Gibberish

In a fit of elation,
she came to wait for
a life lived,
or lived life?
Rawness and real
shared with you (and them, secretly);
a few here or there, without a feel.

(Those who came to weed,
run with the speed
of pedals ablaze).

Her smile, warped:
A packaged deal of charm
and intrigue by light,
gone dark at night.
The clock ticks on,
without a suitable mention
of her uniform at the cleaners.

My Soul's Instinct

Every breath my lungs fight to take betrays my soul's instinct to find a way out; whether it be with alcohol, some varying form of dissociation, or a hard collision with a tree by the side of the road is of little importance, thankfully.  I've fought these demons before -- but I thought the birth of my son 17 years ago had saved me from ever having to fight them again. I was wrong.

It began six weeks ago or so when one sunny afternoon as I sat at my desk working on whatever project was at hand, I caught an ever brief glimpse at the horizon's slow descend into darkness.  It didn't really register within me at the time what was coming because that horizon hadn't come into view in so long. Looking back now, I should have stopped everything and walked away to take a break.  I've been saying for months that I needed to take a vacation from life and check into a hotel room for a few days and just write.  Since there aren't any hotels that allow guest to stay with only a payment of a thank you and a smile -- I was unable to take that break I instinctively knew I needed. Instead, I busied myself with more and more projects; working toward my goal of saving the world -- forgetting myself.

Within the last four weeks I have googled, "how to commit suicide and make it look like an accident" twice.  As I said earlier, luckily my soul's instinct to escape doesn't seem to matter how it escapes, so long as it escapes.  So, I make a drink involving bourbon in some fashion and put my headphones on blasting Nirvana, or Ozzy, or Seether, or anything loud and hard -- escaping, if only for a moment or two.  Sadly, with drama lurking in every corner -- the reprieve is short lived and not nearly cathartic enough. Defining the drama is unnecessary for this current piece -- drama is drama no matter what shape or form it takes that we can all identify with. When the horizon has darkened, being blindsided by an insensitive bastard's discarded gum on the sidewalk -- now on my shoe -- can feel like the end of the world. That, and I had to put my dog to sleep last week. Drama. Is. Drama. Is. Drama.

Monday, August 11, 2014 at 7:08 pm I read my first post about Robin Williams.  Within 10 minutes I somehow knew his death was not an accident.  I knew it.  I knew it with every fiber of my being because I saw me in his story.  I saw the masks he wore, though very different than my own.  My very first thought when I came to the realization of what had happened was, "how can I be expected to fight this battle when the genius Robin Williams couldn't fight it?" Selfish? Yes.  But it's what I thought -- it's where I am in my life.

This week has been difficult.  The people of the world lost in conflict and hate and chaos -- digging a hole the size of itself. There I am, standing on the side of the ever growing hole, ready to leap, but I don't. I -- in my weakened, fragile, heavy state find myself reaching into the hole to pull others out.  This is both my blessing and my curse. On a very instinctual level, I know it's something I have to do; and yet, the weight of it all is suffocating me.  Robin Williams leapt into the hole.  Will his leap pull some others out?  Will it cause others to leap with him?  Will it cause me to leap with him?

The conversation has been started, but it will fade away like everything else that is hard -- and nothing will have been resolved. How do we begin shrinking the hole, thereby reducing the amount of souls it sucks in? Why is it that I have reached the bottom of this piece without once using the words suicide or mental illness? Both words have impacted my life -- so many lives for way too long and yet, stigma is still attached to them making it laborious to even softly utter them. The Band-aid was an ingenious invention -- but we, as a whole have got to stop slapping them on a broken society and look for ways to mend and heal what is killing us... what is killing me.   My soul's instinct is to build a bridge of unity for the world -- and yet, here I am falling apart.  Ironic.  Yes. In order to help others I have to help myself, I know this... and yet... I feel lost.

Life and Stuff

Last night in a fit of tears and rage
calling out --
"If you are on my side, NOW is the time to show it."

Ready to drive
with a bottle of bourbon in one hand
the gear shift in the other.

Fast and Furious
real life drama
with a fiery crash ending, relieved.

You answered me without words;
but with something more--
falling asleep in a blanket of peace

Waking up with the taste
of You on my breath--
God is love.

#spirituality #dreams #God #suicidal

lame games

what pushing too hard looks like.  crappy poetry... reflects crappy circumstances... where life is never fair, and waiting is eternal. someday will be one day -- if even in a hundred years.  I'll wait. I'll wait because there is nothing else to do. I'll wait for time to catch up with love ... .... ......

a beautiful picture of her

she shared in a click--

in a click, like a bic lighter

my heart fell, on fire.

grateful for flickr

making a few clicks of my own,

wiping out my wipe out, 

when my heart fell, on fire 

    

                                           . . .

Occupation

Her big girl panties heaved
out the window,
twirling her dress: spinning heads
          as she passes
          flashing smiles.
The chess board
collecting dust
in the corner of her room.

Weeds

Loneliness

stuck in extended
      shallowness
       like glass
         blown
          too long:
       ignored
  in an open fire,
wasting to embers. 

out to lunch

chewing the curd
to a liquid where it's swallowed--
becoming absorbed

Consumed

Cheers! -- to the good life
that would kill her in a 
shot; glass ceiling 
above dreams 
shattered once
she found the courage
to empty her cup. 

Ding Dong

.................


-


-




the doorbell rang.
oddly enough--
no one was there.

-



-


.......................!!!!

Detachment

I took a memory

from a day in June
when we wrote
poetry in the sand
just before high tide--

I made it

an idol on the mantel
between two candles
smack dab in the middle
of the room. Last night
in a fit of sobs

I gave it back

to the earth
that birthed it,
with a mirror
in its place.

Enter-Mission

in a made up mind
lies a handful
of made up beds
in the dark corners
with soft linens and pillows;
to lie our heads
in a made up land.

Miss-placed

-------------------------------------------

Scattered, like dust left

behind--like a love affair

with a favorite chair

removed, like memories kept.

Ghost

1998

Tonight,

One shot and a beer;

Or

Was it one beer and three shots?

No matter...

Though the latter

Sounds more like truth--

I drink to keep

My mind from wondering,

Should I shout

Out your name;

Or

Continue to drown

Out this drunkenness

With more

Liquor?

Adapt

Is this dizziness I feel
Caused by that shot of liquor
Chased by that lager
I drank?
Or, is it from
That door revolving
That swung this way
Instead of that...perhaps?

Stuff

Boxes packed
Almost like fact
BUT!  Really it's more like
a fuck you
out of the blue, kinda.

Deteriorating Conditions

the clouds hanging
low, their blanket of regret
embracing me.
they are thick but dry,
blocking the light
leaving all in its wake
dark and cold.
in straits, I shiver
allowing the darkness
to swallow me

whole.

Pleading

Dear Mind, or something sounding similar:
I'm writing to say you must stop
NOW!  With care I carry this Message Love;
Go Gently--Hence, thoughts such as these will lead
to sleeplessness, as you may already have 
noticed?  Not only that, that extra drink
ain't your shrink!  Yea, it makes you cry,
and long, leading to horniness; untouched.
The alternative is a slow death, BUT!
Alas--a sweet stroll it shall be.

in  sanity, I plead with love...  forevermore!

Lies

When the storm comes, she spits and pisses

if one single drop falls upon her delicate flesh

like a Kim Kardashian who believes the hype

of a million lies, simply because her spoon is bigger,
                                                                      
                           than most.