequencies in this song, but if you have a way to find it and play it through a good system, it’s pretty effing sweet.
Ladies, you are all welcome.
Men, you should buy this album for me. er, your lady, if you like ladies.
Devour or be devoured, I suppose….
Appreciate and reciprocate….
I believe in Energy.
I believe that all the energy that ever was or will be is already here.
I believe it can be stolen, given, shared, transferred, manipulated and controlled.
I believe that it is cyclic.
I believe that dark isn’t always a negative and light isn’t always a positive.
I believe that you need good and bad and that both terms are relative.
I believe that people need to name it.
I believe it is, but is not conscious.
I believe everything you ever need to know can be learned from the ocean…
When the tide goes out, you can be confused about whether you are sad that it is leaving or happy that it is leaving….
But the tide, it always comes back…
And you never know what is under the water, in the tide pools, on the rocks, until the tide retreats…
The full moon sheds light on the beach, just as much as the sun does;
While treasures wash up on the beach, so does trash and dead things;
“And I threw bitter tears at the ocean but all that came back was the tide…”
I believe in love.
“”true” love is about the extending of one’s ego boundaries to include another, and about the spiritual nurturing of another, in short, love is effort.”-M. Scott Peck
Here is an OLD one!
See, in my own way I was always going to be a social worker. Look at that natural social justice insight! *oy vei*
There’s an imaginary dog downstairs,
I hear it barking.
A psycho has fantasies about me,
and thinks that they’re real.
I met a child yesterday,
she had one this morning.
Just a few pieces of paper,
what’s the damn deal?
A flying or ground attack,
trample and rampage of one.
Electromagnetic motor,
fucking up my reception.
Vegetarian vampires whisper,
“I’ve fast for too long…”
Tossing memories without sequence,
back when we were spun.
I heard her cry again,
this afternoon around two;
Swearing to leave
“You rapist bastard!”
A flower grew, bloomed, and died,
all in three weeks.
There was a kitten lost,
somewhere around Jefferson and 3rd.
A pill I call Alice
and her friend Maryjane.
The guy in my dreams,
versus my own mind’s eye.
I lined them all up,
they still fought over who gets first.
Didn’t they say it’d be fair?
I must have already been high.
I hear her calling him,
back home again.
Kathy needed a friend,
so I called her a slut.
It’s always purple here,
spring, summer, and fall.
What the hell?
I hate that fucking mutt.
© 7/6/1996
It’s been a tick since she did that; chords and every junk.
(Thanks Jess, I am thinking of you and others)
Sentinel
Even during times of peace….
you’re always watching for the doors.
Allowing yourself to relax and drift,
catch yourself…
nodding off to sleep….
It sends you back into the panic
that you had just pushed back
down into your soul
hidden deep…
You know, I remember what it feels like,
I can feel it too,
But my triggers are limited and peculiar;
not everyday, ordinary things,
everyday…
just like you.
A blacked out window; an old building next to the sidewalk;
drinking all the memories away all in vain;
sitting with your back to a door…noises on a television,
children in the street, dog crying out in pain….
Even once you came home….
you’re always watching in front of the cars.
Looking for a change in the baseline ,
catch yourself…
thinking about shrapnel….
Sends you back into autopilot
Running on limbic
our walking talking sentinel
You know, I remember what it feels like,
I can feel it too,
But my triggers are limited and peculiar;
not everyday ordinary things,
everyday…
just like you.
A blacked out window; an old building next to the sidewalk;
drinking all the memories away all in vain;
sitting with your back to a door…noises on a television,
children in the street, dog crying out in pain….
Even while you were with us….
You were already good and checked out.
To protect us, you forgot us…
Calculating every risk,
Staying three moves ahead….
Kept you hopped up,
Back to the new normal,
What is it I didn’t hear,
what was left unsaid
I really didn’t have anything to offer this morning so I went through my journals to find something to post.
This was written 13 years ago today.
I definitely have cyclical themes in my world. GD it.
I apparently haven’t learned much in those 13 years. DOH
(At least my writing got better….)
You are welcome.
I just needed to remind my dumbass.
I just finally got around to watching the finale of Spartacus.
It wasn’t the finale of Spartacus.
I already turned off my Starz.
Alas. Woe. #firstworldproblems
Damn.
