You've done this thing, like attaching a string, from my mind to your heart, from my mouth to your brain; You've created this thing, like a hornet's sting, from my inner-most thought, comes a painful tingling; You've become something, not quite a human being, from my unhealed parts, the blood is running again; You've turned out to sing, the song of an old enemy, from the deepest of want, for the very same things; You've proven to swing, back and forth, in between, from the history you haunt, o the throne of a King.
We had drawn up this road map so grand,
the highlighted route to the ending we planned,
the flutter of cards as they dropped out of hand,
the calling of Gods in dreams we understand;
poor odds follow close, wherever I am,
fleeting as granules of time-whitened sand
fickle and pickled in the spices at hand,
between promise and oneness,
that same ol’ ominous numbness,
parlor tricks performed in a deserted land;
peopled with embodied nothingness,
void of all the sugary fluffiness,
where you are is ever where I am,
when I’m asleep that’s how it stands,
I dig in the deep with my polished hands,
driven mad by a fiendish hologram;
dropped from the attached strings,
to your heart’s working guillotine,
you never came back for me,
left me miserably, deservedly
just as I am.
There’s this threshold inside of my brain that others either cross in a grain cut painfully against me, or never cross at all. It is a horrid barrier that I’m sure I have created myself; but it is a sound and solid barrier, all the same – an impenetrable construct by my own mind, immovable in my own mind. This is a threshold that grants closeness and kinship or falseness and nothingness between me and other people who come into my Life.
It’s hard to explain, but I’ve been trying my best when it gets brought up by (a) certain (male) people (person) whom I struggle to maintain “healthy relations” with:
- the way that my ability to even experience anything good or positive with an individual diminishes completely once I feel the slightest bit of vulnerability to him, because I am fucked up and my brain doesn’t work normally.
- the way that after I experience any vulnerability on a conscious level on his behalf, I seem to automatically try to sabotage everything.
- the way that if sabotage fails, I will resort to some innate mechanism of my emotions to execute the process of shutting down to him.
- the way that I spend the entire time this hideous process plays out in hating myself and constantly having to re-focus myself on what’s right, as opposed to what feels right.
I LOVE this Lady…she is brimming with painfully raw inspiration, every day of her Life.
Check her out if you don’t know her already. She is so beautifully written. Oh, and a hardcore Survivor, too.
What do you do when the knowledge finally seeps through?
Can you enjoy your freedom with the enslaved watching you?
What do you do when you have too many mountains to move?
Will you dirty your own hands trying to dig up the truth?
Can you worry about only the things that you pick and choose?
The trivial nuisance of something like gum on your shoe,
the convivial looseness of someone who means nothing to you;
What do you do when the call has rung loudly through?
Can you hurry out and scream about things you must do?
Will you fizzle out and fade away like so many before you?
What do I do when it’s time to reach out and grab onto,
The material rips, my fingers stick with pin pricks of VooDoo,
the unusual fits that linger and stick in the thick of the shit you do.
You say you’d never want to be
part of the darkness that envelopes me
You announce in your full capacity
How you’d hate to make me a memory
You mark up my skin with your teeth
You freeze time to sit with me silently
You say you’d never want to see
A future now, if it’s without our thing
And the closeness leaves a sting
My face burns and my ears scream
that future flashes in dashes and smoke rings
another party self-crashes to ashes, smoldering
- Dead people are ALWAYS accompanied by paperwork; if they have no paperwork, we unfortunately have NO business with them, or their loved ones.
- Even when it comes to a thing as sacred as a family burial plots, the living are conniving weasels behind the backs of their own family members.
- When or if you ever find yourself dealing with a service counselor, funeral director or arranger, there is a strong possibility that you are actually engaging with a retired Marine or Navy officer; it is just as strong of a possibility that you are being counseled by a surviving POW (At my cemetery, at least).
- Regardless of your own religion or belief system, it is out of a generalized respect for human life and death that you should ALWAYS stand and bow your head to the passing of a funeral procession (even our yard crew guys stop what they are doing and remove their caps when they see one coming or going by).
- It is a true fact that a disturbing number of people (that you know) have already planned their own burial wardrobe.
- Most people who are buried in a casket are not wearing shoes.
- The “toe-tag” has evolved into no more than an urban legend these days.
- Where I work, there are record books that are each literally heavier than me from the 1800s that were hand-written and can still be accessed to date.
- Thousands of people died of “Dentation” in the old days.
- Even in death, we continue to intentionally pollute our Mother Earth through our need to be preserved and maintained.