Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Heavy Cloud, No Rain

I took a long walk after work yesterday. I thought it was to clear my head but I think it was because it was cold. Being hit in the face with cold air, feeling my nose burn... well, at least I was feeling something. Proof that I'm alive, solid proof that I'm here & capable of feeling anything at all. The strangers that I passed, some of them I remember so clearly it's as if I really know them. Not because of any overwhelming amount of interaction but because I guess I was really analyzing details. The older man stocking magazines at a corner newstand; The young girl in a bright green coat walking a dog 3 times her size; a tiny old woman with her arms full trying in vain to hail a cab. Everyone with completely different lives, unique agendas, different homes & life circumstances to go back to and yet they all had a single thing in common. Lack of joy. At best they all looked numb, at worse they looked mad at the world.On that walk I saw not a single moment of happiness pass between two people or even flow from one person. I'm sure it was there, somewhere. It had to be.

When I walked into my apartment & was relieved to be home, safe from everything *out there*. After awhile it hit me that while I was walking I was looking for comfort or a sign of it. As if one random act between two strangers, one display of brief affection, something- would have given me an unrealistic bit of hope. The left side of my emotional scale is loaded with boulders and yet it seemed like if I could place even a feather on the right side, it might somehow balance things.

Funny how a singular touch of faith or grace can weigh more than concrete on the hardest of days.

Monday, February 27, 2006

...

"COUNTING THE BEATS"
by Robert Graves

You, love, and I,
(He whispers) you and I,
And if no more than only you and I,
What care you or I?

Counting the beats,
Couting the slow heart beats,
The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,
Wakeful they lie.

Cloudless day,
Night, and a cloudless day,
Yet the huge storm will burst upon their heads one day
From a bitter sky.

Where shall we be,
(She whispers) where shall we be,
When death strikes home, O where then shall we be
Who were you and I?

Not there but here,
(He whispers) only here,
As we are, here, together, now and here,
Always you and I.

Counting the beats,
Counting the slow heart beats,
The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,
Wakeful they lie.

Stumble Then Crawl

I've been up for hours which wouldn't be a bad thing, if only my normal escape hatches were working. Normally i'd have my face buried in a book- any book written about anything. I know why. I know it's in part the "need to know more about everything". I also know a huge part is the need to distract myself. If I focus on the words then I can't possibly focus on the dreams. The moving pictures that play over & over behind my eyes even once I wake. If I study some brand spankin' new topic & absorb it, it keeps the disturbing things at bay. At least usually.

Tonite I have been less than capable of that. The walls feel like they are moving in on me and the silence is lethal. I want to leave and just walk but I haven't been successful at finding my way out the door either. There is no safety net, there is no retreat.

I'm stuck in death's waiting room. There's no escape and there's no way to speed it up either. A friend from childhood has been ill for months and finally rge doctor sent him home to die the other day. If he makes it a week without any treatment it'll be a miracle. The "treatment" wasn't working anyway but somehow you delude yourself into thinking that as long as a person tries to get help, hope might be in sight. I don't blame him for giving up & when he did the doctor didn't offer any possible positive outcomes if he kept plugging along.

We all knew better but hoped for something different.

My last thoughts did not & were not intending to imply that everyone who suffers deserves it- not at all. We've all known people who were awful & then suffered just as we've known someone wonderful who suffered as well. The point was, who or what decides. Is it all in the hands of fate?

My friend is more like a brother than my actual brother has been in decades. So I'm stuck in that horrible spot of jumping when the phone rings. Relieved when it's not his number on my caller ID, then wishing that it was.

Anticipating a loved ones death is like standing atop a cliff with your toes dangling over the edge while someone has their hand on your back, ready to push you. There's no way out. You are going down. The only uncertainty is when. It's imminent, but those final seconds feel like days.

How many times can your soul die?
Your heart can die a thousand deaths
For with every false hope
Of a promise for tomorrow
It is resurrected.
Alive, alive and again capable
Of suffering and dying
Just as so many times before.
First it throbs and aches
And fills with darkness.
Then it begins to fall
Down deep into your stomach,
Where you can feel its weight.
There it slowly breaks apart
Piece by piece
As the moments of its life
Haunt your mind.
The pieces are absorbed
And ravage your soul,
Infecting it, too, with this darkness,
Deeper than hellish night,
Until it gasps for the fading light of life
Surrenders and finally
Retreats
Ad mortem
Until the next false hope
The next promise
Is presented.
But the soul, the soul is not
So strong, so resilient
Once the soul is damaged
There is no hope of recovery.
The damage spreads like a virus
And death is slow and imminent
And eternal.

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Do We Choose Our Death or Does Our Death Choose Us?

Have you ever really notcied the way that people die? I'm not talking about accidents or unforseen circumstances with sad endings. I mean the person that learns they have an illness that puts a solid, yet unrevealed number on their days remaining. You see people who live their lives with grace, carry themselves well and have earned the love and respect of those they encounter. Is it per chance that they often die with the same degree of dignity and genteelness that they lived? Aren't they often (often, not always) the ones that go in peace, or in their sleep or without much suffering at all.

It seems like once a person moves beyond their own fear they are often at peace with what comes next.

What I really wonder about is that miserable fucker that slammed everyone they'd ever met into the verbal ground in their waking, walking days. You know the kind I mean. Never a good word to say about anyone behind their back, never an insult to their face either. Is it a coincidence that these people are othen left to linger & suffere & drain the life & spirit from those around them? Isn't it kind of a reflection on the way that they lived their life & doesn't it almost make sense that they would fade away inch by inch with the same level of misery that they lived?

Is it really all just a coincidence? Luck of the draw? Another form of karma perhaps?

Saturday, February 25, 2006

...

Main Entry: madness
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: foolishness
Synonyms: aberration, absurdity, alienation, craziness, delirium, delusion, dementia, derangement, distraction, dotage, folly, frenzy, hallucination, hysteria, illusion, insanity, irrationality, irresponsibility, lunacy, mania, mental disorder, mental illness, neurosis, phobia, preposterousness, psychopathy, psychosis, senselessness, stupidity, unbalance, unreasonableness, witlessness

Friday, February 24, 2006

Full of Broken Thoughts

Last Sunday I woke a bit later than usual. Sleeping late always leaves me feeling out of sorts. It's as if my body realizes just how tired it really is and I end up feeling exhausted instead of refreshed. I was fumbling around trying to make coffee when bits and pieces of a nitemare started coming back to me. Something about a little boy that was found in the river. Somehow I knew that his father was responsible and had tossed him off the bridge alive because in the dream there was a struggle, a kid screaming & then a boys' body being pulled. That was pretty much the sequence or at least it was how I remembered it to be. It was vivid and I knew it was so real to me because well, it triggered me but I tried to let it go. Awhile later I went out to grab a paper and there on the front page I read:

Boy Thrown From Bridge By Father Feared Dead

I was off of work & apparently this had transpired late the night before. By mornng they were still searching for the boys body.

This kind of thing has happened to me before, I don't know why. Maybe I've been doing this for so long that I instinctively know the patterns of crime waves & sense what hasn't happened in awhile. Maybe it's a fluke or maybe that it's because my dreams are so frequently frightening disturbing that sooner or later I have to get it right.

I don't know but it really is my secondary thought.

My first thought was knowing, absolutely knowing how frightened that boy was.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Face The Face

I've spent most of this week shutting down, shutting out & shutting off everything around me. I took this week off from work- the vacation that I never take. The week that traditionally rolls over until it's deleted from existence. I never take time off, not more than a day anyway. I've been going through the motions these last few months and poorly at that. When I'm not going through the motions on behalf of others (is it really even for their sake??) I feel like I'm running- trying to escape... Something. Perpetual motion. Keep busier than usual. Pretend to have some sort of *normal* life. Why? Why am I putting on a game face that I don't really want to wear in the first place? Why am I trying to be normal for normalcy's sake when it is something that I have never in my life been.

This faking my way for nothing, running away from something and towards nothing- it stops now.

I've been taking a sort of painful look at myself and I really do NOT like what is staring back at me. I'm not sure that I have ever exactly liked that guy that drills holes through me in the mirror. Probably not but there has to at least be a more bearable version than this mess that reflects back.

I think I've been so ensnared in the day to day bullshit that I never noticed how far I was drifting from myself. Now I just feel like a powder keg of pent up frustration. I realize that as all of the complicated parts of my life have crashed into each other these past few months, instead of living and dealing in the moment, I've sort of ducked out. I've felt only the bare-assed minimum and tried to forget the rest. That hasn't worked, it never does, for me at least. I feel like I've been bounced off of one rocky shoreline after another; My mother. The media. Nicole Wallace. My nitemares. The really disturbing crap that I never mention. I've done a stellar job of ricocheting off of things but my feet, they've never touched the ground again until now.

This week I've dropped purposeful anchor, taken a good hard look in the mirror and what I see is just terrifying.

Monday, February 20, 2006

Hiatus

Instead of everyone wondering where I've gone & what happened I figured I should tell you myself. I simply need a break, that's all. One little blog with my thoughts turned into a really big labor of love. 6 months worth of work and quite honestly, I'm burnt out so I'm taking a break.

Last weeks trolls prevented me from doing this then. I've seen enough of them to know, don't engage them and they go away. Please don't blame them for my hiatus because you'd be giving them far too much credibility & validity.

I may be back after a rest & if I am, you'll all be the first to know I can't thank you enough for reading & also allowing me the opportunity to get to know you. If you already have the email here then feel free to use it, knowing that I'll be checking it.

Take care of yourselves and please keep supporting one another. This blog may have kicked things off but what YOU have built is a strong amazing community that can continue without my prescience.