Pencil Shavings.

From the highest
of heights,
wide-eyed
and smitten flight,
everything is feeling right,
Then another round,
of profound hindsight,
a different view,
of your new taillights,
Good for an itty bitty,
pretty shitty pile,
the rusty revolution,
of a rickety turnstile,
a lusty evolution,
hardly worth my while,


Cheshire-esque,
wicked smile,
unsubtle grin,
Up and down again,
Push and pull me in,
Noone ever wins,
In this situation,
Light switch lottery,
slip-shift personality,
Which one of these,
faces will you be?
Wide awake and angry,
Sweet and sour and tangy,
Emotional and lazy,
Contextual and crazy,


I pick my cards,
and ride them hard,
in that regard,
the pride is hazy,
a heart carved of stone
droll, cautionary tone,
my heart travels on,
beyond the home I know,
of one face that you show,
to quench the craving,
replacing the stars,
that shine above you,
erasing the hearts,
and lines of “I love you”,

A pencil’s shavings,
greyscale shading,
contrast prevailing,
after-images fading,
slight ideas invading,
this void which binds,
such a vessel of mine,
aware of strict confines,
a bold and hand drawn line,
put there in the sand,
to force a play and
Sway, win the hand,
a hollowed, empty man,

An ancient summit shrine,
dedicated to,
the evening skies,
relecting colors of my eyes,
enveloping,
my state of mind,
embellishing,
with relished time,
At first inquiry,
things seem to be,
well and upswinging,
bright and cheery scenes,
then fire that’s fizzling,

Jokes and giggling,
pokes and tickling,
My mind’s,
alert vigilante,
disparate feelings,
high and fluttering,
soon I’m sputtering,
and the very next night,
someone’s mean and uptight
chasing moonlight,
nothing feels right,

Paranoid whispers,
deluded tongue twisters,
explosive transistor,
in my chest set to blow,
how didn’t you know?
Venomous or jealous,
Dissident and zealous,
Non confident and dim,
Which one will be Him.

Aftertaste.

Here it is:

 

The truth is never kind, remember?

What’s kind is rarely true.

You taught me that.

It was a lesson that actually sunk in, too.

Now it’s part of me.

So I guess you are too.

But, just not in a good way.

I was very upset for like a half hour this morning; after tasting the semi-familiar flavor of your words and how you use them.

I used to be so impressed by your wordsmithing; you know it’s true.

Today’s flavor, however, left a wretched, bitter aftertaste in my mouth.

After actually looking at your face again for the first time in over a year, it’s strange to me.

The vague and foreign-feeling man I see is a stranger.

There’s no stirring in my guts of those long gone butterflies.

There’s no emotional spark up my spine.

A smile no longer reflexively cracks across my face upon seeing yours.

Today, I realized I’ve really made a big mistake.

I was always in my own right to hate you – who you are.

Lately, the way I have been feeling so confusedly heartbroken over you again like it’s a fresh slight.

It’s like I stepped out of a time machine and am lagging in past circumstances while the rest of the world has gone on without me.

So I went back over things associated with the period of time from which I dissociated and checked out – specifically, things attached to you and me.

I learned that my alter ego dealt with you swiftly and coolly, as was only appropriate at the time.

Given how I had somehow managed to completely block out all the low-blows and cold-hearted actions on your part during that time-frame (not to mention all the venomous things you spewed at me non-stop while my Mom was newly diagnosed and dying), it’s a miracle I ever began to tolerate your presence in the Universe again at all, in any context.

I look in my settings on different websites to find your username and old IP Address on the blacklists everywhere.

Upon re-familiarizing myself with the sticky cobwebs, ghostly threats and promises of it all (and I do mean ALL of it), my mind became better able to recall the better portion of everything:

√ My desperation to shake you off my leg,

√ My feelings of suffocation and my anxious state of mind,

√ My fear of the overwhelming weight of it all,

√ Your incessant neediness and misdirected anger,

It was not “love”…it was not “love” at all…

It was just another missing chunk of time from my life that some buzzing sound in the back of my head tries to embed as having been “love”, historically.

Because, my brain needs to feel as if it has been “loved”, known “love”…actually felt “love” somewhere in those missing chunks of time, by someone.

It didn’t have to be you.

If it wasn’t you, it’d been the next guy down the line.

So it’s true: You are nothing special and neither am I.

WE are nothing and never were and I see that now and agree with you.

Kidding ourselves…

Not cut out to take a stroll through a park together.

Doomed from the gate.

Aye.

 

Fool The World.

Who do you think you are?
…to tell me anything of my success (or lack thereof) in climbing out of my own very personal Hell to face the world on my own two feet, without the shelter of duplicity; when that girl you used to think you knew has been dead and buried for 27 cold months, without your having the slightest clue of that fact…like you’ve been here…ever…like you can even begin to count my sorrows on your ten arthritic fingers…like you can even begin to fathom the hem of my garment…like you can ever say that you “know” me or anything that I am or am not. Who do think you are to pass your own pompously final judgment on what kind of thing I can or cannot be? Who the fuck are you to render me unworthy of walking in your park? Who do you think you are to attempt to make me feel “loved” and “appreciated” by sending me boxes full of my sledgehammered heart’s dusty remains…with a grenade pin at the very bottom. Who do you think you are to poke my unhealed wounds? Do you think you are something special now, after all is finally said, and, I unquestionably know how little I ever meant to both air holes on either side of your neck, despite the sweet nothings blowing out of each one? Who do you think you are to tell me that I’ve won…won at a game that I never wanted to play…that I’ve won, when it feels like sheer nothingness…
Your meager attempts at life have always earned you too much of a harvest with little effort put forth…so self-absorbed and incompetent at being the things you try so hard to portray…
But that’s all you are…is a portrayal on screen.
You’re image is grainy and you’re faded beyond recognition, you always were.


Really, who do you think you are?…to burrow yourself into my soils and explode like nuclear fission beneath the roots of my stunted trees? You hold no sway over me, you can’t hold the tethers that string to my blackened, squelching heart…you can’t hold the tethers that string to that cavernous pit in your own chest where a heart should be…who do you think you are, anyway…to surprise me with such a heinous and poisonous truth behind your essence…to release the toxic particulate of your explosive insecurities into my atmosphere…raining down your ice cold rivulets of self-loathing from the skies above my fugue. Who you are to the rest of world, the world you try so tirelessly to fool, the one all around you – you are what you are…but just who do you think that broken thing is? You ooze brokenness…despite your self exonerating conceit…
I know who you think you are…and let me tell you that it actually coincides with who I once thought you were, the similarities are uncanny…but the lights go out over the memory of all that. The lights go out behind the curtains of your fucking languish…and evermore, phantoms of your gains and losses will trickle through your simple brain and leave a stain across your nose. You clean up nicely though, and need not worry about the soul you’ve sold to fool the world.

Came and Gone.

Her back knows the door all too well.

“I needed you to be real.” She says
<absently>

“I’ll have to write down all the ways you’ve betrayed me;
my memory doesn’t work so well, especially when I am caught up.. ”

She’s thinking…
(a decisive stare)

“How can you look yourself in the mirror?…lying like you do;
I don’t need this shit right now
I shouldn’t be here!”

He asks…
<matter-of-factly>

“Does the rain bleed sideways always?  Or does it come in sporadic torrents spurting out
covering everything like a permanent stain?”

His self-absorption is tangible; he continues…
(A hollow stare)

“I knew where you were the whole time, but to be honest, I couldn’t wait, I had things to do – with or without you…”

He stops speaking
<ponderously>
Then he adds
“I’m a hollow man, what can I say?”

She ignores that and says
(solemnly)

“I don’t sleep so well
insomnia from hell, really.
She gets her claws into me
so that I trance the rage.
Over and over and over and
over again it’s almost comical”

Bemused he says:

“But it’s more than just caffeine
you need on most days right?
I see you in paintings everyday
you are always so resigned in your poses. You can either look like something isvcoming around the corner at youvor you can look like you have beheld the Gods…although none of that matters, you’re dust in the wind to me.”

“Easy for you to say,”

She sobs
(endearingly)

“I think I’ll die now. I can’t
remember all these details.
My memory can play tricks on me sometimes I feel like I’m an actress in my very own horror flick. I watch the scenes go by indifferently perhaps if I got the cobwebs out I’d be able to see things more clearly;
find the pause button, you know?
I never did dye my hair…”

she says wistfully
(her repose that of an abandoned orphan)

He laughs inside.
He says
(insincerely)

“I love your hair just the way it is”

then he says
(Wickedly)

“Although, I must say, blue would really bring out your intense sadness;
he wonders…
“will she believe my horseshit? If she’s gullible enough, shall I tell her I will be betwixt and between? Within and
without always just a touch away until she works through her shit? Should I take the leap and claim that I will be around ‘permanently’?”

She smirks
(jadedly)

“The world is ending as you speak. You know, usually
I play those same tapes,
over and over and over….
well, you get the idea.”

then she says
(rather adroitly)
“…you know I simply spend a fuckload of time just trying to
get back to square one whatever
square one is is.”

He replies
<dramatically>

“Well square-fucking-one certainly
doesn’t fit your puzzle, does it?”

He leans in
(purposefully)

“I mean, all the truths have
transformed, they are so harsh, that they’re hard not to recognize.”

He leans away
<permanently>

“Are they not?”
He sniffs
<pompously>

I must say you adapt quite well.”

She laughs
<bitterly>

“Shit, dude, I have to give you credit for your perseverance in haunting my life, miserable as it is…you get the gold star award ⭐ for shallowness and cruelty. You think you’re so high and mighty but you’re closer and closer to being nothing at all in my heart or mind…”
She shakes her head
<wearily>

Christ is it time already?

“I gotta get outta here. This is not the best place on most days.
It clouds my judgment.
It needs replacing,
This place, it’s cracked and warping.”

He rises
(instinctively)

“Thanks for stopping in.  I’ll
make sure I have you so pumped full of hatred next time you come and go.
I found the machismo inside of myself to assure that you will quite vividly recall, by my insolently reminding you through my soulless actions, the poking of your bear by a legend such as myself. God you’re lucky to have known me in your life, you have no clue how awesome I am. Will you do me a huge favor?”

He asks
(Childishly)

“Sure”
she says, rising
(Hatred imperceptible)

He puts his dog’s hands on her small frame;
looking at her
<dolefully>

He whispers
<emptily>

“Just remember I meant none of it when I said ‘come and go’
as you please” when I said that you can use my place whenever you need it…
I know you’ll be sure to keep holding on to this promise all your days in utter vain. You happen to be quite masterful at that.  And don’t worry,
I will continue to keep an eye out you know, for you.”

She smiles tightly
(so anxious)

Glances a chop to his croaky throat turns and says
almost as an afterthought

“Aye, I know. I’m always taking stock, sorting
inventory, cleaning the messes up. I got your “come and go”right here!”

She makes a hip pumping motion that translates into sex.
<Angrily. Passionately>

“But you know where it is.”
She shakes her again as she permanently exits this place, his life.
<sadly>

As the door closes behind her

He thinks,
(Comfortably)

“Not really. But I am lying,
I am lying.”

Her back knows the door all too well.

“I needed you to be real.” She says
<absently>

“I’ll have to write down all the ways you’ve betrayed me;
my memory doesn’t work so well, especially when I am caught up.. ”

She’s thinking…
(a decisive stare)

“How can you look yourself in the mirror?…lying like you did;
I don’t need this shit right now
I shouldn’t be here!”

He asks…
<matter-of-factly>

“Does the rain bleed sideways always?  Or does it come in sporadic torrents spurting out
covering everything like a permanent stain?”

His self-absorption is tangible; he continues…
(A hollow stare)

“I knew where you were the whole time, but to be honest, I couldn’t wait, I had things to do – with or without you…”

He stops speaking
<ponderously>
Then he adds
“I’m a hollow man, what can I say?”

She ignores that and says
(solemnly)

“I don’t sleep so well
insomnia from hell, really.
She gets her claws into me
so that I trance the rage.
Over and over and over and
over again it’s almost comical.  I can’t wait until the coffee is so strong that it sends her into a tailspin for once.  Just once…”

Bemused he says:

“But it’s more than just caffeine
you need on most days right?
I see you in paintings everyday
you are always so resigned in your poses. You can either look like something isvcoming around the corner at youvor you can look like you have beheld the Gods…although none of that matters, you’re dust in the wind to me.”

“Easy for you to say,”

She sobs
(endearingly)

“I think I’ll die now. I can’t
remember all these details.
My memory can play tricks on me sometimes I feel like I’m an actress in my very own horror flick. I watch the scenes go by indifferently perhaps if I got the cobwebs out I’d be able to see things more clearly;
find the pause button, you know?
I never did dye my hair…”

she says wistfully
(her repose that of an abandoned orphan)

He laughs inside.
He says
(insincerely)

“I love your hair just the way it is”

then he says
(Wickedly)

“Although, I must say, blue would really bring out your intense sadness;
he wonders…
“will she believe my horseshit? If she’s gullible enough, will you tell her I will be betwixt and between? Within and
without always just a touch away until she works through her shit? I will be around permanently.”

She smirks
(jadedly)

“The world is ending as you speak. You know, usually
she plays those same tapes,
over and over and over….
well, you get the idea.”

then she says
(rather adroitly)
“…you know I simply spend a fuckload of time just trying to
get back to square one whatever
square one is is.”

He replies
<dramatically>

“Well square-fucking-one certainly
doesn’t fit your puzzle, does it?”

He leans in
(purposefully)

“I mean, all the truths have
transformed, they are so harsh, that they’re hard not to recognize.”

He leans away
<permanently>

“Are they not?”
He sniffs
<pompously>

I must say you adapt quite well.”

She laughs
<bitterly>

“Shit, dude, I have to give you credit for your perseverance in haunting my life, miserable as it is…you get the gold star award ⭐ for shallowness and cruelty. You think you’re so high and mighty but you’re closer and closer to being nothing at all in my heart or mind…”
She shakes her head
<wearily>

Christ is it time already?

“I gotta get outta here. This is not the best place on most days.
It clouds my judgment.
It needs replacing,
This place, it’s cracked and warping.”

He rises
(instinctively)

“Thanks for stopping in.  I’ll
make sure I have you so pumped full of hatred next time you come and go.
I found the machismo inside of myself to assure that you will quite vividly recall, by my insolently reminding you through my soulless actions, the poking of your bear by a legend such as myself. God you’re lucky to have known me in your life, you have no clue how awesome I am. Will you do me a huge favor?”

He asks
(Childishly)

“Sure”
she says, rising
(Hatred imperceptible)

He puts his dog’s hands on her small frame;
looking at her
<dolefully>

He whispers
<emptily>

“Just remember I meant none of it when I said ‘come and go’
as you please” when I said that you can use my place whenever you need it…
I know you’ll be sure to keep holding on to this promise all your days in utter vain. You happen to be quite masterful at that.  And don’t worry,
I will continue to keep an eye out you know, for you.”

She smiles tightly
(so anxious)

Glances a chop to his croaky throat turns and says
almost as an afterthought

“Aye, I know. I’m always taking stock, sorting
inventory, cleaning the messes up. I got your “come and go”right here!”

She makes a hip pumping motion that translates into sex.
<Angrily. Passionately>

“But you know where it is.”
She shakes her again as she permanently exits this place, his life.
<sadly>

As the door closes behind her

He thinks,
(Comfortably)

“Not really. But I am lying,
I am lying.”

Her back knows the door all too well.

“I needed you to be real.” She says
<absently>

“I’ll have to write down all the ways you’ve betrayed me;
my memory doesn’t work so well, especially when I am caught up.. ”

She’s thinking…
(a decisive stare)

“How can you look yourself in the mirror?…lying like you did;
I don’t need this shit right now
I shouldn’t be here!”

He asks…
<matter-of-factly>

“Does the rain bleed sideways always?  Or does it come in sporadic torrents spurting out
covering everything like a permanent stain?”

His self-absorption is tangible; he continues…
(A hollow stare)

“I knew where you were the whole time, but to be honest, I couldn’t wait, I had things to do – with or without you…”

He stops speaking
<ponderously>
Then he adds
“I’m a hollow man, what can I say?”

She ignores that and says
(solemnly)

“I don’t sleep so well
insomnia from hell, really.
She gets her claws into me
so that I trance the rage.
Over and over and over and
over again it’s almost comical.  I can’t wait until the coffee is so strong that it sends her into a tailspin for once.  Just once…”

Bemused he says:

“But it’s more than just caffeine
you need on most days right?
I see you in paintings everyday
you are always so resigned in your poses. You can either look like something isvcoming around the corner at youvor you can look like you have beheld the Gods…although none of that matters, you’re dust in the wind to me.”

“Easy for you to say,”

She sobs
(endearingly)

“I think I’ll die now. I can’t
remember all these details.
My memory can play tricks on me sometimes I feel like I’m an actress in my very own horror flick. I watch the scenes go by indifferently perhaps if I got the cobwebs out I’d be able to see things more clearly;
find the pause button, you know?
I never did dye my hair…”

she says wistfully
(her repose that of an abandoned orphan)

He laughs inside.
He says
(insincerely)

“I love your hair just the way it is”

then he says
(Wickedly)

“Although, I must say, blue would really bring out your intense sadness;
he wonders…
“will she believe my horseshit? If she’s gullible enough, will you tell her I will be betwixt and between? Within and
without always just a touch away until she works through her shit? I will be around permanently.”

She smirks
(jadedly)

“The world is ending as you speak. You know, usually
she plays those same tapes,
over and over and over….
well, you get the idea.”

then she says
(rather adroitly)
“…you know I simply spend a fuckload of time just trying to
get back to square one whatever
square one is is.”

He replies
<dramatically>

“Well square-fucking-one certainly
doesn’t fit your puzzle, does it?”

He leans in
(purposefully)

“I mean, all the truths have
transformed, they are so harsh, that they’re hard not to recognize.”

He leans away
<permanently>

“Are they not?”
He sniffs
<pompously>

I must say you adapt quite well.”

She laughs
<bitterly>

“Shit, dude, I have to give you credit for your perseverance in haunting my life, miserable as it is…you get the gold star award ⭐ for shallowness and cruelty. You think you’re so high and mighty but you’re closer and closer to being nothing at all in my heart or mind…”
She shakes her head
<wearily>

Christ is it time already?

“I gotta get outta here. This is not the best place on most days.
It clouds my judgment.
It needs replacing,
This place, it’s cracked and warping.”

He rises
(instinctively)

“Thanks for stopping in.  I’ll
make sure I have you so pumped full of hatred next time you come and go.
I found the machismo inside of myself to assure that you will quite vividly recall, by my insolently reminding you through my soulless actions, the poking of your bear by a legend such as myself. God you’re lucky to have known me in your life, you have no clue how awesome I am. Will you do me a huge favor?”

He asks
(Childishly)

“Sure”
she says, rising
(Hatred imperceptible)

He puts his dog’s hands on her small frame;
looking at her
<dolefully>

He whispers
<emptily>

“Just remember I meant none of it when I said ‘come and go’
as you please” when I said that you can use my place whenever you need it…
I know you’ll be sure to keep holding on to this promise all your days in utter vain. You happen to be quite masterful at that.  And don’t worry,
I will continue to keep an eye out you know, for you.”

She smiles tightly
(so anxious)

Glances a chop to his croaky throat turns and says
almost as an afterthought

“Aye, I know. I’m always taking stock, sorting
inventory, cleaning the messes up. I got your “come and go”right here!”

She makes a hip pumping motion that translates into sex.
<Angrily. Passionately>

“But you know where it is.”
She shakes her again as she permanently exits this place, his life.
<sadly>

As the door closes behind her

He thinks,
(Comfortably)

“Not really. But I am lying,
I am lying.”

Drying Drops of Love.

Such articulated truths,
Much anticipated moves,
Beneath the sky,
I wonder why,
What’s the fucking use?


To know you pondered aloud,
The wonder of something you found,
In the wake of,
Drying drops of my love,
You cast your chance around.


How could it surprise you?
When none of it was really new,
No profound sensations,
To feed such ruminations,
As the shit that you cyber-spew.


Wow…but it’s nothing new,
Now your choices strike back at you?
Fool me twice,
Against all advice,
The venom in my veins courses blue.


You’ve cloned and cookie cut my dreams,
You’ve proven nothing is ever what it seems,
Fists up to you,
Untried and untrue,
The likes of you can’t fuck with me.

1/2 Hour Life-Span.

I love how you fancy yourself,
Sending gifts and wishes well,
Lending bits of your own Living Hell
But underneath you’re corrosive still
I love how you randomly pose as my friend
Obviously not wanting to tie this loose end
You act like your choices aren’t hard to defend
You’re onward and upward and I’m dust in your wind
I love the fact that you’ve traced around
The base I laid out on solid ground
While your betrayal has been quite profound
You remain unwilling to own it now
I love how you jumped from the frying pan
Into the flames of a garbage can
You cursed possibility before it began
With the harshest reality that you’re a conman




Barbarian.

I can’t wash the blood from my hands,

The basin is stained with red that expands,

The mirror reflects a perfect barbarian,

As I desperately scrub off layers of skin.

The stars in the sky oddly cease to shine,

I gather up all of the lies that are mine,

Sewn into my mouth one last time,

To be spewed at someone down the line.

My feet refuse to step anew,

And the streetlights cast a yellow hue,

My mind is burning a hole right through,

To ease the pressure I’ve turned into.

Flounder.

I’ve been circling the moldy, plankton encrusted bottom layers of life; feeding off of the slowly sinking debris that once littered the surface layers: the leftovers of a long-ago feast that I attended up there.

My vision has adapted to the murk; my breathing has adjusted to the oxygen depletion of dangerous depths and harrowing heights; my skin has settled into the wrinkled prune-esqueness of an over-long bubble bath; my hair now growing shafts of seaweed and tangly kelp in place of it’s natural fibers.

I’m a flounder, living with a great white shark who is lazy with a eating disorder; I am stuck in the suction of his hefty submerged wake; I am seemingly happy to gobble up the chunks of shit that fall from the sides of his razor sharp bite as he chews incessantly; I am his shadow down here.

Daily Disillusions. One.

Some of my longtime readers may recall how, throughout the lifetime of my blog, I’ve described the very deep-seated issues surrounding my long tattered relationship with my mama; things that stemmed from early childhood and only snowballed throughout my life until I was an adult and became estranged from her on my own terms for a time. Some might recall the ways in which I was openly struggling with the actual severing of ties between her and me due to her direct and quite unhealthy ties to my own daughter in the months prior to her diagnosis. The cruelly finite death sentence of late stage lung cancer that was handed down to her early last December quickly changed my life’s direction, and before I knew it, I became her main (if not her only) confidant, caretaker, nurse and administrative assistant/scheduler.

I can’t believe she has survived so long…at least not when compared to the very short time that was originally laid out in her prognosis, not to mention the very close brush with sudden death she initially undertook on the trail of her first chemo via febrile pneumonia and neutropenia that landed her in the ICU for several weeks. At that point, she was recovering from the dip in her white blood cells that had left her open like a sitting duck for the infections that literally almost killed her in the beginning of her “treatment”, and wanted to spend Christmas at my Aunt and Uncle’s house with our family. Given the circumstances, I was certain that last year would be her final holiday season alive, so I killed myself emotionally and financially to make her holiday as close to perfect as possible.

It was also during that period of time that her husband of 40 years, my long-time father figure, abandoned my mama completely in the face of her illness and impending death. She never went back home again, as her husband repeatedly failed to clear out the presence of my daughter and her disgusting friends from the house.

Some of my readers might recall how I had been struggling for several years with my parents over their unwavering loyalty (to the point of sheer stupidity) to my absolutely sociopathic and parasitic offspring – and the undeniable affect that such loyalties would inevitably leave in their proverbial laps. It only got worse as time went by; and as soon as my mom was out of the house, it went to Hell in a hand-basket. They began getting notices from the landlord within weeks, my daughter having gotten a puppy that destroyed the carpets and some of the walls and woodwork. In the passage of time between then and now, my former step father also managed to lose his car, his savings, his healthcare coverage and anything else worth anything at all that he might have owned.

Two days ago, a 3 day notice to quit the premises was posted on the front door of the house that was once my mama’s home. For some reason, my former step father was surprised enough by this that he called my mom and told her, obviously upsetting her on many levels. She now also has been burdened.by the anxiety, disappointment, worry, and heartbreak attached to learning (being reminded of) of the reality that her entire estate of 50 years’ worth of the obsessively collected, pack-rat-esque, silverfish friendly belongings that she has bent over backward to hang onto throughout handfuls of relocations, burglarized storage units, rats and various destructive insect infestations, and 2 fires: is gone with a 3 day notice to quit the premises.  I know this breaks her heart because I know how she is and I have come to accept and endear the wacky things that she holds closest to her heart, as indecipherable as most may be.

That house is full of my own history also, mine and my daughter’s…and any of the things that I would’ve wanted to have from my mama will be gone as well. I have not been surprised by this unfolding of the Living Hell that has come to define every direction of what I would’ve once called “my family”; I was writing letters on my mom’s behalf to her landlord almost a year ago, so it’s not like my former step father and daughter (who will soon be homeless and without much but the things each can carry somehow) can say they didn’t see this coming.

The entire situation, which has gotten so far out of control that it’s beyond repair or interference from any outside party, is beyond my ability to intellectually grasp on any level. I am ashamed of my former step father for his absolute lack of action in even keeping himself afloat in the face of my daughter’s shenanigans. He has not only allowed and enabled this nightmare to play out like it is – but he also dares to call my dying mother (who is separated from him for the very same lack of action) and heap the load onto her already broken back. I am so sad and miserable over all of it, as I am in no position to offer anything in terms of any kind of aid or guidance to such an obviously lost cause as the situation at my mom’s old house, I want no part of that noise at all.

I also feel very bitter toward my mama again for the shit she painted herself into this corner with; a notion not so foreign to my heart and mind…I just wish she would’ve listened to me in the first place about letting my daughter move into her home when she left the hospital with her tracheotomy a few years ago. Thinking back to that now in this very moment, my eyes are swollen with tears because I remember my mom’s staunch position on “seeing Boo through the removal of the trach and subsequent recovery”, no matter what I said about it. I was dumb-founded by her blind loyalty to someone who had burglarized her home and stolen her car. I have come to feel so embittered by and ashamed of Boo these days, I have no words for that element of things…besides bad ones.

In short, everything is as bad as ever…waiting for that other shoe to drop hard on my head and heart…working with an asshole who fucked with my emotions and made me hate him as a result – having to look at his weasel face every day, has been wearing on me…too distracted to touch myself, too disgusted to touch anyone else…working hard and earning shit…more disillusioned every day beginning with my commute to work at 7am.

My New Mom.

Because of the collective whirlwind effect created by the sudden appearance of, and the subsequent hijacking of any former Life by this hideous reality, this thing known only as “my mama’s terminal cancer”:

  • I pushed it to the limit with keeping her with me at my house (actually, just a single rented room in a home shared with 2 bachelors) and nearly bit off way more than my can possibly chew;
  • I nearly pushed myself to the point of no return in regard to my own sanity and my own abilities;
  • I allowed myself to totally reside on the back burner for too long, and in turn began the cycle of forgetfulness and neglect in light of my own basic needs and any prior commitments made before the nightmare of Anticipatory Grief entered my day to day existence.
  • I stiffened my upper lip and sucked it up – I refuse to ask anyone for anything in the context of help with my mom, especially my new mom, due to her total and complete lack of any sense of self.
  • I moved her to a place where she isn’t going to be waited on hand and foot like I had been doing for her – having such a personal caregiver isn’t a good routine for her overall independence, despite what she says now.
  • Since the move, she has slowly declined in mentality to the point where as of now, she is too confused to find or answer her phone 9 times out of 10; she still cannot walk on her own either for some reason; she forgets her medicines and forgets to eat, she doesn’t shower at a;; anymore unless she is made to do so; she has no sense of humor, the only remaining thing about my former mama was the crazy thick hair – but that has fallen out now.

 

It’s like I have slowly come to be caring for a total stranger; this person is nothing like my mama. My new mom is stoic and scowls at me for no reason; she snaps at me for offering to help her with things when she is struggling.

 

“I wish you would just get out of my face for a change!”

 

This was what she hissed at me on New Year’s Eve, when I showed up to surprise her with some sparkling cider and pizza. She said she was tired of seeing my face whenever she opened her eyes. I left well before midnight and cried the whole way home.

Mercifold.

I fold, you win…

I guess each element of the person I am,

stands here stupidly in firm opposition,

to the overbearing, sobering obsession,

the patience of the pen worn paper-thin,

I fold, you win…

took note of the tone to certain questions,

shined the light in the face with interrogations,

combed over the memoir with keen attention,

full to the brim with such jealous affliction,

I fold, you win…

spoke freely all things without hesitation,

forfeit the highs for the lows once again.

I fold.

Eye-rony.

Wow, the irony in everything is just overwhelming to me at the moment…

I cancelled our Christmas reservation in the cozy Gold Country B&B yesterday; needless to say, my original plan to go with or without anyone else has fizzled into a memory from a time when the world looked and felt quite different; what was that, like two weeks ago or something? We had both been so looking forward to the trip, too…the very FIRST thing we ever planned together…surely the last one, too…

Mom says we’ll go in the springtime; I smile at her and wink from across the room. I smile and nod a lot to her agreeably, in spite of the tears stinging behind my eyes constantly and unrelentingly. I honestly look like I’ve aged like 10 years in the past week, and don’t give two fucks about it.

So, here’s my newest tangle within myself:

My readers know I have issues…with my Mama, myself, and the past. With her being given a death sentence and failing so suddenly and totally, obviously those issues have begun to kick for the surface. I am trying to remain realistic about things, and have accepted the fact that this is going to leave me with some newborn causes for sessions with the over-caffeinated tree squirrel, regardless of how it all actually unfolds.

Historically speaking, my mother is impossible to please, truly she is…I’ve written about it before. She is NEVER satisfied with the job I’ve done at anything, there’s always something I left off or did incorrectly. Willow gives away little affection, and what she gives, comes guardedly and with strings attached. So, since she has been diagnosed and had to begin treatments and all sorts of degrading and invasive medical procedures, there has not been a single instance in which she has even seemed remotely satisfied with anything I’m doing; be it the way I pilot her wheelchair around the hospital, the way I wash her laundry, the way I pack her bag in the morning, or even how I tie her shoes. It’s been a lot of instances with me trying my best to make her as comfortable as humanly possible, and her being absolutely miserable no matter what I do. I do realize she is in a very bad place, and not much will give her any joy or happiness, per se, but that doesn’t make the fact that I can’t even make her smile bear any less weight on my heavy heart.

The cough:

The coughing is literally non-stop right now; and, please do trust me when I say that I fully understand that this element is NOT harder on ANYBODY than her; she has spent the past two weeks solid in gasping for breath and panicking when it won’t come. Does anyone reading this have the slightest clue what it is like to watch your Mama suffocate from the inside before your very eyes – – – all day, every day – all night, every night? It is sheer terror in its own right, such an absolutely helpless and resigned emotion has crawled into my lap for a while, I guess…

People have said nothing but supportive things to me like,

 

“Spend as much quality time as you can with her…”,

 

or

 

“Tell her whatever you feel it’s important she knows before it is too late…”

 

The problem with this wise theory in our circumstance, however, is that she can’t speak anymore because of the gods damned cough; and she can’t hear anything I say to her over the awful fits of coughing, either. I haven’t been able to communicate anything to her on that level so far….they say the treatment will help to shrink the mass and her cough will get better; that she will get some relief from the chemo, gods willing. But in the meantime, it’s been horrendously difficult all the way around.

Yesterday, I became so irritated that almost smoked a cigarette while she was here at my house. She left this morning with my aunt (her sister, who is a yuppie, and barely found time for my mom even when she was still healthy) for chemo. I have been with her at the hospital every day since last Wednesday, and felt like if I went one more time without a break, I would end up being unfair and out-of-line to my poor mom out of the monotonous irritability that has built up. 8 hours at a time of chemo every day is hardcore, I’m told. I apologized to her last night while we ate dinner for being such a snippy bitch yesterday (I almost want to say that I am having mood swings lately, as the snippiness can seem to just appear out of nowhere with me) and I explained to her that it ISN’T her or anything she’s doing…she understood. She understands, she told me with her eyes – she’s been telling me a lot with her eyes lately, a connection I wasn’t even aware that she and I have until the fucked up event of her terminal cancer.

 

 

Ancient Proverbs – 33: Integrity and Manipulation.

“The basic tool for the manipulation of reality is the manipulation of words. If you can control the meaning of words, you can control the people who must use the words. “

~Philip K. Dick

 

“If you don’t give education to people, it is easy to manipulate them.”

~Pele

 

“Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.”

~Abraham Lincoln

 

“Integrity is telling myself the truth. And honesty is telling the truth to other people.”

~Spencer Johnson

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.

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