So What Do You Do?

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.

Curse the skies.

I’ve realized something within the past few weeks that feels like it changes nothing and everything all at once; I realize that the only reason I cling so desperately and miserably to any semblance of a relationship with my mother is because it’s all I have left. Without the ongoing disinformation that I feed myself regarding the likelihood of ever finding a fulfilling medium there, with her, my entire existence easily crumbles beneath me. The past and the future feel irrelevant; and the present moment is simply void of any true meaning or worth.

My good parent (my Dad) is long gone, curse the skies; my Papa too…and so went any ties to that line for me. I still technically have my brothers; but we are all grown up now and supposed to be separate, with our separate families…and, they each are, at least. I don’t begrudge them for it, either; and I am allowed into the warmth of each one’s circle occasionally, to thaw the frozenness in me enough to keep going. Sometimes, I feel bitter and very isolated upon leaving my brother’s house. My remaining full blood brother doesn’t speak to our mother when he can help it because he has the fulfillment of his wife’s huge and seemingly happy family to supplement. It was with him last week that I was having what seemed a trivial enough discussion, when our mother came up in conversation, and he said:

I try to avoid talking to Mom as much as I can; she makes me sick actually, to be honest…”

Coming from the guy who has always been on her side through the many years of turmoil and chaos between she and I, this struck me like a lightning bolt. I guess in a sense, it was validating on the one hand (as I feel like I have spent the better portion of my life in trying to make my brothers understand how totally fucked up and warped she can be), but damning on the other hand, somehow. I have been holding things together between myself and my mother through the catalyst of this specific brother for quite a while now, and without him between us anymore, there’s nothing at all.

My mother and step-dad continue to allow themselves to be used and abused by that evil Spawn of Satan that I bore almost 19 years ago. Apparently, both Boo and her no-good “boyfriend” still dominate the household over there. They made the choice to permit such bullshit, and so it goes. Boo’s 19th birthday is next week; and I am determined to let the day pass like any other day. I have not bought her a gift and do not intend to; as anything I have ever spent my money on for her gets immediately traded for drugs or given away to one of her stupid drug-addict, hooker “friends”. I don’t know how else to describe it, besides to say that I feel like I have given absolutely everything I have to give to that creature already. I simply have nothing left for her.

I will be honest with myself and say that I truly regret her; I truly dislike her; I truly want nothing more than to forget her completely – she has drained my life of so much of what’s important. She has spent everything within me already; the experience of being her mother has emptied me to my toes. I guess the combination of such an outcome for me, mixed with the perpetually deepening hollow in my heart and soul as a damaged and broken human being leaves me this way, feeling this way. Helplessness might begin to describe some of it; embitterment covers large portions of it; but emptiness pretty much buttons it up.

 

Empty Me.

Set aside the temporary from the Elite,
those who need to drink and smell of the weak;
as opposed to those who actually think.
Those with the ability to move your feet,
to make you bleed,
to cut a beam through the darkness with a true meaning…
In Father Time’s marching succession, we all lose our sense of direction
We all lose the protections – so taken for granted
We all suffer the rejections, expectations, clumsily recanted.
Just like an ever-spinning and revolving door –
The entrance to any exit you’ve taken before,
The world spins on, akin to this motion
No destruction, no corruption, no plastic island in the ocean.
And we move like magma from the earth to the sky –
Innately in need – – – but never realizing why…
Through the webs of woven time and space
intricate: the wrinkles in Father Time’s face.
Look beyond what has already been created,
The Elite dwindle there on a clock, unabated.
Look behind! The endless prospects – overlooked,
Stuck to each other like the pages of a book.
Us down there among them, fading too fast,
The waves turn and tumble with the weight of our mass;
Chaos consumes with the flash of a sky-diamond bolt,
Darkness – weakness, the blank page of results.
O! Wise One – O! Great One…
O! Creators high and supreme:
Please taste all of my teardrops,
And wake up terrified from my dreams;
be so kind as to enlighten me
in the warmth of old world Mysteries.
I’ve served my time for my mortal crimes…
I implore thee: show the way to me.

Couples and Dogs.

Tell me, Gods –
why it might be…
tell me what,
overcomes me…
in the moment,
of times like these…
when I feel like,
just up-chucking…
at your stars,
on my knees…
especially,
when I see…
couples and dogs,
strolling happily…
it gets me,
to thinking…
of very dark,
long-gone things…
like I start to,
wondering…
kinda hating,
unconsciously…
questions that I,
unfortunately…
am not debating,
from my own history…
where are my dogs?
and where’s my intimacy?

Painfully Red.

The very sun on my skin hurts to absorb,

the lids,

inside both of my dried out eyes,

like gravel,

the blood in my veins feels painfully red,

a curse,

a vastness before me –

a combustible finality –

the end,

the beginning,

the entirety.

That Way is ‘Up’.

2014-12-02_22.17.44It is December 5 today; 20 days away from the worst day of every year. In twenty days, I will spend another Christmas holiday alone, without anyone considered as family – without anyone who really cares one way or the other about the status of my presence – by 20 days from now, I will again be wishing for death, fast or slow.

All of the days leading up to that day will be filled with bad feelings and experiences, triggers and recollections that make me on edge and cranky as Hell; not a single day between then and today will leave me feeling even semi-complete, as I shop for gifts for the normal people in my life who celebrate the holidays like normal people – pretending.

All of the nights in between Christmas and last night will suck just as badly as the days, no rest for the wicked…or broken-hearted. I will dream of things that will never be and never could’ve been – wake up with that gut-empty feeling and feel afraid for three straight hours with each sunrise – never learning to put my finger on the source of these feelings to stop it, despite my frustrating efforts.

And Christmas Day, itself:

I will sleep as late as I can in an indentation at the edge of my cold bed – between it and the cold wall – I will force my tear-singed eyes to remain closed for as long as I possibly can because I won’t want to open them on that day, I promise. It feels as if the vicious cycle of my existence always gets close to erupting at this time of every year; everyone knows to leave me alone, everyone knows that there’s nothing they can do for me – there’s no solutions to offer or insight that’s worthy – everyone knows.

If I were stupid or lonely enough to expose myself to my extended family on that day, I’d regret it rather quickly; and eventually wind up saying something fucked up to a member of my own family in an over-anxious, depressed and defensive state, before storming out in tears. Been there, wrecked that. I call this entire song and dance “The Circle of Holiday Death” – it happens over and over and over and over. Each time that my heart, mind-state and blood pressure begin to “normalize” after the re-opened wounds, it’s Christmastime once again, and it all starts over.

People will ask me if I am okay until I will begin to respond with anger and irritability; they will not understand. Even my closest friends will avoid me because they simply CAN NOT offer me comfort in any way and they know this (the friends who have not already become totally overwhelmed by my reality and disappeared, altogether, that is).

I will seethe will anger at certain thoughts during this time of year: the people who have created this Living Hell for Boo being able to happily celebrate around a table with their own loved ones, their own precious children; my baby spending the day alone in a locked cage while being told that she’s unimportant and that everything that’s happened to her is her own fault.

IT HURTS ENOUGH TO MAKE ME DERANGED…

And through it all, I MUST keep my grip on composure; for I am NO good to the (Gods willing) older Boo if I end up in prison or dead before she turns 18. I do not plan on abandoning Boo ever again – – no matter how fucking bad it hurts me to follow through with. SHE NEEDS ME; even if she doesn’t know it yet. I have long been aware of the fact that I can’t undo whatever it was that did Boo; I can only build from where we stand, upwards. Our “relationship” is so far gone that I don’t feel as if it’s even possible for us to grow any further apart anymore.

So I guess there’s just one direction to go with it all, when it comes to Boo.