Roaming the Hallways.

 

These are things:
hidden meanings;
soundly maintaining
in between –
the likes of you and me.

The same goes for anybody:
structured similarly;
that functions remotely
close to –
any likeness to Yours Truly;

It becomes impossible to see:
your side of anything;
my heart does not hear or speak
the obsolete –
language of a Hollow King.

I ride lost in loss and strife:
the chaos of a star’s dying light;
the haunting of a dead man’s life
but why –
must you roam the hallways at night?

When I cannot comprehend:
the commands that your faded voice sends;
across the emptiness of the long-forsaken
echoes within –
the spaces and places of the ill-spirited gardens.

I cannot answer then:
a single one of a hundred questions;
the dialect has tumbled over the edge of extinction
you win –
but a world where you’re happy is hard to imagine.

Swan Dive.

I do not completely, and in every way fear you –

Not in the way that he threw a curse upon me to;

I still get warmed up by that appeal, so real and true;

A truth he failed to forever ruin with shades of black and blue.

I’m not so afraid of you – that I have no tendencies, no intrigue;

My body yearns for good sex to magically collide with me;

My brain gradually accepts and digests my life’s reality;

It’s a string of unknown variables: somehow bound to my own destiny.

What I find in a mirror – won’t let my brain truly perceive;

Along with so many pieces of my own history,

I’m a toddler again without a reason to believe;

My environment feels so profoundly abstract and obscene.

The good and the bad – patches of skin: paisley and plaid;

I spent so many tear drops that I now wish I still had;

To cry over the stabs at my womb and the kicks to my head –

There will be time to be held “hostage” when I’m dead.

Unrealistic, sadistic, chauvinistic lovers –

Sociopathic in the street and Pornographic in the covers

But then again, my position in the dark-lit corner;

Not really caring if you do or do not choose to stroll over –

I survived the same ways as anyone else alive;

I can only convey the things that my spirit and soul imply;

I have accepted the truth and jumped over the side;

welcoming the Unknown through a perfected swan dive.

Envenomed.

I see it slithering its way to the spot where I stand,

from a distance, with persistence it knows where I am;

 

I know it’s after any remaining peace of mind,

a new disaster if I fall for its lullaby this time;

 

it has this way of coiling tightly about my feet,

ratcheting and squeezing the life out of me;

 

it whispers the things I dream someone might say,

it tickles the most secret parts of my brain;

 

I see it slithering its way back onto my scene,

from whence I sent it packing for behaving cruelly;

 

trying to maneuver a snake-like body in ways,

that go by unnoticed, without causing any waves;

 

I keep trying to run but I can’t claim any real ground,

like a clown-house with warped mirrored walls all around;

 

like the jingling of bells – that sweet tinkling noise,

the rushing of wind and the river’s raging voice;

 

I see it slithering through sand, grass and snow,

it’s on my heels wherever I think to cleverly go;

 

I don’t want it near me, to touch me or hear me,

this snake they call “Love” lives too venomously.

Night Terrorist.

I don’t know,

what it means,

I don’t recall,

too much at all,

all that I know,

upon wakening,

both fists in a ball,

afraid of everything,

the walls feel like,

they breathe on me,

eyes are blurry,

skin is clammy,

a revival of buried things,

from a past most terrifying,

I can’t run or hide,

and I can’t scream,

he’s there searching,

out there lurking,

disfigured and bloody,

undead and muddy,

with a blade that keeps flashing,

at that moment,

another layer of torment,

I am sickened by the scene,

as I know deep down,

with certainty,

that eventually,

he will come find me,

slash his shiny blade,

right through my airway,

and there will be,

at least for me,

no way to escape,

this same old crime scene,

same old tragic psychopathy,

a crimson crown,

trickled down,

my face, but I feel no pain,

and I steadily drain,

terror from my severed veins,

my memories,

washing heavily,

down the gutter again.

 

 

 

Not In My Kitchen.

It’s hard to try to summarize, but in short – here it is: my roommates are each intelligent and dependable in his own right; they are unique in unique ways that are too minutely attached to the tiny details of one’s persona to ever take an accurate stock of.

In one of them (“Dice”), I can have complete faith regarding the maintenance of my car, for example; this same roommate would also be the one I would turn to with a jammed rifle, any kind of measurement, centralized heating and cooling issues, and/or the use or instructions for use of any power tool imaginable; I trust this roommate much more so than I trust 9 out of 10 human beings on a very generalized basis because of the years’ worth of water under our bridge as friends without any drama or bullshit at all; he is a kind person with a good heart, in spite of himself; his is also the sole hand that touches the BBQ grill in my household. We share things like The Walking Dead, LOTR, reggae music, good weed and being recluse in common. This roommate is Persian (Iranian) by blood, born in the US to parents who emigrated here during the 1960’s.

The other roommate (“The Orphan”) is the one who I can query at random with a wide ranging interrogative and receive generally sound answers from; he was also my sky-diving instructor, so there’s a very weird kind of trust between this roommate and myself despite our sometimes volatile relationship; he is a surf buddy, a swim buddy and as some of you may remember – got here as my adopted orphan, who was a suicidal train wreck on the other side of the globe when we first became friends. He has been here over 2 years now, has healed his spirit well, got his citizenship, has a good job and a cute little girlfriend; and is doing shiningly in comparison to what he once was. He is also a former French Military Special Forces Paratrooper who has an uncanny comprehension of all things tactical and military. We share things like the Unsecret Death Wish, the ocean, raunchy jokes and coffee in common.This roommate is Corsican by blood (which is French by nationality), raised in Germany, and is a French National with German and American citizenship.

The three of us can happily sit around our kitchen table at a meal and discuss pretty much anything in an amiable, if not jovial, manner. Typically, this is the case. Tonight, things became heated between them during a (take a guess) political disagreement. I came out into the kitchen and said,

“C’mon you guys…really, you’re gonna let Trump or whoever ruin our BBQ?” in a joking tone to lighten the tension (because that’s who I am, the peacemaker), only to find out that they were bumping heads about the tragedy in France.

It was pretty disturbing to me, as I proceeded to listen to the Orphan vehemently arguing his point to Dice with true passion; such a final and decisive reaction he is having that he feels as if it has come to the point where mass preemptive murders via the military would be the only answer. To hear the guy whose military experience has unfailingly spoken truths upon truths thus far say such a thing was deeply unsettling; and left a nasty taste in my mouth.

Around.

You don’t know what my tears taste like,

because your lips do not catch their’ fall,

and the tendency to judge my actions…

well, you’re nobody to judge me at all.

You don’t have a clue what I’ve come through,

I don’t care where you think that you’ve been,

as soon as you’ve perfected your own shit…

maybe, come back and take a crack at me again.

I don’t need a single person’s approval,

and most certainly wasn’t looking for yours,

I know who I am, against your presumptions…

I stand for the steps you’ve never taken before.

People like you only shrink when compared to,

somebody with half of a beating heart,

I’m not sure why it shines so sure from your eyes…

a slice of humanity would break you apart.

Please keep your greed from my scenery,

if you own the slightest hint of a clue,

of how much I despise the habit of lies…

take heed, if you know what’s good for you.

Because, one day you will taste my teardrops,

you will feel the fathoms of my own grief,

despite all of your efforts at destruction and doom…

someday your reflection will look just like me.

My, Oh My.

 

It will someday claim,
All I’ve left of these short breaths…
My “anxiety”.

It pains by no name,
Bringer of a thousand deaths…
My old memories.

It’s whipped me to shame,
Jimmied my heart from my chest…
My own mockery.

It’s always the same,
Threatening to take my best…
My PTSD.

Memaphor.

 

“Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

I shouted into the pitched darkness, somehow expectant of an answer from its emptied core. The lack of response was killing me; I had been having this one-sided yelling match for the entire night long, to no avail. The low rumbling of thunder began then, and my heart-rate quickened at the sound of its tumbling crashes getting louder – the ground beneath me rumbling ever-so-slightly from its force.
It’s then that my thoughts begin to pirate my mind in rapid succession:
Systematically, I think about the last time that this happened, about the brain-blindingly loud thunder and the chaotically destructive lightning; about the unworldly things that my body was forced to endure during the last storm like this one; I think about the endless possibilities of damages that the impending storm might bring with its wrath; I think about death…I wish for death, a quicker one than the one I am currently playing out.
My mind regains its control over the rest of me just then; and I sit up and wipe my face to regain some composure. I am jolted awake with realization. I scream again with the dwindling wind left in my stinging lungs, affecting a strip of sandpaper ripping itself upwards from my belly’s darkest depths.

“I don’t need to stay here!”

I become infused by adrenaline throughout my bloodstream and serotonin pumping through my glands as I holler the defiant statement into the blackness beyond me – surrounding me – enveloping me;

“I don’t have to do this again…I won’t let you do this anymore!”

I spring to my broken feet in spite of the searing pain shooting up each ankle through my shin bones, lower jaw jutting out in sheer bullheadedness; I have chosen. I am so high off of my own rebellion that I fail to notice the momentum growing in the rumbling and cracking of thunderous bolts around me in the darkened space. At that instant, I can feel the warfare in my esophagus, its bile-like foam rising in my tightened throat; its taste instantly sets off an alarm in my brain and my mind gets weakened by the surprise – I fall.
The cracks of forceful, thunderous power bite at my face and body like wet sheets twisted into vines to whip me to a miserable death. The bellowing rolls of strength and control wash over the entirety of the scene with noise so deafening, that I am no longer able to tell up from down – dark from light; the pain brought about through these forces is felt through and through…standing every nerve on its end, leaving a pain-infused retinal image singed into the insides of my eyelids. I do not want to open my eyes ever again after that point, as I know that HE has returned to hurt me. I wait like a wounded hunter’s prize in the silent darkness, straining to hear it. It’s a voice that is so terrifying to my betrayed, blood-filled ears, that its dripping teeth are nearly tangible to me through the void around me, it says:

“Do you not by now realize, fragile one, that you hold no power here?”

My heart sinks lowly at the sound of HIS voice; its affected terror on me perseveres blindly past my strongest points. I crumble, too weakened by shame and defeat to cry, even. A huge hand, large enough to scoop up my entire body, picks me up into its bloodied palm and begins to squeeze me so tightly that I watch my own eyeballs turn red from the inside.

simple_beauty_by_velvetredbullet-d3cqn4d

Missile-Toed.

missile1As intriguing as the concept of quantum String Theory has always been to my hungry brain, I admit that the principles behind it mean little to me.
Space, in all of its profound glory, has remained much the same throughout life for me: The science-fictionesque backdrop belonging on Star Trek, a mystical and elusive place relative to scientific calculations and mathematical equations that I will NEVER understand in the slightest, creatures that do not look nor behave the way that our own species does (due to some bio-genetic adaptation needed to survive in the vacuum), and an underlying sense of feelings very close to unease and discomfort.
I went to see The Empire Strikes Back in the theater with my Dad, brothers and Papa when it first came out…I was awed and amazed by the various species included – and, it was sometime around then that I became infatuated with finding and kidnapping my own Ewok. The first time I saw 2010 Odyssey, I didn’t sleep for nights afterward…it was upsetting and unfamiliar all the way around. Since those early and wondrous days of life, I have become a “Sky-Watcher”. I am not the type of sky-watcher who owns a high-end telescope or anything fancy like that though; I am simply an observer who cannot keep my eyes from the night skies anytime I am beneath them. I have self-taught myself about the star systems and the solar system on a very generalized scale in order to understand things best I can; and, have grown up to grasp a very basic understanding of the “final frontier”.
In all of my years keeping watch on the stars that twinkle overhead while I smoke outside (usually with a good portion of my attentions directed only at the sky), I have only seen two incidents that I was not able to a sound scientific explanation for, afterward. The first time was two summers ago, towards the end of the season, when I was stricken by a very colorful strobe flashing from high the Easterly sky – very far away and high above any aircraft that passed while I watched. This strobe emitted four very distinctive colored lights in sequence of red – orange- green – blue repeatedly and seemed to be moving in an unnatural way. When I say “moving”, what I mean is that this “star” appeared to be centered on a bungee string that was being pulled from both ends on either side of it creating sorts of very rapid but short jolting motions, while staying mostly in the same general vicinity. I freaked out and called my former roommate to see, by whom my perception was re-affirmed and seconded. I never was able to find any reasonable answer for what we saw that night; although, NASA’s official reply to my inquiry (and I shit you not) was that it is an anomaly known as a “fireball”. As if such a label should have out all of worries to rest, somehow…
The second thing…the much more disturbing and unsettling thing I have witnessed happened last night, as I was walking to my car from my house. I saw in my peripheral, a large streak of what I assumed was cloud cover daubing the sky just to the south of me; but the size and general shape of it caused my brain to need a better a look. The instant that I shifted my full focus onto the streak, it was set ablaze with the brightest and most concentrated light I have ever seen in my entire life; the streak of what I had taken to be clouds suddenly became bathed in this luminous glow, and was connected directly to something that was silently streaming upward in a massive arc. I watched with my mouth dropped open as this cylinder of pure light/smoke/cloud/dust grew longer as the attached object made its trajectory, before it eventually positioned itself in line with the lower and twinkling stars midst the cloud cover. I stood there and watched it; it didn’t explode, it didn’t fall down, it just hung there like some far-future science project:

“Now, here’s how you hang your very own star in the sky, children…”

The shit was skin-chilling. I shrugged and got in my car to go to the store then. When I got out onto the street, everyone was pulled over to the sides of the road as if we had just been hit by an earthquake or something.
This morning, NASA is hard at work with the “California Missile Testing” story; something that they claim is a totally normal and common happenstance here around the valley. My question is: if it’s such a regular occurrence and it happens so often, why did it make any Californian who saw it pee themselves?

Scared.

I guess it’s good that I can’t recall the nightmares I have after I awaken from them; they are bad enough to often already have me in tears upon waking for the first time for the day – and I don’t mean like a few little snuffles either – I mean like full-blown

“I’m upset as hell and can’t stop crying and don’t even know why”.

I’m a fucking trainwreck
I’m a fucking headcase
I wake up in the morning and I’m sobbing and scared and the worst part about it is that I can’t even put my finger on WHAT I’m so afraid of or WHO. I just FEEL SCARED.

“The Other”.

I guess in all fairness, she lived here long before I did; this was her vessel for even longer than it has belonged to me (I pirated this shell a little over a decade ago now), she functioned within this skin for over two decades prior to my arrival. She primed the solid physique that I carry today, fed the body meals, and somehow managed to get it to where I came into the picture alive…well, barely alive – but alive all the same.

She was a weakling; a cowed and youthfully blind creature, a dreamer, a believer in good, a hopeful and ever-willing dumbass, a self-detrimental junkie and a self-absorbed human being…she was “the other”.

women killed…and she nearly got me killed that decade or so ago…because of the miserable and unbelievable situation she had found herself in in place far from home, friends or family. She went on ahead and had a baby with the man (her husband) who was beating her to a pulp regularly; a man whom she had come to be learn first hand: suffered from increasingly unpredictable physically/sexually violent tendencies towards her. This is an element of domestic abuse that becomes quite the double edged dagger later down the road; but in the beginning of such a notion, the draw is undoubtedly that of human closeness, tenderness and fondness for the DV victim…”the other” was eventually alienated beyond words. The baby linked “the other” to the real world just enough to keep her on head on somewhat forward-facing; the baby also created an entirely new element of fear within her day to day life. She began to care less and less about herself as a result, her safety became irrelevant in her own mind.1072960“The other” got her throat opened in her front yard one day at the hands of that same man; yes, the one who she had married and had children with – the one who she knew she had to get away from before such a thing took place…the one who’s sickness continues to rot away at my existence through the offspring we share. I don’t relate to her choices, that young girl who was slashed that day; I never have…

Since the moment that I picked up her nearly dead carcass and breathed my own air into its essence, she has remained an enigma of sorts to me with her pathways taken and where they led her. I pity her. I dislike her. I cry sometimes for her when I’m alone.

crying_woman_liquid_tears_crying_weeping_wallpaper-t2

My, My.

It will someday claim,
All I’ve left of these short breaths…
My “anxiety”.

It pains by no name,
Bringer of a thousand deaths…
My old memories.

It’s whipped me to shame,
Jimmied my heart from my chest…
My own mockery.

It’s always the same,
Threatening to take my best…
My PTSD.

Cupid’s Misfire II.

He just had to own this girl;

had to find a way to tap into,

to get her to submit to him –

and his inclination to subdue…

 –

his fingers yearned to touch her,

such fair and young, unbroken skin,

his mind was attached to the image –

of her face: full of disgrace and chagrin…

 –

everything else blinked out of existence,

his sights set on lock-tight, and reeling tight,

a matter of time until he dropped the hammer,

and happily violated her every last right…

 –

She was just right to fall for his rouse,

she bit right into the bored, disinterested yawn,

never saw through the showy façade,

until it was too late, and her freedom was gone.

A Fast Quake is a Bad Quake Around Here.

So…I was just sitting here being a good, little tax lady and working hard when we had a super heavily jolting earthquake.

It was fast and strong, which makes me think it was likely the Loma Prieta vein of the fault line San Andreas (my local fault line – and the infamous slip-shift display section of the fault line). In the event that it was a jolt from this section, I am scared; that would translate into what we call a “precursor-shock” (as opposed to an “after shock”) because it’s a slight slip of the fault line’s enormous energy – a baby-spoon taste of the pressure built up in the slip-shift fault line, and now that much closer to letting loose. When our Loma Prieta builds up too long (a period of time which went well passed, like ten years ago), the release of the fucking massive amounts of energy, in combination with the type of fault line we sport, is catastrophic on varying levels, depending on the neighborhood and its position against the fault line.

Eeeesh, that rattled my cage….