Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Hindsight

“Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you're allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It's like killing yourself, and then you're reborn. I guess I've lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.”
Charles Bukowski



skins

The morning after, it's plain to see,
the drunken mistakes, you did to me
Your eyes are teary, with stains of sorrow
I'm hardened to that, it'll happen tomorrow
As the sun sets fear, sings lullabies
Soon you'll be home, bringing hell and goodbyes
The saddest story, is now told
I'm becoming a drunk too, as I grow old
You stained my mind, with intoxicated words
Breaking my heart, my soul with your scourge
this morning tells a story, of my final plea
I lay this bottle down, because this you is me.



Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Serenity's Storm

"I think that the ideal space must contain elements of magic, serenity, sorcery and mystery."




Wash away, all the same
Breezes blow, I will trade
Tranquil bows, some not all
Pass me through, I'll not call
Feelings so smooth

Like rocks worn, by the waters rush.
Feelings quelled, by the hush
Cascades of warmth, not ambient
Inside it burns, not transient
Easy comes the calm

Many searching, souls exist,
In this world, of gentle mist
A serenity that, cannot be trained.
Never before, traveling this lane
I'm now savoring

Tempest you will, draw my attention
Pleased I fall back, there's no tension
I turn again, to the lonely sound
Never having, to leave the ground
Lost in the moment

01162011
Tempest you draw my attention
Pleased I fall back again
I turn to the sound
Never having left the ground
Lost in the moment
- See more at: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/01/serenitys-storm.html#sthash.zcpyzVfB.dpuf
Tempest you draw my attention
Pleased I fall back again
I turn to the sound
Never having left the ground
Lost in the moment
- See more at: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/01/serenitys-storm.html#sthash.zcpyzVfB.dpuf
Tempest you draw my attention
Pleased I fall back again
I turn to the sound
Never having left the ground
Lost in the moment
- See more at: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/01/serenitys-storm.html#sthash.zcpyzVfB.dpuf
Tempest you draw my attention
Pleased I fall back again
I turn to the sound
Never having left the ground
Lost in the moment
- See more at: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/01/serenitys-storm.html#sthash.zcpyzVfB.dpuf

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Sanctuary

“You are my refuge, my sanctuary from everything that would harm me.”
Karen Essex,
Dracula in Love

 


gelemedimbenoyuna


When from great heights
The fall comes and meets
When heroes are born
courage from hearts weep

With naught but hardy
Willed fate with grace
They smell the fragrance
Of victory's place

After the battle long
Has raged in early morn
Is the grateful experience
Of sanctuaries born

A quiet in the fray
A desperate plea is found
The conquered now a victor
Standing on holy ground



Sunday, March 30, 2014

Crutch

“And so, irritants, it is with this that I leave you. You are spared so that you can think of what it really is to live in a world that engenders a pain for which there is no comfort. Here is your product! You have the rest of your lives to think of this. And I suggest you think quickly, for a long life is never a guarantee.”
Jhonen Vasquez, Johnny the Homicidal Maniac: Director's Cut 


il-gusto-dell-orrido

No way out, that's plain to see,
No breaks here, at least not for me

Created someone, by choices of peers
People pleasing, bad choices in years

Time is here, for the ugly plans
Another choice, to take a stand

In the mind, I thought I'd be
Options present, from a Divine We

Way is clear, two roads to home
My destiny, no guilt to own



During the course of a man's life there are certain actions which to him are inevitable. His nurture of violence, rejection, torment, and pain makes a repetition of this lineage probable in many areas. When the professionals look at his past and problems, they commit him to a destiny with their prognostications. Cursed with the Homicidal Triad, he carries the weight that his life is over and many others will end by his hand. Perversions visited on him time and again long to be reborn in a vain attempt at control and vengeance. He is for all intents and purposes, a dangerous time bomb that, not a matter of “if” but “when”, will explode. He carries himself in a way that attracts the vermin and vultures of the dark life who, smelling blood, come and circle him in an ancient dance of death. They smell blood and think it a sign of weakness not knowing the he cut himself to draw them in. He does this so the ones he takes with him will be deserving of the death he brings. This way is clear and this way he will follow by virtue of having to other choice. No choice until one is taught to him by a God unseen, but heard and felt. His father told him that faith is a crutch for the weak, he now learns faith will save not only him but those he set his crosshairs on and if not for the crutch, then the kill. Look for the choices you misfitted rejected ones, there is a way that leads out of the darkness.




Friday, March 28, 2014

Princess of the Night

“Are you a princess?" I said. 
She replied, "I'm much more than a princess, 
but you don't have a name for it yet here on earth. ”


themurdershewore

The wind took her hair, black and flowing, tossing and spinning it in the late evening breeze like a child with a favorite toy. With the ambiance of crashing waves, the night took on the deep color of a precious jewel, as each facet of the raw and innocent exterior of a man and woman were cut away to reveal the hidden colors of love. She had the regal features of an Indian princess, with a curious mischief and passion sparkling in her eyes, and gentle voice that cut through my defenses, whispering my name with subtle beguilement. Possess me my native flower, let me breath your essence deep into my waiting abyss. In the giving there was as much pleasure as in the receiving, never before had I lunged so completely into the unknown. With her gentle touch guiding me through corridors of pleasure, I knew this flight of my soul can take me through the nether worlds of ethereal desire and effervescent delight. I only stopped at one point to ask myself, “do you want to love her?”. I felt the challenge to leave the pains and brokenness of the past to fly with her. With one decision, the natural way became a supernatural journey that would leave me wounded but happy with my sacrifice and let me spend the rest of my days listening for her siren song calling my name.




Tuesday, March 25, 2014

The Dust - Apathy exposes your cracks

“Even when I try to stir myself up, I just get irritated because I can't make anything come out. And in the middle of the night I lie here thinking about all this. If I don't get back on track somehow, I'm dead, that's the sense I get. 
There isn't a single strong emotion inside me.” ― Banana Yoshimoto
 





You see beauty everywhere, your supposed to be happy. Your not.
You see people laughing, your supposed to be a part. Your not.
You see tears falling, your supposed to feel. Your not.
You see prayers offered, your suppose to do that. Your not.
You see life passing, your supposed to do something. Your not.
And worst of all, you just don't care. I mean you really, really, don't care. About anything.
It's death you feel in every little crack of your soul.
Like dust collecting, this death accumulates in the small areas of your life.
But wait you walking dead! Be encouraged!
There's life again, a spring cleaning as it were, rising from the dust of death in your life.
You must quiet yourself and stop running to the next thing that will numb you.
You must quiet yourself and wait to hear the voice of your maker calling after you.
You must quiet yourself and pray to the one who has the love that will make you whole.
I've felt the death that living life can bring, and I've felt the arms of my Father,
Those arms have made me strong enough to live and be safe from the dust.


Also published in Broowaha Magazine


01082011

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Skin - Yours feels good on me

Be forewarned: This is a creative application of an analogy



"The finest clothing made is a person's own skin, but, of course, society demands something more than this."  - Mark Twain

"It's a sad man my friend who's livin' in his own skin and can't stand the company."                             - Bruce Springsteen




ad libitum
Pulling out my favorite skin, one of the many I've gathered over the course of years, I pushed one foot through, then pulling it over my head, stood up and turned around. There, now I'm complete. I looked in the mirror, this skin is tight, it doesn't quite fit. After all my hunting to find the perfect fit, damn. These things change you know, in the night while your sleeping, they shrink and grow taking on their own wild destiny. It's hard to pull out the men, the women, from their skins. I yank and tug, making little cuts to release the flesh, loving when it just falls off, but that usually meant someone else had the same idea, using it to hide, or rather, to enhance their look. My collection is extensive and ever changing. I pulled some off of religious fanatics, some from thugs, some from pretty boy hair bands. I yanked a couple off some bikers and even a lawyer couldn't escape my scheming thievery. All skin is beautiful by virtue of hiding mine. I sit looking in the mirror at my latest acquisition. I sure look good in it, wish I could move though, it always rips when I go outside. No worries though, I'll keep yanking and saving them and perhaps sew them together. I'll find one that fits and works eventually. I wish they wouldn't leave marks on me, it blows my cover when you see pieces that obviously don't fit on me. I'll make excuses and hold it on while I scurry to pull another skin over the unfinished parts of me. 


Also Published in: Wingposse Magazine, April 2013

12202012 

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

White Noise

“It was the time of year, the time of day, for a small insistent sadness to pass into the texture of things. Dusk, silence, iron chill. Something lonely in the bone.”
Don DeLillo, White Noise 


killedtheinnocentpeople


Always company to the old scenes,
a noise it follows,
a voice alone in the streets.

Blankets of sound wrap me tight,
a no comfort noise,
in the blackness of night.

Garbled whispers nothings clear
except the noise
of failure and then fear

My blurry mind is all full of snow,
white washed noise,
an emery pain makes it glow.

Flipping the channels all in vain,
the hissing noise,
Will come back again.



Sunday, March 9, 2014

How Right Is Your Right?

“The answer is that there is no good answer. So as parents, as doctors, as judges, and as a society, we fumble through and make decisions that allow us to sleep at night--because morals are more important than ethics, and love is more important than law.”
Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper 




allweareisbullets


Walking the fine line, what makes a criminal? There are things done to survive, like stealing to provide food, and things done for protection like killing to defend my family and nation. Many times the law is broken for the sake of greater good, but there is an intrinsic law we carry in our nature, a line that will become apparent hopefully before it is crossed. There are some of us that are meant to be lawbreakers, by nature rebellious, and these are necessary. Many good things are accomplished by those who are not afraid to break away from the current understanding of right and wrong. So at what point are the actions considered criminal, not in the sense of law, but in the sense of conscience? At this crossing of the deeper, shall I say, spiritual law, a path is entered that if continued on will lead to a seared conscience, a point which the wrong that's done is so severe that conviction of the wrong is never felt again.

This development of morality leads us to a higher authority in which to compare our decisions. Many points of contention rise in response to this directive of a higher power. Haven't hugely deviant and violent actions been inspired by “spiritual directive”? Yes, and still they will, but the perversion of the truth does not negate the validity of the same. A spiritual directive is out there and needs to be sought after to direct our unsure moral crawl to a full stride of right choices. There are things that will obscure this path and those things should be avoided at all costs, especially the habit of them. Beware of things which lower inhibitions and subvert the will. Many things beside the obvious will hypnotize the unwary. Drugs, alcohol are cliches in this respect but there are more cunning enemies, beware as you grow to understand and be consistent to follow those things which you learn, and most of all, keep seeking to be free of a seared conscience.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Born Again - Recovery from Traumatic Brain Injury

 "Recovery is hard. End of story...
I spend hours a week doing homework that isn’t for school, but for rehabilitative purposes. I am regularly pushed to my limits cognitively, emotionally, and physically...
I am always tired, I have never been more aware of my difficulties in the past two years than I am now. I work a lot with figuring out strategies to manage the results of my brain injury in a way where it makes life more manageable...
I want the frustration to stop...
Despite all of the I wants, or the I wishes, I have never been so motivated in my life to succeed. I may have difficulties, but i refuse to let it define me. I will keep trying, and keep pushing. I will never be the person I was before, I may never be a conventional normal person. But I will succeed in life. Disability or not..." - Alwaygrowing



neurosciencestuff

Born again, no, not in the religious sense. There is a new birth forced on us from several tumultuous life changing events. Take for example, a Traumatic Brain Injury, which hadn't received much press until many of our veterans came back from war. Their are many hard things to process and I'll relay them to you in a greatly condensed version. As a survivor of TBI, I've experienced a change in habits, personality, quirks, desires, and many things I took for granted. I've noticed a marked decrease in patience and strong increase in violent outbursts. It took a good long while before I was able to walk without dizziness and still feel my actions are clumsy compared to the me I knew before. Writing, speaking, events that I had great control over before (I was a public speaker and very eloquent with words and phrases) seemed out of my grasp. I struggled to actually say what I wanted to, entirely different words or ideas would come out instead. People would repeat what I just said and I responded with amazement at having said something I'd never say, and that with no recollection. Writing through the vehicle of typing was another terrific challenge, my coordination and muscle memory was out of whack and I had to learn all over.

No one explained that these things could happen and most people just walked away wagging their heads, not understanding that this wasn't me, I was born again. Like my natural birth, I had no choice in the matter, it was given to me by fate and circumstance. I reeled for years trying to find my way back to the me I knew, and still endure hardship and misunderstanding as I struggle to learn again. This is a curse and a blessing. A curse because there are bad things that resulted from the injury (violence, clumsy, forgetful, impatience) but a blessing because now, unlike growing up, I can understand that I am forming my new self and look at my actions with the guidance of hindsight and understanding given from self education and spiritual pursuit. Born Again, hallelujah yes, but not to a spiritual reunion with God, but to a soulful reunion with who I want to be.


If you need more information on TBI here are some links: