Snap.

There’s no pattern to the trend
That teeter totters without end
No method to a madness that mends,
The sadness between every exhalation,
I pull, you push.
You’re slow, I rush.
There’s nothing happy in the end
To go and slap me in my face again
No loss of sleep, no skipping heartbeat to maintain,
No giggling, no tickling the inkling in my brain,
I give, you take.
You bend, I break.

A Fucking Rant #2.

Why doesn’t anyone just come out and say it? …That our country is RUINED in terms of political standing with itself; that our country is no nation in the true sense of the word; that our country is, indeed, the quite laughable notion made in jest during a drunken gathering of the Gods or whatever…that we have fallen to shambles from the top to the bottom of the stars and the stripes.

Nobody admits out loud how telling it is that this election has been responsible for the drawing of countless distinctive lines in the dirt between countless formerly undivided unions of all sorts.

Nobody admits out loud that we are each scared as Hell by the choices put out before us to choose this country’s future President from.

Nobody seems to want to acknowledge the deeply disturbing realities attached to the fact that we have reached such a low point in our nation’s history in the first place; not to mention talking about how at the end of the day, it’s US who have allowed this atrocity to unfold.

Nobody talks about how divided we are by the same things that divide every nation everywhere, throughout history, tried and true: class, greed, and religion.

Religion = politics;

Politics = religion;

The class you fall into ultimately decides which level of education you receive, your education forms your own notions and opinions about the world around you, you either become a greedy victimizer of others or you are repeatedly victimized by greed, you pay taxes to a chauvinistic hypocrite with two air holes in his head like a fucking whale hybrid or something, and then you die and are interred according to your religious beliefs. The end.

Unnameable.

So…I’ve written here and there about my lifelong friend and very first boyfriend: The “Jar-head”; the first non-fatherly or brotherly love of my existence; a true soldier, three times deployed; a big-boy sniper wound survivor; Career Tank-Gunner; completely fucking  incorrigible; the veteran Marine. He’s been around lately because I offer some kind of familiar notion, no matter how vague and distant, to his strangely foreign-esque state of mind; he’s been home for a little over a year now (by “home”, I mean that he is back living where we grew up together in the valley, I mean that he is not at war in the desert somewhere in constant danger of being killed), and has just started to come out of his apartment without a medical reason within the past month or so. It was obvious to me right away that he is permanently changed in very deeply painful ways for him; knowing him for so many years and sharing “special” things with like the awkward virginity thing and all that just doesn’t feel real because he is so different than the “him” that I grew up with now, and rightfully. I tried getting him to open up and talk about shit, whatever it is, and he tried; but it seems he is too freshly traumatized to even form the event/s into any kind of translatable concept through words or even emotions at this point. I don’t push him, I know better than that.

I told him,

“That’s okay dude, you can come hang out and roll joints with me if you feel bad and need to be around someone or whatever…”

He commenced to spending strings of afternoons in eerie silence across the room with his back semi-turned to me and the TV off, which was kinda when I the empath awoke and I began to feel really awful for him. He’s not the emotional kinda guy by nature, shit, he grew up to be a Marine, that says it all. I always feel safe and always have in his presence, he has that way about him. He is very logical, practical, and decisive; he is tough and stuffs his emotions, that’s his way; he somehow survived a sniper round to the neck; he is imposing in size and has a sharp streak of machismo in his blood (again he’s a Marine, so there it is)…so, when he broke down a few days ago and cried like he had just run over his own puppy, it was profound and heart-wrenching. I was totally overcome by his sadness and loss and grief; it was one of the very few times I couldn’t keep myself from crying for someone else’ sake, in spite of my best efforts. It’s so fucked up that they don’t make some kind of counseling or support system available for these guys when they come home, damn them to Hell.

Master List.

You were smart in that you always kept up with my movements one sanctuary at a time; marking each hideout I’d been to off on a master list of sanctuaries for the lost and forsaken. You later told me that you stayed so close on my heels by looking for pancaked spider corpses on the walls of the places you searched; I don’t know if I would’ve thought to do that. You knew me better than I knew myself, at all times.

You found me on a Thursday morning before the sun came up; you didn’t take any chances, and you treated me like you would treat any other escapee who pissed you off and took you on a wild goose chase, wasting your time. When I regained consciousness, I was already back in your display case, all squeaky clean and dressed in a starch-stiffened outfit with a smile painted over my mouth in bright red ink. And… the game started over from the beginning for the millionth time.

Crestfallen.

You know what? No, not Chicken Butt…

I’m serious about this, I’m fucking tired…

Tired of what? I really don’t know how to package this thing that so tires my spirit into any words that I know; this thing that drains the very life from my span is something intangible, something unseen, something undefined…by me, at least. I think it might well be what some folks consider as “love”, others maybe call the same thing “empathy”, “caring” or any one of many titles associated with feeling shit for other people. It hurts me to let my guard down, every time…which in turn, creates the ugly pattern of isolation and loneliness. Those are the rock and hard place that my existence seems to teeter between. That unpromising predicament doesn’t even take into consideration, the horrific train wreck that litters debris throughout the space between that rock and that hard place. It just doesn’t ever turn out to be worth it to get close to anyone to any degree, as most people tend to mutated versions of human being who never dive below the shallow surface of things.

I don’t mean to judge, but damn…if you are so fucked up that you can’t control yourself from needlessly and carelessly victimizing good people just because you can, you should be the hermit in isolation, not me…wtf?

Unworldly.

It’s a hurtful thing, to have someone in your heart when that person can’t be part of your world…

It Goes On.

Fingers drum,

tip-tap tedium,

the beat goes on,

deepened delirium,

creeps into the bone,

the sub-woofer explodes,

sensory overloads,

the beat goes on,

mouth is numb,

dried out tongue,

gravitational,

the tendency to flow,

the way my body goes,

it’s confusion,

the beat goes on,

rhythmic illusion,

cosmic rendition,

of a regular Joe,

sensational,

irrational,

nothing notable,

the beat goes on.