Insecurities.

Today’s mega-extra-jumbo scoop of unnecessary bullshit in my corner of the currently wretched Universe might have been a doozy…had I not had my catcher’s mitt up on the air, with my eye on the ball. It has nothing to do with my specific characteristic traits or preferences, that once a person burns me, although I may very well come to genuinely understand and excuse that person’s indiscretion in burning me, such things never stray far from mind in future close-quarter (metaphoric for emotional closeness in this instance) dealings with that person. It is just a natural response in a procession of inter-actions between two creatures to (even subconsciously) be on your guard after suffering an inflicted wound once before – even if you want with all of your heart to wipe the slate clean, it’s in there somewhere: the experience of being burned, the one who burned you, included.

So recently, during the present state of absolute tragedy that I am under-going on an emotional level, a friend who pulled the ol’ Light Switch Maneuver on me a few months ago contacted me and apologized. I accepted the apology without hesitation, as I have truly missed this person’s presence since he blinked out from my life. And I harbored no grudge against him as I understand his abandonment issues all too well; I can relate to his insecurities with others and becoming close or emotionally attached, trust me. For these reasons, I had hoped he would re-surface eventually and we could be friends again. His timing was well-intended, I’m sure…however – –  – I am currently experiencing a spell of total apathy and disinterest in anything and everything I see or think or feel. I am numb in order to survive emotionally at this very point in time; and that is the reality of reality for me right now.

So, after various times of reaching out and prompting conversation with me (whereas before, I would typically carry on to no end with this person and have plenty to say about anything he talked about), and my not being very responsive because I have very little to say about ANYTHING at the moment, causes this person to deconstruct my character once again in his own mind, for whatever reasons….uhhhhhhhh……okay.

So in turn for my being in emotional shock, and being currently unresponsive to this person’s recent attempts at conversation, I became the effect to the cause behind this person’s own insecurities;

it went from:

YESTERDAY EVENING:

“I’m here for you anytime…”

TO…THIS EVENING:

“Take care…I’ll do you the favor of deleting contact info…”

I’m not arguing with it this time, not a word…I’m too fucking UNSURPRISED by it to even thank this person for doing me the favor of inflicting the second burn so soon. WTF Ever. Nothing I can do about things I’ve not done.

Turning-a-Systemic-City-into-Fire-Scenery-L

Domino.

Everyone was standing around in a blinding light –

still trying to find a flow that would naturally go right –

most were only there out of a desire to simply write –

unfortunately, there will always also be:

those present with other, unseen things in mind –

with a hard-wired flaw deep down, inside –

with a hatred built into the circuitry –

that overtakes, sabotages everything –

the entire company so suddenly divides;

like a set of shiny, black-dotted-white –

dominos tumbling down a foreseen line –

all glossy and saucy with a high-lacquer sheen –

flat-lined on a card table next to a cup of free coffee –

pouting in the desert somewhere under a palm tree –

laying on the railroad ties while eating cake and ice cream –

and the point is that:

none of us even wanted or needed to know –

about the dramatics playing out on the side-lines –

and still everyone was forced to have to let the shade slip by –

fuck that, and fuck you for winding up so tight –

for thinking that the sun must have only you within its light –

when I said that I was your friend –

I admittedly, had spoken prematurely –

as you’d mislead my heart and mind –

as well of those of others who had stupidly –

decidedly, in blinded light –

let such parasitic drama in.

Death Song.

How will the final tune play itself through –
as it haunts the halls with melodious cacophony;
as it swirls like smoke from a smoldering flame;
as it tells the truths you’ve hidden from yourself;
it’s no wonder: when I look at the whole of it –
nothing profound or groundbreaking or bold;
nothing novel in the face of my weary stride;
nothing that offers any true shock or surprise
just more of the same of a really long line –
those two steps ahead of your own falter;
those who singed my flesh prior to your stab at it;
those who have been dismissed from view;
erased away from concern and thought of mine –
life is too short and there is no time;
shuffled card-decks and matching footsteps;
another falls neatly and indiscreetly into line;
What does your Death Song sound like –
full of many meaningless fabrications and layers;
reverberations, skipped beats and scratched vinyl;
all the dramatics without the shine of the stage lights.