Saturday, July 11, 2015

Estranged

“The distant soul can shake the distant friend's soul and make the longing felt, over untold miles.” ― John Masefield


bibliophilebunny


Stares into the fires of what used to be
Longing for a shore on this endless sea
Then and still she rejects me

Glares into the mirror of what is to see
Glancing back just the bare image of me
Then and still she blames me

Pairs thrown into storms of life do believe
Splitting again to separate entities
Then and still she's a part of me



Thursday, July 2, 2015

Dream Works

 “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” ― Edgar Allan Poe



heatherwanderer

I woke with a sweat drenched pillow, the dreams that enthralled me were just out of reach and not hesitating any longer, I pulled back the sounds of voices that harmonized like instruments of lyre and lute. The voices were right, wisdom echoed in their cadence as I found my ship drawn inextricably to their haunting direction. Have you ever smelled perfume? Not the cheap whorish variety that smelled like cotton candy but a subtle scent that lingered long after she left the room? That's how her voice seemed, a wafting fragrance that captivated both my mind and body and caused me to drift aimless but not so misdirected as one lost, for my wanderings found their home in her arms. I wrangled my dreams from their abyss and drug my sweat soaked bedding to the kitchen for an ice cold beer. Simple pleasures, intense dreams, cold beer, what more could a man want from chasing the pleasures of his Queen? I could go on but would you be interested in the musings of one who gave his ear in desperation of love, or one who wrote under the influence of acid and heroin? If not for leisure, philosophy would find no fertile ground. How can you think when your body is burdened with heat, sweat and fatigue? Yet, as I grabbed the sweaty pillow, I was lying down, sleeping, and still I sweated with what? Passion? Work? What trick of nature is this? I'm still and yet my dreams bring labor, enough work to leave me exhausted. Perhaps I actually live a life beyond the awakened drudgery of normalcy? Yes, my dreams are work, yes, that's my job, and yes, from them I'm weary and sweaty. I'm off to work again, don't look for me on the street, my tasks take me to roads never seen, and I dance with her to voices that are hidden in the depths of slumber.

Also published in Broowaha Citizen's Magazine

06122013
 

Thursday, June 18, 2015

A Witness

“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't.” 

fornaxvoid


Ah my son, the road has indeed been long and hard with many questions and mysteries. In the depths of my soul I've borne pain that I never thought I could bear. My father, who like myself was adopted after seeing his father shoot his mother and then himself, attempted to protect me (his stepson who was forced on him) by tormenting me in an effort to toughen me up. O god the terrors I experienced just trying to live at home, not just with him but with whoever was the father of the moment. After all this (which is only a small portion of my journey) I found a love that though it didn't remove all the pain, nor guarantee my safety from more pain, gave me an experience of something bigger than me. This experience came at a service in our local church where I, having no strength to continue on my journey, learned that there is a personal God who wants to interact in my life. That night I came to know a love so tangible that I could feel it in the air around me. I knew then that despite whatever troubles and injustices that I have and will have experienced, there is one, Jesus, who will hear me and be my very real help in times of trouble. It's to this God and his son Jesus that owe my life to now. The pain has not stopped, tears bleed from my eyes nearly everyday, but I have a refuge when I can go on no longer. All this said my son, please find Him who has been my salvation from myself and from this life. I'm not religious (I hate that word), in fact if you read the rest of my writings you'll find I'm a screwed up, highly volatile, self destructive, and depressed individual who, if not for God who found me, would be dead or in jail. In the words of another, “I'm just one beggar telling another beggar where I found bread.” My health is failing, and I feel desperate to let you know how to escape the insanity that I passed on to you by my genes. I know what your going through and there is an answer, not to relieve the agony of a mind gone wrong, but to make something beneficial of your life and find an antidote that supersedes the mental and physical. I love you critter...


Tuesday, June 16, 2015

The Guise Of Faith

 “The easy confidence with which I know another man's religion is folly teaches me to suspect that my own is also.” - Mark Twain



lorelainw
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Throwing the covers over my seething nature, I burrow beneath religion, hiding who I am. Pops said, “Religion is for the weak”, that may the case, but my reasons are that I'm fucking scared of who I really am. If my soul had a window, I'm sure there'd be a line to watch the horror show. Damn humanity, they love to watch insanity in action, paying millions of dollars to watch all kinds of degradation on the big screen and drooling, lonely, over their computer late at night. I'm sure people I know and haven't known have stayed around only to see what kind up fucked up shit I'm gonna do or get into next. The guise of church and God is the ultimate facade. I really do believe in God, but I feel like I'm a fake when I act according to my faith, and almost feel like I've been duped when I “do good things” not because I want to, but because my beliefs tethered me into obedience. Being good is desirable, but only because I'm scared of whats inside me. I can honestly say that God is real to me and that I try to listen and obey, but (there's always a but in religion) damn if I don't feel like it's a trick. I'm religious not out of love for God, but from fear of who I'll be if I don't "obey". My soul is filled with many violent and revolting perversions, and most of my self destructive behavior comes through that realization. I don't want to hurt anyone, to cause mayhem and destruction, I don't want to be what I am. My detractors, the greatest of whom reside in my head, taunt me saying, “how can you write all these hope filled articles about God and His work in your life while being a whole different person inside. Your the ultimate hypocrite.”. It'll be known when all things are known that my battles where never seen by humanity, and my greatest victory will be to go to the grave without fulfilling the deviant nature that claws at and through my robes of righteousness.


Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Can You Fix It?

“As much as I live I shall not imitate them or hate myself for being different to them” - Orhan Pamuk, Snow 

“The world is not ready for some people when they show up, but that shouldn't stop anyone.” - Ashly Lorenzana


briawanderlust


The conversation started normally, casual chit chat, but then they noticed my appearance. I look fine but when I turn you can see my deformity, and this prompted them to ask why don't I fix it? I gave my standard response that all of us with defects give but in my mind an angry conversation ensued. Why do you think I need to “fix” me? Is it because you think I'm embarrassed because you're embarrassed for me? I'm not embarrassed, I accept it as who I am. Is it because it makes you uncomfortable? Society sucks, and people gather in their little comfortable niches where they pet each other and console themselves about how they are better than those on the outside of their circle. We're all different and it becomes a strength that binds us rather than separates us when we accept ourselves and thereby are able to accept others. As much as this rant is focused on physical differences I'll point out that there are mental and emotional differences between as well. It may not be easy for someone else to go through the day with a smile, or to look in a mirror and feel good, or for that matter to even get out of bed in the morning. They may not be able to enjoy a shot of liquor with their friends, or be able to put down whatever drug your experimenting with. Relationships may not come easy to them and love is nearly an impossible feat. Accept yourselves, grow the best you can, and don't outcast people because they are different. Try to understand, then you'll ask me how you can be like me rather than why I don't fix it.



Monday, June 8, 2015

Rescue

"and it was he who some fifteen feet down spotted the body of the young man  floating like uprooted seaweed, upward, a brilliant white in the underwater space, and it was he who grabbed the body under the arms and brought him up, and also he who made the young man vomit all the water he had swallowed.” ― Roberto Bolaño, 2666  


bbaannsshhee
Wave after wave full of debris. It's not just the water, it's the stuff in the water that hurts. I've learned through years of playing in these waves, how to hold my breath to wait out the turbulence above. Being beneath the ocean isn't always a bad thing, but necessary for my survival as I dive into the deep to let the rolling trouble pass. Lately I'm a land dweller and though having never entered the ocean for years, I can still learn from those water bound lessons. It's not so much the living, the actual breathing and going through the days that brings the danger, but its the stuff that's in the living that hurts. 

There are many ways I've held my breath to get under the trouble. Substances, relationships, danger seeking (i.e. adrenaline junkie), have all held me below. With all this avoidance and struggle its nice when I see a boat. That's how God intervened in my life. He sailed through the storm and found me gurgling and diving just to survive the day. With loving hands he picked me up, asking nothing from me. I never made promises to Big Daddy (that's my affectionate name for God), saying “I'll do this or that if you save me”, I was just a panic ridden, scared to death young man who needed the rescuing power of God which He was happy to provide. 

You may not appreciate this power to rescue but believe me, when trouble comes and your life ebbs, you'll grab any hand. Though not just anyone could save me because I have this tendency to jump right back into the frothy waters, that's all I knew how to do. His hand not only rescued me but gently held me in the boat long enough to help me expel the water I swallowed and show me that I can ride the waves for exhilaration. That's the wonder and love I have for Big Daddy, he teaches me a better way. So here I go, pushing ahead to the other side fully aware that though I feel like the waters will swallow me, I'll still be saved.

Monday, June 1, 2015

Traces - Trails left behind


“Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path 
and leave a trail” - Ralph Waldo Emerson




Hungry dirt records my passage
fading trails showing,
I was here
Homes left in a hurry
Leaves dropped 
when I scurried
Nature's bones scattered around
Seeds haplessly planted
Bring unexpected life

08122011






Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Darling

“The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby 


fresh-mind-fresh-day


Never was a gentle and quiet word
spoken but so clearly heard

Innocent as the new day
echoing across a souls pain

Whispering she is vulnerable
that was the angelic guise so

Eloquently draped with a voice
surrendering I had no choice

Her tender call seducing me
in a moment she had all I'd be

It made me feel amazingly alive
She the moon and I the tide

Even now in this dreary day
Tenderly I can hear her say

Darling, Darling


The Hand That Helps

 “You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you.” ― John Bunyan


magictransistor

Repeating the refrain of old warriors, a certain one of them, having found himself at destinies juncture, has lent not just a hand, but a life to aid one who had fallen, namely me. To this end, that I might be found whole again, a work was instituted that in spite of my efforts (for I often sabotage my own salvation) continues to this day. He is called in the popular tongue an Indian, more specifically, a Native American, and was a large man with long black hair, who inspired respect, if from nothing more than from his size, reached down to assist me by holding back the powers of the dark world of addiction and the apex predators who prowl its labyrinthine corridors. With his family by his side he took me in, giving me refuge and a place of recovery without which I'd probably be dead or worse (there are things worse than dying).

During the time of his heaven sent provision an alternative lifestyle began to show itself. Don't take alternative to be a freaky derivative of normality, but it was an alternative compared to my insanity. His family was simply just that, a family. This greatly put me in awe, for this thing called family was an institution of which I've been deprived of and seeing his daily dance of life with his wife and child put me at ease and challenged me to walk a different path. This path included a particular music with which I began to fall in love with as the music for my own dance with normality. 

Understand that people who are impaired, whether physically or mentally, can dance but not like an unimpaired person would. My twirls and spirals, off beat and tragically humorous created a unique rhythm that would like the Native American drums, inspire me to reach beyond myself, beyond what I knew, and teach me things that though unseen were amazingly tangible. The reason I write is to honor him and the amazing work that his random and sometimes not so random acts of kindness began in me many years ago. So my friend, where ever you are, I can still see you who with unwavering determination gave me hope and with your Bruce Lee One Inch Punch gave me a bruise and reason to not wound this opportunity to grow.

Also published in Life as a Human


Friday, May 15, 2015

Alienation of a Soul

“When you're socially awkward, you're isolated more than usual, and when you're isolated more than usual, your creativity is less compromised by what has already been said and done. All your hope in life starts to depend on your craft, so you try to perfect it. One reason I stay isolated more than the average person is to keep my creativity as fierce as possible. Being the odd one out may have its temporary disadvantages, but more importantly, it has its permanent advantages.” ― Criss Jami, Killosophy



jeancon


I've lost it all, all my compassion, all my empathy, all my concern for the flip flop of dire humanity around me. I built my life around trying to “do the right thing” in personal relationships, with both the stranger and the wife, the friends and the foes. Right now, it doesn't seem to matter in the least whether I was good or bad, made wrong choices or excellent decisions. It's strangely exhilarating to, at least in theory, be done with everyone, like the chains have fallen off my mind. A very experienced convict told me that if I wanted to be bad all I had to do is get in touch with the hate in my heart. I've a lot of hate, but how to touch it was beyond me, being constrained by an itinerant love which I called God's love. With this new advent of running empty of that supposed love, I find reason and wisdom calling for me to listen. After years of letting people run rampant through my gardens, I want to put up barbwire fences and sit with my armament waiting for these pests to dig under it. I don't want to be bad per say, I just want to be free from the derision that comes with helping people and the struggle with being good to them. I still haven't touched that hate, but losing touch with my empathy is leading me down a path that there may be no returning from. I don't want to be concerned with anyone's life or opinions outside of the one with me here and in spite of the responsibility I feel to take care of my significant other, that concern is suffering as well. All this is the fruit of leaving my first love, the God that reached down through the clouds of my deformation and showed me in a moment that His love is real and tangible. On bent knees I seek Him again to save me from myself, from my predetermination to propagate the horrors and injustices born against me.

”If you love them that love you, what credit is that to you?” - Luke 6:32