Run of the Mill.

3 Oct

Recycled and redundant words
Playing out the same old escape,
Lost in a whirlwind of indulgence
Of the most basic kind.

It’s easy to see how it
Gives hollow satisfaction
With accolades, hearts,
Little strokes to the ego.

But is that really all it takes,
Measly praise in the small pond
To make you keep going
Along with your construct?

Sitting and bleeding at your desk
Martyr of over privileged futures
Wasting my god damn time
With prostituted memories.

Regurgitating the same story
Of your clichés made to order
Reigniting old tobacco and wounds
Clutching to your misery.

Trees laid bare.

2 Oct

October feels cold in some capacity and brings reminders of another place and another time. It’s a place and time that is over and for that I am thankful. I live without reminders of the seasons because I am not far from the equator relatively speaking. I am also grateful for that, being initially raised in America’s fucking ice box. I don’t see snow, I don’t see leaves changing their colors, and I don’t see the thaw that comes with spring. I have seen all of those things in a great capacity. I have no need for them now. I know there are places I will never visit and I feel relieved. I understand that I have limitations but I am okay with that. I don’t feel good doing things that maybe a lot of others enjoy, but if it is of no matter to me, because I finally have safety.

“Wouldn’t trade nothin’ for my journey now.”  -Maya Angelou


30 Sep

Disappointment comes when I put myself in the places where people are supposed to go. I open myself and attempt to connect and it brings pain. Not the kind that comes from just being alive, being aware, being able to feel, but the kind that comes from being dismissed. It seems that I have become translucent. I dreamed again of limitations, seeing others look through me to focus on themselves, as if I was of no substance to them. I was a fucking vapor wafting. There was nothing anchoring me.
I have made many provisions to stay free. I disappear sometimes from people’s lives because I do not want to be depended upon, because I am not comfortable with that responsibility. I don’t expect to depend on them either.
I find it hard to be in the company of people who do not have some understanding of the circumstances of severe trauma, or at the least, compassion for it. It is too uncomfortable for most. Since my upbringing was one that contained serious and long term trauma, it has had an effect on my relationships as well as how I interact in society. As much as I do and work, I am not going to reach a point where I am all fixed. No one is ever all fixed and if they say they are, they’re full of shit. So I’m not going for “fixed,” I’m going for contentment, with myself and the reality I create. I have been looking for solidity and ultimately there is and there is none.

Southeastern Skies.

29 Sep

I went outside this morning and stood barefoot staring at the flowers, taking in the overcast sky. Usually the sky being grey in the morning is a bit of a downer, but not today. Instead of the hot sun beginning it’s ascent, there is a slight reprieve. The flowers lifted my spirits. Such delicacy and fragility dangling from a vine and yet such strength and tenacity. The obstacles to its growth and expansion become part of the plant as a whole as its tendrils wind around the object until it is no longer separate. The things that get in its way become a part of the process of its growth. Instead of growing in the opposite direction, it envelopes the things that obscure it fearlessly.

Maybe the triggers have receded enough that I am able to see life for myself a bit differently than I have for the last few weeks. I didn’t resort to reading or watching epic tragedies while being triggered this time. I’m glad of that. I found other things to put in my brain that would benefit me, not make things seem worse. Perhaps I am feeling a bit better because I know I see my therapist tomorrow, and it could also be because I addressed some things that were gnawing away at my peace.

There’s something I have to undergo soon and I finally understand why it has been so troubling to me. It’s a medical procedure, and what is troubling is the lack of control I will  have over my body while this action has to be permitted. It is important that this take place, but I am hitting a wall in my head when I think about it. I cannot imagine putting myself in a position where I am vulnerable yet unable to defend myself. EVERYTHING tells me to bring a weapon and fight back. I won’t bring a weapon. I am afraid I will involuntarily react during the procedure and cause distress. It is a unique sensation to feel like I am justified in trying to beat a doctor’s ass while simultaneously knowing that is not an option at all. I can feel adrenaline pouring into my blood as I write this for the mere mention of it makes me think I need to go to battle.

When I put it into a context it makes more sense, and I don’t feel as conflicted, but nothing seems to allay my fear except my own mental fortitude. The fortitude is based in telling myself that the warrior has to stand down and allow this process to take place, and being able to do that means restraint.

I just saw an advertisement for the United Nations and their “global goals” campaign. Why do I feel like I was just recipient of a marketing campaign? Because I was. I have a lot of difficulty trusting the UN, so this doesn’t help. Perhaps in the future they could save the money that is budgeted for the marketing campaign and put it towards background checks for their peace officers so the refugees actually get assistance instead of being physically violated.

Hibernation Sickness.

28 Sep

I hear the clomping around of the neighbors’ feet and I am slightly annoyed. Their thoughtlessness seems to translate into their arhythmic and hasty steps. I don’t want to become that, immune to awareness. I want to have some sense of being present in myself and the moment in which I am. I see so many with minds elsewhere, and I am guilty of it too. Just dredging through the activities that are expected in the first world order and checking or chickening out on being a part of something else, or perhaps reluctance in taking responsibility for being human, and generally expecting more than necessary.
Sitting in my sleepwear with my coffee cup and morning ecoutrements, I’m feeling hurt by the lack of consideration by so many. In a culture where we can have about anything we need, we still want to have and have more. I fail at keeping up with the idea of what I am not. Some event occurs and instead of a ripple in an ocean, it’s a fucking tidal wave in a kiddie pool and I’m on my ass for a week.
There’s this sensation of being let down because I have not been hiding behind a mask of false joy, yet I feel a distinct lack of acknowledgement. Not from those dearest to me, thank fuck. I can usually handle callousness from others but when my optimism is suffering from a blow, I find it disturbing. It reinforces this idea that if I have moments of sadness and need that I am not afforded the luxury of having someone to be available. This is an outcropping of being punished violently for showing fear. Fear can really bring the tears. But I know what “pain without reason” is like (thank you for the phrase, Mr. Bukowski). So I guess that’s the upside. That and I am a firm practitioner of non-violence.


25 Sep

Sitting, waiting again for pills
It is silent and the day unknown
Old habits too transparent to soothe
My gut a tempest and my mind a wasteland

Tired of being confined to words
That seem cyclical
Over and over again
I don’t understand myself anymore.

Have I too become a cliché?
Of course I have.
We all are.
Meatbags with egos, too.

There’s something though that I just don’t get
Why in the morning, I feel a momentum,
Almost bursting forth
With optimism and glee

I want to reach you
Let us share this possession
That surges through veins
Perhaps we can survive it together

Evening falls all over again
Since the autumn it gets darker
Harder than the spring
Suffocating the throat

The exhaustive effort to keep speaking
Dwindles down the drain
Lost again in doubt
As the moon makes its way.

I will force sleep
Awaken inquiring once more
The longing will begin, again
I may proceed feeling fractured

How much I have forgotten
Complete holes in my recollections
Like my brain turning inward
Upon itself to flicker gaslights.

I cannot trust my judgment
It has not been deconstructed
Enough to see my motivations
So I sit with it

It’s like watching a child get burned
Having to learn again
And see my brutal fuck ups
Asking why I’m stuck on repeat

Why can’t I just try
It’s right here before me
All I need, yet
I stay afraid and external.

I could weep every moment
But it’s not enough, babe
I have coddled fear like a newborn
It has fed from me too long

I have to go to where I am
Most frightened of you
Without everything everyone else did
To finally let go of it.


24 Sep

I woke up many times. There were times I felt wide awake but made myself go back to sleep to escape. The alarm made me fill with dread when I heard it. I was cold from sweat. I realized I would be alone most of the day because he had to go to work, as much as he didn’t want to go. He stayed with me for an extra hour and a half which made a huge difference. It was enough to help me engage with reality and keep me in it long enough to remember that it is okay. I woke from a nightmare that seemed eternal. It was as though I had lived half of a lifetime in the dream. After looking into his blue eyes and touching his messy hair I am in a good place, a place where the destruction of man has not obliterated nature and smells of baking bread waft. He makes the coffee because he knows I love it but hate making it, and when we embrace before he leaves I can feel him inhale deeply as though he were taking in as much as possible to get him through the day. I wonder how I can be so much to him, but I am not going to question him.

The sky is grey and unfocused. A few things about yesterday are salient and need to be addressed so I feel sort of like I know what happened. It hits me as I ruminate on reality that PTSD is just another shitty reality that is based in lies. I have given it more gravity than it merits because it tricks me into thinking it’s more valid somehow. It is not more valid. It is a reality based in being separate, except instead of the goal being wealth and status it is basic safety and survival. Both are total lies. Both tell me I am powerless and alone.

The dream was hell. As I lay it out and look at it I see it is a journey into the things that hurt me and made me afraid. That’s what happens when I get trapped in that old reality. Yesterday I felt like I did long ago; I felt like prey. My mind then superimposes this reality and the conflict arises when I realize I am safe. Then I have to reconcile my behavior with the reality of being safe.

In the nightmare I was strained and exhausted but I could not rest. The sun kept getting in my eyes and making it impossible to see but the weather was not warm. I had to drive in this dream, quite often, and the driving seemed motivated by a need to get away. There were different cars and I had no trouble adjusting to the different types of cars, but I was disappointed that I had no control over what I drove. I was just given a vehicle. I wore sunglasses often in this dream which I find odd since I don’t like to shield my eyes. It strikes me though that just yesterday I was thinking of how Winston Churchill felt comfortable crying in public, yet I do not. The only time I have worn sunglasses is to cover my eyes. Well that was an easy one. I went blind a few times in the dream, and then I had my vision restored but only to the point where it is without corrective lenses, which is pretty impaired. I had to drive in this state, I remember that very clearly because I was very upset by this. I am feeling the emotions as I recall it, and I felt that it was not safe for me to drive while I couldn’t see, but I also recall now that I was afraid mostly that someone else would be injured because of me.
I kept putting potted plants in the dingy front yard and they kept dying. I just kept adding more plants but never taking the dead ones away. I wanted them to be seen. I wanted an external marker to show the world that it was a place where things did not grow. “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”


& Conditional Juggling

sheila sea

like thalassic velvet

Thomas M. Watt

A man who is lost


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