Hating Myself Never Felt So Good...

I don't want to admit it

I don't want to

have to

admit it

but I like myself better this way

I wish I didn't

but I do

I laugh more

so much more

both longer

and more often

same with the sex

almost the best it's ever been

and nothing like anything

we've seen or felt or been in years

every orgasm a god's kiss goodnight

I know I'm killing myself

but we are all going to die

someday

and what is the point in a long life

if it's a miserable slog the whole way?

I'll take a few years off the end

for a ten-fold increase in joy and pleasure

the rest of the time

any day

all day

all day long

There are a hundred other

little reasons

for hating myself for this

a hundred little setbacks

chipping away at my self-worth

but there could be a thousand and it still

wouldn't matter

they just don't add up

they just can't compare to

the ache in my face from laughing so hard

I can't breathe

the feel of her flesh under my hands

swallowing me

the look on her face when she comes

the tears in her eyes when she can't stop laughing at me

or the idiot smile

splitting my face like a knife wound

I wish I were wrong

but this just feels

too right

Let It Out...

The first

thing

The

very

first thing

that

You

ever did

was

scream

Why Are All Of My Poems Questions?...

What if I don't
feel anything
worth writing down?
What if I don't
see anything
that penetrates my eye
with beauty?
that infects my mind
with wonder?
What if
nothing happens
in my ordinary day
to inspire
or bewilder
or amuse?
or arouse
or confuse?
or infuriate
or frustrate
or fascinate?
What if it's just
a day?
just like the day before
and the day after
and I feel nothing
nothing worth saying
nothing worth feeling
out loud
no line to express
or wisdom to surmise
with cutesy-clever
patyourselfonthebackforthinkingofitaren'tyouspecial
twists of wordplay
Just a day
And what if I have
nothing to say?
I'll say it anyway

Twenty Questions Solitaire...

Do you remember

the last time

you said the words

"I

Love

you"

?

+          +          +

I don't

I don't remember

I don't remember
the last time
that I said
"I
Love
you"

I don't remember
when I said it
or to whom
or why

And now I can't escape this
rotting feeling
that this isn't a memory
we should ever out-grow
That this isn't a memory
we should ever out-live
That this isn't a memory
we should ever get
too far away from
Now that I realize it's gone
I feel adrift and lost without it
like a greenhorn just realizing
he's lost sight of shore
for the first time

The sudden realization
that I couldn't remember
that I've lost this memory
that it must've been so long
since I last said it
to anyone
for any reason
that I've lost it completely
sits so alien and unreal in me
That I could've ever lost something
so important
something
that has always just
been there
before
something
that should just be a backdrop
to the rest of my life
now gone
and I didn't even notice it
didn't miss it at all
until now
It's as if I suddenly realized
one wall of my house was missing
exposing us
letting in the whether
and I can't even remember
when it happened

And this is all only preamble
just the lead-in
to the real question
Why?
Why can't I remember?
Why have I forgotten?
Why has it been so long since I last said it?
Why haven't I said it?
Why did I ever stop?

What am I waiting for?

Title...

I am too tired to be inspired right now.

I swear, that rhyme was unintentional.

This is not a poem.

One Down, Forever To Go...

gotta write
can't write
no time
gotta work
can't stop
too much to do
i can feel it
building up
hard up
hard time
hard line
hard night
coiled wire muscles
stretched tight twang
reverb spinal twitch
sets one eyelid going off
fluttering to start a hurricane
and the whole of it unravels
unless
i can get it out
get it out
get it all out of me
and onto paper
into screen
out to hivemind
out of me
out of me
out of me
one fibrous thread of
twisted steel at a time
all i need
is just a little more time
and a little room to bleed

This Should've Been A Tweet...

I'm so tired, I'm actually dizzy.  Looking forward to the baths tomorrow more than I ever have before.  Need to relax feels like a matter of survival at this point.

OUTTATIME...

I have to face the music.  The only way this work is going to get done anywhere even close to on-time, is if I start working 10-12 hour days.  That's just a fact.  An unfortunate fact.  There's just too much work to do, and nowhere near enough time.  So I'm just going to have to man the fuck up and do what needs to be done.

But, I'm already so tired.

Gibbering...

I spit words

I do not mean to say that
in the street, beat, hip-hop sense
I do not mean that
I spit hot rhymes
I mean

I spit words

they explode from me
suddenly
violently
And they are painful

And I cannot control them

Henry Jones, Blurble...

I have some ideas, and some things half-written, but no time to flesh anything out today.  I have more work to do right now than I can possibly handle.  And all of it is due "yesterday."  I have a work task that I'm supposed to have finished by today, and with every hour that passes that looks less and less likely to actually happen.  And if (when) I don't finish this one today, that will also push back every other task I'm supposed to be working on right now.

tl;dr - No time for love, Dr. Jones.

Lay Down Your Weary Head...

morning commute

hot sun, cool breeze
on the highway
beating down, blowing along

pair of raccoons
on the side of the road
dead
together

together
clearly from the same pack
mating for life

together
laying down
side-by-side
in the same position
facing the same direction
mirror images
drying in the sun

together

siblings?

or lovers?

in the dirt
on the side of the road

"Why?"...

on some level
it's about control
and i'm sorry about that
insecurity
always is

You are the other half of me
as i am the other half of You
and so if there's something
about You
or something You do
that i do not understand
then i'm not understanding myself
i'm unsure of myself
i'm the definition of
insecure

the Thing
whatever it is
the particular Thing
that i have failed to understand
about You
about me
is completely
and absolutely
irrelevant
what matters
what's important
is that

I

Don't

Understand

everything else
is just window dressing  

i need to understand
in order to feel secure
in order to maintain the comfortable illusion
that i have some control over my life
over myself
that I have some understanding of
who i am
where i am
what i'm doing
what the fuck is going on 

so when i'm threatened
by my own confusion
i make inquiries
i ask questions
i try to understand
desperately 
urgently
crucially
i have to try
i have to

and besides
there's no harm in asking
is there?

Just The Two Of Us...

itch scratch itch
in my arm above the bicep
where my wedding ring is tattooed under my skin
find an overly large protrusion
never noticed
shouldn't be there
where'd it come from
push pull pinch the flesh
work it out
no pain
pleasant release of pressure as the skin
tears
rips
bleeds
drips
reveals
yellow-white tube
jutting now from the wound
and then it moves
writhes
twists
wiggles
in my flesh
turns black eyes to mine
pleading innocence
to be left alone
to continue consuming me
inside
where it's dark and warm

it Loves me
i know
because it lives inside
my wedding ring

Air...

it's stupidly sentimental but

I always feel a little sad when

it comes time to

shut the windows

for the year and

turn on the A/C

or the Heat

and start breathing our

electrically-modulated air

I feel as if I've

only just started to

work my way back out

into the world and

I'm not ready

I'm not ready yet to

go back inside

and breathe my own

rotten recycled breath

the breath of my city is

so much more

so much more delightful

so much more invigorating

so much more intoxicating

so much more

than me

I feel slightly lost and

alone when

this life requires that I

wall myself off from that

World breath

to hibernate through

our hot and cold winds

I'm not ready yet

I'm never ready

I'm still trying to find my way

out

Half In The Whole...

please let this be
the bottom
and not some lost ledge
abandoned out of sight in the depths
beyond the light
holding me up to
the false hope of
an easy climb back
to the top
to stable grounds
and effortless ability

please let this be
the bottom
the real bottom
because
I don't think
my bones
could take another
fall

Bad News Beers...

I am definitely drinking too much.

I'm not entirely surprised, or overly concerned, by this.  It's to be expected that after abstaining for a year, I would revel a bit in the new found freedom to drink again.  It's new and shiny and fun and I want it all right now!  And I also expected it to take me a while to learn the ropes again; we have to fuck up in order to learn how to do something right.

But, still, I'm definitely drinking too much.  And I need to calm down.  Now.

I need to remember that I can't just drink as much as I want, whenever I want.  I could die that way.  And if I keep it up, I will die that way.

Wake up, motherfucker.

Blah Blurble...

I really want to write something to post here.  I have a lot to say right now.  But I don't particularly feel like saying any of it.  And I'm so busy right now, overwhelmed with so much work, that I can't even find the time to keep up with my email, much less write something.  And because of all the work, when I'm home, I'm just desperately trying to relax (largely without success), and don't have the energy to express things I need to express but don't really want to express.

That little slice of nothing is all I have time for right now.  And I feel guilty for taking the time to write even that much.  (Which is ironic, because the only reason I wrote it at all is to respond to the feeling of guilt I had over not posting.)

Having My Favorite Way With You...

when I reminisce about

our Yesterdays

the recollections that stand out

above all the rest

as the most important

the remembrances that call to me

louder than all the others

to retain my attention again

and again

the memories that are painted

in the most vivid colors

to recall my mind's eye

repeatedly

and inexorably

are always of those times

when I've made you

Laugh

like that

just like that

the laugh I love the most

where it seems to almost

burst out of you

as if you couldn't hold it in

even if you'd wanted to

where your eyes crinkle up

the way they do when you're about

to cry

and your blood rushes to your face

rushes to greet me

and you become my favorite

shade of pink

just like that

you're at your most beautiful

how many times now

have I made you

lose control

this way?

made your body rebel

against your will

made you shake

in uncontrollable

ecstasy

that left you sore

and gasping for breath?

Not nearly enough

for of all the ways

I can please you

pleasure you

for of the whole range of choices

I have at my disposal

to make you shudder

in uncontainable joy

there is not one that returns to me

half as much delight

nor conveys half as much

of my desire

nor expresses half as much

of my love

as does the Gift

of getting to hear you laugh

at me

until you are entirely

spent

Everything I Write Is Narcissistic Crap...

I'm hiding here
in this space where
I keep brutally exposing myself
I'm not really My self
I wear masks
and pseudonyms
and there's certain things I can't say
won't say
because I'm afraid of who will read them
and what they might learn about me
And sometimes I feel that makes
all of this
pointless
I am torn between two
equally important desires
I need to be raw here
I need to be violently open
I need to feel free to express
whatever I am feeling
for no other reason than the simple fact that
I am feeling
But I am also afraid
of the reactions I might get
afraid I might hurt someone
afraid of someone I know
learning something about me
that I don't want them to know
afraid they'll use it to hurt me somehow
I need to be wide open
but can only do it behind the safety of a mask
and even that isn't good enough
I still constantly self-censor
I have pages and pages of writings that no one
but me
has ever seen
will ever see
Even now
as I write this
I can't help but wonder at the reactions
I might get
from people I know
in real life
or people I know
in the wire
or people I've
never met
and that wondering changes me
changes my feelings
makes me second-guess
what I'm going to say
The only way my art can ever be
absolutely true
absolutely honest
absolutely Me
is if no one ever reads it
But what good is Expression
without Witness?
I need to have
an audience of strangers
for each poem
total strangers
that I will never have to see again
Or I should tag my poems on walls around town
in the middle of the night
like my little brother
(oh, gods, what if he reads this??!)

Fuck you
I'm leaving it in

Faced...

I don't know what to look like anymore.

My hair doesn't match my beard.  And neither match my general appearance as a middle-aged boy in tee-shirt and sneakers.  My outward "look" has become a mish-mash of favorite pieces culled from various looks I've worn over the years, plus some things I've just made up, all stitched back together like a patchwork riot.

I don't know what to do about this.  Or if I should even do anything.  It's just something I noticed this morning, and felt I should share.  (And it was short.  I don't have time to write out any of the other, more important things I have to share, because they are complicated and involved and I am stupid fucking busy right now.  [Like, literally, stupid-busy.  My busy-ness is directly related to the stupidity of others.])

I guess this situation bothers me, now that I've noticed it.  But I'm not quite sure how, exactly.  Or why.  I think perhaps because it was apparently accidental, and I hadn't noticed it before.  Like, I have absolutely no problem going out in public looking like a complete dork.  I've done it many times.  But in each of those instances, that's what I was going for.  In this situation, on the other hand, I don't really know how I look at all.  I've been concentrating on the individual elements so closely that I've lost sight of the overall picture of how they all fit together.  And I found it disconcerting to suddenly realize, "Oh, shit!  How did I end up looking like this??  Does it look good or not?  Fuck, I can't even tell anymore!  And I have no idea what else I would rather do instead."

Wah, wah; boo hoo.  Whatever.  Again, not a major problem, but just something I noticed and felt like writing down.

The Hole In The Middle Of Every Spring...

I never know how to feel on Mother's Day
My mother killed herself
She checked into a hotel room
without telling anyone
and took a bottle of sleeping pills
one at a time
until they were all gone
and then she laid down
and put herself to sleep
She did it to escape the pain
yes
She did it to save herself
certainly
She did it to save us
undeniably
to save us
from her
from her madness
from her long pain
from her forever scream
She loved us so much
that she died
to protect us
from herself
She gave me life
and then she gave it to me again
saving my life
by sacrificing her own

So whose life
am I really celebrating
today?

And should the flowers
be daisies
or lilies?

Bottled Up...

Another day where I can't bring myself to post anything I've written.

I have so much to say, but I can't bring myself to say any of it.

It's only a matter of time now.

Whathuh?...

No time to write today.  Too much work to do.  And I have a lot to write about, but I don't feel that I can actually write about any of it.  I mean, I could - I'm capable of writing about it.  It's just that it doesn't feel right to do so.  It feels wrong to bottle it up, too.  But it also feels wrong - in a completely different way - to express it.  At least, to express it here.  Fucked, either way, I guess.

Further Results...

Well, this is getting downright disappointing.  Last night, things got even worse.  I'm beginning to feel down about this whole thing.  I'm honestly not sure what to do at this point.

Yesterday afternoon, I started to feel restless and anxious.  I couldn't pinpoint why, exactly.  But that's not entirely unusual for me.  What was unusual, was that the feeling steadily grew as the day went on.  And then I started to get upset.  Just feeling really down, really unhappy.  Again, no apparent cause for this emotional state, and again, it grew steadily.  By the time I got home from work, I felt like complete shit.  I was really depressed, and really unhappy, about nothing in particular, and everything in general.

And I could discern this strange disconnect between my emotional state and the rest of my perception.  For instance, something unpleasant would happen, and my mental response would be, "Oh, well," while my emotional response would be, "Oh, gods, WHY??"  And I would wonder, why did that emotional response pair with that mental response?  They don't fit together.  And of the two of them, the mental response seemed a more appropriate and accurate reflection of the event that triggered it; the emotional response seems over-the-top and uncalled for.  And that kind of thing kept happening over and over again.

Eventually I began to realize that one of my worst fears about this experiment seemed to be coming to pass.  I was clearly depressed, that much was obvious.  And it seemed likely that this was another of those backlash chemical depressions that have followed any and every intoxication I've experienced this past year.

Only one way to be sure.  Have to test the theory.  I hadn't been planning to drink last night, because I didn't want to immediately start off drinking every day again.  My plan is not to have a drink unless there's a good reason.  (And neither "it's Thursday night" nor "I just got home from work" qualify as good reasons to drink.)  But if I had a drink, and the depression and anxiety went away, then I would know that it was definitely chemical withdrawal that caused it.

So I had a shot of tequila.  And immediately felt that dizzy sickness again.  And then I started to feel better.

A little while later, I had another shot.  And then I felt perfectly normal.  No depression, no anxiety.  Nice and relaxed.

So, now I know.  On top of no longer being able to enjoy it the way that I used to, the way that I would like to, I will also have to deal with the fact that any time I take a drink, I am then going to have to deal with a deep depression, for which the only cures are to either let it run its course, however long it takes (days, weeks, months - I've experienced all of those at various points this past year), or to have another drink.

To say that I am discouraged by these findings would be rather an understatement.

Preliminary Results...

Okay, that was not at all what I expected.

I didn't actually know what to expect, exactly, but I had some ideas that seemed plausible and/or probable.  But what actually happened was something I had never even thought of.

For starters, it was a lot harder to actually do than I thought it would be.  Holding a bottle of beer in my hand for the first time in a year, I was surprised by how difficult it was to make myself take a drink.  I assumed I would be jumping right into that bottle.  But I'd been entirely focused on not drinking for an entire year of my life.  And knowing that as soon as I took that first sip, all of that was done, over, finished, made it difficult to do.  I had to intentionally and purposefully bring to an end something that I had invested a lot of time and energy into.  And I had a lot of mixed feelings about that.  It wasn't all happiness and "yeah, I did it!"  It was a lot more "I can't believe it's over" and "am I sure about this?"  It was very strange.  And, as I said, unexpected.

Also unexpected was the degree to which my tolerance has tanked.  I knew that my tolerance would be significantly lower than it was a year ago, but I don't think my tolerance has ever been as low as it is right now.  I was noticeably altered from a half of a beer.  And not just a little bit, either.  It was almost overwhelming.  From a half of a beer.

But the worst thing - and I really never, ever saw this coming - was that I didn't actually enjoy it.  Any of it.  I couldn't find any of the sensations I used to enjoy about it.  It was a wholly different experience now, and I didn't like it.  I just felt dizzy and nauseated.  None of the happiness or relaxation that I've come to expect from alcohol.

I was prepared for the possibility of liking it too much.  It never occurred to me that I might not like it at all.  And I'm finding myself really upset about that.  I liked enjoying alcohol.  And all I wanted to do here was try and learn how to enjoy it in a responsible way.  I never would've done this if I'd known that it was going to completely eliminate my ability to enjoy it at all.

All I wanted to do was try and learn how to drink in moderation.  Not become someone who can't drink, and doesn't want to.

Now what?

Lost Summerisle's Longing...

make your Gift
to The Queen of the May
let the blood run brilliant hot

a boiling Gift
of life-made-death
to bring Light for a New Year to come

sharpen your blade
and polish the stone
for The Queen and Her Kingdom of Sun

let the fires burn bright
three stories high
heat Her throne in the heavens above

drink of Her wine
down to your bones
let the Wild come into you freely

dance naked your Joy
come loud to the stars
Her pleasure move through you completely

drown in the flesh
of lovers all 'round
get lost in Abandon's display

and bathe in the blood
of a Life now re-born
All Hail The Queen of the May

A Dreaming For Witches' Night...

Seeking the Enchanted Wood
beyond the Gate of Dreams
again another night
naked but for my Silver Key
that heavy antique carved
with undecipherable
arabesque
symbols
stolen from the Messenger
of the Faceless One
hung from a chain around my neck
the Key to the Dreaming
a comfortable weight against my chest

I descend those too-familiar
Seventy Steps of Light Slumber
ancient worn stone cold under my bare feet
climbing down through the dusky emptiness of Pre-Dreaming
one-by-one
until they suddenly end
at Nothing at all

Without hesitation
(I've been here so many many times before)
I take the leap
and step off into emptiness
and enter the hidden Cavern of Flame

In the far corner of that inky darkness I can almost see
the shadowed forms
of Nasht
and Kaman-Thah
the Gatekeepers
whose temple this is
those towering black figures
bare-chested with carved, curved beards
and elaborate head-dress
stand stone-still but all-aware
waiting to judge my worthiness
again
I perform for them
a different routine every night
to demonstrate my power
my understanding
my worthiness to traverse The Dreamlands beyond

Tonight
as most nights
I begin by conjuring myself a robe
a simple black thawb with cleric's collar
hemmed just below the knee
black linen gi pants
in the Thai style
and comfortable black tabi boots for my feet

Now dressed appropriately
I begin the ritual proper
so They may see
my mastery of The Dream 

I rise myself up to float in the center of the cavern
in lotus-posture
and expand out from my center
a dodecahedral lattice-work of blue plasma
until it fills the space
and I float serenely in its center
From each pentagonal face of this construct
I then project white-hot jets of flame
offensive defense
effective ward against
the many horrors that await a Dreamer
But here in this realm of un-real
this is but simple hedge-magick
unimpressive
amateurish

They require better of me

I reach out
and project myself
to the far end of the cavern
and instantly I am there
And then again
and then again
teleporting myself around the cavern
disappearing and re-appearing at random points
to demonstrate my control of Self
and reality here

They continue to stare down at me
black and stone-faced

I draw my perception down into the center of my form
and push Out
against my flesh
against my skin
until I feel it begin to tear
down my back
and I keep pushing
Out
and Out
screaming
until it all comes free in one blood-soaked blur of agony
and I am left standing as
naked muscle sinew bone and nerve
From the scraps of my skin I fashion
a new robe to wear
to show them
my immunity to the horrors I will face beyond

Finally
they consent

From the center of the cavern erupts
the Pillar of Flame
floor to ceiling
I step into it
and my flesh-robe self-sacrifice burns away to ash in an instant
the price paid for passage
but I am left unsinged
and after a moment I step free from the flame
with a new skin
and again re-robed, as before
black thawb and gi and tabi
but now also something new
something never experienced before
(every night
something never experienced before)
something not of my own crafting
a blue turban
electric royal blue
adorned with an onyx jewel
I do not understand this gift
or who
or what
might be the giver
but I accept
with gratitude

An open door appears in the cavern wall in front of me
and I step through
and begin my descent
of the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber
gleaming black stone staircase
descending into darkness
through an empty night
I know that at the bottom of these stairs lies
the Enchanted Wood
and further beyond the rest of The Dreamlands
Ulthar and Dylath-Leen
Oriab and Celephaïs
Leng and unknown Kadath
and as I descend further and further
and closer to the Dream
I can feel my Self coming apart
as if dissolving into mist
and I try to hold my Self together
and focus on those far-away lands
and their cities of Dreaming
and remember how much I long to see them
how every night I long to see them
and I try
and I try harder
and I take another step
and I am gone

 

And then I am awake

I will try again tonight
as I try every night
and I will make my way to the Cavern of Flame
and I will perform my tricks for the Gatekeepers
and I will begin my descent of the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber
and one night
maybe tonight
I will make it all the way
to the bottom
to the Enchanted Wood
and to the Dream beyond
and I won't ever
have to return

Falling Back Screaming...

Tomorrow night, at sundown.

I can't believe it's almost here.  The other end of this beginning.  It's almost staggering, really.  It's very difficult to concentrate on anything else.  And every hour seems to crawl slower and slower, the closer I get to the finish line.

I wish I was happier about it all.  I thought I would be.  I always thought this would be a joyous moment of celebration and triumph.  But I don't feel any of that.  I'm just anxious and worried.  I don't know what about, exactly.  Just fear of the unknown, I guess.  And I'm kinda pissed off, too.  But that's unrelated.  Just getting in the way, and making everything just that much more confusing and difficult.

And disappointed, too.  Because I was looking forward to this so much, and I worked so hard to get here, and it just seems really unfair for me to not be enjoying it now.  I feel like I earned this, bought it with pain and sacrifice, but now in the end I'm not getting my reward.  Just seems wrong.  Fucking cosmic gyp.

But I think I'm looking at it the wrong way.  I've been so obsessed with this moment over the last few weeks, that I've lost my focus.  It's not about this moment.  It was never about this moment.  When I decided to do this one year ago, it wasn't so that I could feel happy when it was all over.  It was about the experience of the past year.  It was about learning, and growing, and earning another opportunity to shape myself to the form that I want.  This moment was inevitable, but it wasn't the point.

I don't need to enjoy this.  Any more than I needed to enjoy the past year.  I just need to do it.

And maybe that's all this is, really:  natural grief over the end of something important to me, something I've spent a significant period of my life focused on, and working toward.  Every ending is also a new beginning of something else.  And grief is a natural response to an ending.  And since I don't know what to expect from this new beginning, there's little joy or excitement about what-comes-next to temper that grief.  And so I just end up feeling sad and anxious, when it seems like I should feel proud and elated.

And the bitter irony of it all is, all this just leaves me feeling like I could really use a drink.

Tech Solace...

I got a wide-screen HD monitor for my work computer today.  It's beautiful, and it makes me happy.

I wish it didn't make me so happy.

I wish I had some other reason to feel that way right now.

Exercise #4 - Painstuck...

why can't i write?

i'm feeling so much and it hurts too much and i can't think of anything to say about it
i can't think of anything to say
not a single goddamned thing and i just want it out out OUT GET THE FUCK OUT OF ME
JUST STOP
just stop just go away and leave me alone
i can't take this it's just too much
i could take it if i could write about it if i could describe it if i could express it but i can't
it's just stuck it's overwhelming it's too big to fit inside my massive body and i feel like i'm going to split open
and i need to get it out but i don't know what it is and i don't know where it is and
i don't know what to say
i don't know how to say it i don't know i don't know i don't know

I hate those words so much.

this is an act of desperation trying to find the pressure-release valve in my mind to find the off button in my chest
each new line like pulling one of my own teeth
just trying to get the words to drain from my fingertips until i'm empty and numb but they won't come
the words won't come
just words about the words but not the words i need just empty useless mute words that laugh in my face
when all i want to do is scream at the top of my lungs GO FUCK YOURSELF
please just go fuck yourself to death and get away from me i hate you so fucking much
still not right still can't write that's not what i need to say just a violent reaction to the words stuck in my throat
oh gods it hurts so fucking much just make it stop just make it stop whatever you want just make it stop
just don't make me say i'm sorry
just don't make me say i'm wrong
just let me keep my pride please just let me keep my pride don't make me humiliate myself just to end the pain

I'm doing this to myself.

you did this to me but i'm doing this to myself because i know how to end it but i won't because

i don't want to
i don't want to pay that price
i'd rather respect myself in agony
than hate myself contentedly
so i'll hate you instead
and torture myself enough
for the both of us

Why?...

We were happy.





God dammit.

Fifty-one Down...

Only one week left.  Just seven days (and three hours) from now, I will have completed one of the most significant accomplishments of my life so far.

I wish I knew how to feel about that.

Blah-urble...

Mondays are always extra busy, and today was worse than usual.  Combine that with no particular inspiration, and I end up with another nothing post about how I have nothing to say.

Bicycle Blurble...

I got nothin' today.  I just wanna go home.

Happy Bicycle Day, everybody.

In Sheep's Clothing...

I love seeing the looks
on the faces of the shopkeepers
in the occult store down the block
sudden surprise
or annoyance
immediately morphing into pleasant
plaster
shop-keep smiles
I don't look like I belong there
they think I'm a tourist
come to gawk at them
or that I'm gift shopping for a
hippie-witch friend
or relative
They have no idea
until I decide to
open my mouth
and tell them what I need
why I'm there
and they hear me use the words
suddenly realize I'm serious
I know what I'm talking about
I know what I'm doing
and they take a step back
and look me up and down
as if to say
Really?
You??

I used to look the obvious occultist
when I was younger
and still learning
passing me on the street
one would've not been at all surprised to learn
that I was a black magickian
Hell
one might've even assumed that
to begin with
just by my outfit
But that was a long time ago
Now to all outward appearance
I could be any other computer nerd
But I'm still a cultist
though a different colour now
I learned the value of
not broadcasting myself
my every intimate personality trait
to anyone who happens to pass me on the street
I learned to pass
as a Normal
as a Mundane
(please don't make me say
"Muggle")
and now no one notices me
I can go about my daily business
and my sorcerous shenanigans
without attracting unwanted attention
without arousing any suspicions
of satanic blood pacts
or virgin sacrifices made
to blind idiot gods
which makes everything so much more
pleasant

But sometimes I forget
that the Me people see
isn't really me
until I see the shopkeeper's face
down at The Magick Box
at Bell, Book, and Candle
at Foxcraft's
at The Crystal Cauldron
or whatever it calls itself today
in this particular town
I'm there to buy a component
some specific mineral
or herb
or root
or ritual tool
or color of candle
required for some particular spell
or sigilization
or pathworking
or ceremony
or casting
Magick is now modern
and so when I need the dried petals
of a rare and deadly Black Lotus blossom
to throw a curse on the drug-dealing thug
who moved in across the street
and keeps threatening my neighbors
for the crime of daring to look
in his direction
I don't need to form an expedition to Tibet
to climb the peak of
the only mountain where it grows
no, I'm an American
other people do the hard work
so I can simply pull out a credit card
and laugh silently to myself
at the look on the shopkeeper's face
that says
What on Earth
does he
want with that??

About To Get Wet...

thirteen days
and I'm feeling unlucky
less than two weeks
until
I break this self-imposed fast
and I don't know
what I'm feeling
anymore
so excited
overly anxious
prematurely proud
afraid
it will all go wrong

I've never wanted
a drink
more than I do right now
and every day
that is true
all over again
how will I feel
with three days to go?
with two?
that first sip of whiskey
might make me cry

what if I can't handle it
what if I get depressed again
what if I lose my creativity
what if I can't write anymore
what if I can write
but I don't want to
what if I can write
and I want to
but I don't feel anything when I do
what if I don't feel anything

I only learned
to express myself
when I stopped
only started to write
when I dried up
so now I'm afraid
dipping my toe back
into that
golden Kentucky spring
could take that all away from me
and I don't know
what I'd do without this
how I'd deal without this
who I'd be without this
joy of
turning inward
feeling around
pulling something out
pouring over it
crafting it
shaping it
until it's just right
and then
casting it out
into the universe
to be its own

if I have to choose
I know what I'll choose
but either way
I'll lose
something
I love
and I won't be
me
anymore

Three-hundred Fifty-one...

Only two weeks left.

Two weeks from today, I will drink a beer.  A Guinness.  In a bottle.  And then I will have a glass of whiskey.  Eagle Rare bourbon, my favorite.  On the rocks, in my favorite glass tumbler.  And who knows what else after that.

I can't tell what I'm feeling.  Something like excitement, but not quite.  Almost anxiety, but not exactly.  Anticipation?  Fear?  Some jumbled soup of them all, most likely.

I want it so badly.  I've never wanted a drink this much in my entire life.  I want a drink right now more than I ever, ever wanted a drink when I actually was drinking.

I feel so proud of myself for actually accomplishing this.

I feel guilty for feeling this way, and I try to suppress it, reminding myself that I haven't actually accomplished anything yet.  I have two weeks left to go.  I can feel proud then.  And celebrate with a drink.

I'm so scared that something bad is going to happen.  That I'm going to go off the deep end and lose control in some way that I never have before.  That I'm going to end up in another of those deep chemical depressions.  That I'm going to lose all of my creativity and desire to express myself.  That I'm going to lose the ability to write poetry.  Or worse, that I'm going to lose the ability to enjoy writing.  I'm scared of some other bad result that I haven't even thought of.

I'm scared of the fact that I don't know what's going to happen.

But I have to find out.

I have to know if I can handle it or not.

I have to find out how else the last year has changed me.

I Require Servitude...

had a minor-league nightmare
last night
thinking I forgot
to pay my taxes
which is so unfair
I did my taxes
almost a month ago
specifically
to avoid
exactly this
Anxiety

waking
this morning
I realized
just how much
I truly
despise
Authority

Subjugation For Spring...

it's all about sex

really

it's always about sex

no matter what else is between us

no matter what our hearts are telling us

what always brings me back

in the end

is the sex
we wrap it up in layers
of beautiful poetry
romantic ideals
but the heart is fickle
and fluid
it waxes and wanes and
wanders and wonders
while the body is constant
consistent
and so simple
the flesh Wants
nothing more
and so in the end
that is all that matters

that I see you every day

every night
can't escape it
even if I really wanted to

maybe it's the curve

of a hip

suddenly exposed

when your pants slip a little too low

maybe it's the sway

of a heavy breast

unconstrained

beneath your loose top

maybe it's the conspicuous
delicious
surreptitious sighting

of a hard nipple

or two

pressing through

your too-thin tee-shirt

maybe it's all your cute

underwear

hanging up to dry

maybe I glimpse you

getting out of the shower

or catch sight of you

getting changed

or you're sleeping nude

above the covers

in the warm still night

I try to avoid it

I try not to see

but you're all around me

I try not to notice

or let myself care

but I can feel your heat
next to me
in our bed

and I want so badly

to warm myself in you
to bathe in you
to luxuriate in you
lingering everywhere

your every curve pulls at me

your body's gravity

drawing me in

ignoring my will

tying me around your waist

to dangle and sway

against your flesh

forever

yours

all ways

Pyrus Calleryana...

where I live
the blooming of the Bradford Pear
is always the first flower of Spring
a tree filled with tiny
bright white blossoms
raining petals like snow
a pastoral picture of seasonal beauty
scene in almost every suburban community
but the flowers give off
a powerful stench
like rotten fruit
or an infected wound
or a diseased crotch
that hangs in the air forever
like a fog of swampgas
I hate the smell of Bradford Pear
it can hit me from a block away
and stay with me for hours
pounding at my sinuses until
I think my head will explode
it overwhelms everything
for the first few weeks
of every Spring
and even though it makes me miserable
and even though I hate it
and even though it stinks all to hell
because it is the first sign of life
the first sign of Spring
every Spring
it always makes me feel
so happy
a delicious pain
reminding me
that I am alive

Eye Heart Trash...

three days in row now
I've seen flowers in the trash
outside of her office
not old flowers
not dead flowers
not cleaning-out-my-valentine's-day-vase flowers
new flowers
blossoming flowers
roses and carnations
all vibrant reds and soft creams and sexual pinks
three days in a row now
each day a new bouquet
blooming from her wastebasket
on the floor outside her office door
adding floral notes to the remains
of her discarded lunch
making her garbage look like
it's gotten dressed up
to go on a date
at the dump
looking like a first-year art student's
commentary on still-life
or on the notion of "romance" 
And I wonder
who hurt her
and how

Filler...

Wanna write.  Can't write.  No inspiration, no time.  No time left.  Wasted it all on work and play.  Got nothin' to say anyway.

Gotta save Expression for some other day.

Want And Will...

I've waited too long for Spring
Last year Winter never came
this year it wouldn't leave
And now I've waited too long for Spring
and now it all feels wrong
We should be halfway to Summer by now
but Spring has only just started
yesterday
was the first day
that we could really feel it
We opened the windows for the first time
since last Summer
and realized how long we'd been holding our breath
And, oh, this morning
it was PERFECT
in our home
The soft yellow light of our star sliding
through the slats covering our open windows
The soft, cool, petal-scented breeze blowing
through our rooms and halls
caressing my skin
I wanted to stay there forever
I've waited too long for this
I need it so badly
I need it to remind me 
that I am alive
and breathing
But I couldn't stay
I had to leave
There are bills to pay
I have to Take Care of Us
I have to work
I can't stay home
just because I want to play at feeling human
It took everything I had
and I stumbled along the way
many times
but eventually
I forced myself to do it
And I put on clothing
that covered my skin
so that I could no longer feel the breeze caressing me
And I closed the windows
to still the air
so that I could no longer smell the soft, petal-scents of Spring
And I closed the blinds
so that I was shut away from our star
and could no longer feel its warmth
or see its soft radiance
And then I stood a moment in the darkness
of our now ruined home
steeling myself again for what I knew
I had to do

In the office today
I could not stop wondering
whether I'm a Hero
or a Fool

Summer Smoke...

dreaming of drinking and grinding up smoke
laid-back and laughing while having a toke
summernight fireflies flash through my head
while i doze through delirium snug in my bed
with summer's lost loves and old friends gathered 'round
we play and we love as the stars settle down
the night sky above paints a portrait of grace
and we lie on our backs and we soar into space
we fly free, we are young, we have nothing to fear
and our latest new love whispers red in our ear
those words we've been waiting forever to hear
and we are back on the earth with our dearest held near
the world's just right now, in our favorite arms
as fingers trace skin, weaving delicate charms
to love and to lust in the grass under sky
open wide to the world and to gods passing by
we sing out our paeans to pleasure and loss
we have yet our whole lives still left to exhaust
and there's nothing for us in this world but our need
each for the other in word and in deed
we roll in the grass and we burn up our hearts
'til we're lost in each other and coming apart
one in the other we dance in our sins
and the juice of all summers drips sweet down our chins
awake in my bed, i was them, now i'm me
and that mythical summer i'm longing to see
now forever is gone, but these visions remain
of a dream of lost love sought forever in vain

Where We Played...

An old beat-up couch
and an antique desk
were the only furniture we had
We slept our first nights together
had our first kiss together
had our first come together
on a plastic air mattress
on the living room floor
The carpet was a thin industrial
floor mat
barely thick enough to keep out the splinters
We hung candles on the walls
and watched them glow
and watched the shadows dance
and let the wax drip spires on the floor
We built an altar
and a playspace of blankets
and quilts
piled high in the corner
by the door
We spent so many hours there
days and weeks all-told
in that corner
on those blankets
in front of our altar
playing
Playing with friends
Playing by ourselves
feeling each other out
figuring each other out
falling in Love
over and over again
and pouring it all into our life together
building it piece-by-piece
shaping it to hold our desires
to hold us together
Later on
all our friends
and family we Loved
would gather around
to watch us swear ourselves to each other
on that same spot
where we played
and Loved
in front of our altar
I can honestly say
I've never been happier
than I was
Loving you then
in the empty home we made together
in the place where we played and Loved
and built our altar

+     +     +

That it's only a memory now
is so bittersweet
So much joy to remember
but remembering only reminds
that those fantastical days are gone
Our altar is just a table now
the blankets packed away in storage
Even that corner of the apartment
where we'd built everything together
is gone
Where we'd made our Love and played
so carelessly and free
now cluttered with piles of boxes
full of junk
accumulated from the years of our lives together
Everything we had no place for
we stacked in the corner
filling in the space
where we used to sit side-by-side
and play
and Love
and weep and sing and dance and scream
until it was gone
until it was lost
and almost forgotten

+     +     +

I won't forget
The memory is all I have left
And even just the ghost of those times
means more to me now
than all the piles of junk
we clutter our hearts with these days
I won't forget
And I won't grieve
and I won't regret
I will remember
and I will Laugh
and I will look into your soft blue eyes
and I will remember how I saw you then
and I will be grateful for all we ever had
because it was so much
though we didn't know it then
So much more
than we ever needed
So much more
than we ever deserved
though we didn't know it then
now I cannot help but see
it was more than enough
More than enough
to fill a lifetime

Transcommute...

view through my windshield
painted on the sky
leaving me staggered
shattered
broken down on the side of the road
never saw it coming
awe-struck dumb and stunned
by the sheer magnitude
of the natural beauty displayed
arrayed through that pane of tempered glass
watercolor pastel palette
a cloud for every hue
soft sunset rays filtered just so
just right
backlighting the backdrop
layer upon layer of clouds
of every shape and size
clouds upon clouds upon clouds
the depth was astounding
as if seeing all three dimensions for the very first time
hundreds of miles away
yet it looked like I could run my fingers through it
and smear it all over

something about that scene
something snapped in me
so suddenly my eyes were filled with salt
so I could no longer see
the glory that had overtaken me
and that I had lost this wondrous sight
only pained me all the more
and I had to stop and sit and stare
because I could not let it go
I couldn't simply pass it by
without a chance to drink it in
and quench my thirst of it
until I had let it wring out of me
every last drop of poison

Exercise #3...

NO

STOP

YOU CAN'T

YOU CAN'T DO THAT TO ME

THAT'S NOT FAIR

I DESERVE BETTER

YOU DON'T GET TO TREAT ME LIKE THAT

YOU'RE WRONG

THAT'S SO WRONG

THAT HURTS

THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH

HOW COULD YOU

HOW DARE YOU

WHY WOULD YOU

WHY

THAT'S NOT RIGHT

DON'T

DON'T EVER

NEVER AGAIN

NEVER

STOP.

And Back Again...

many dreams last night
          strange and powerful
          and so brightly lit
a luxury hotel in the sky
bioshock performance for the crowd
          at a gangsters' award ceremony
sipping whiskey
          and smoking cigarettes
          naked
          in the hotel pool on the rooftop
          with the young playboy billionaire
glass of warmed milk
          waiting for me in my room
          atop a hand-scrawled note
          pleading for mercy
gently lifting the tiny girl from the floor
          where she had fallen
          and laying her down
          on her silk bed
stabbing her with the needle
          to deliver the potion
          that will still her seizures
making passionate
          desperate
          affectionate love
          with my wife
          for hours
in the living room
          in the bright sunlight
          in front of everyone
and back in the bedroom
          in the soft lamplight
          all by ourselves
          just for us

woke this morning
lifted high from Dreaming
back to earth
to the bright sound
through my window
of the first birdsong
of the New Spring
and a new day
and another Me

Missing...

those walls you've built?
those thick stone walls you surround yourself with
to keep you safe
to keep out the pain?
how are they working out?
are you comfortable in that tower all alone?
do you feel safe?
are you free from the hurt?
or does the pain seep in anyways
as cold creeps through cracks
in the mortar?
loneliness an ache in your bones
and a shiver down your spine.
are those walls keeping the pain out?
or are they holding it in?

Life Is Pain, precious.

there is no avoiding that.
not for anyone.
and sacrificing everything
that makes Life worth living
in a futile attempt to avoid
the inevitable
is the worst pain there is.

Climb down, precious.

leave that pointless, pitiful prison you've built for yourself
and don't look back.
don't hide yourself away forever
like some fragile little snowflake.
you'll hurt either way
so why go through it all alone?
there's nothing to be afraid of.
and you have nothing to lose.

Come out and play with us.

Checking In, Clocking Out...

Another wasted post.  Spent my creative time today writing a poem, but then couldn't bring myself to post it.  And now it's time for me to go, and I'm tapped out.  It was hard enough writing that one.  I've got a couple ideas for journal-type posts, but they'd take way too long to write.

Sorry, folks, I fucked up, and now I'm all out of time, energy, and ideas.  I got nothin' left.  Maybe better luck tomorrow.  We'll see how it goes.

It's Almost Later Now...

I've noticed recently that, the closer I get to my one-year-sober anniversary, the more I'm craving a drink.

I haven't had a chance to discuss it here yet, but I am planning to let myself have a drink that day, and see what happens.  If anything.  (Hopefully, nothing will.)  I've always said that I made the decision to be sober for "at least a year," because I didn't want to set a hard-and-fast deadline for it.  I wanted to play it by ear, and do it for as long as I felt it was necessary, and not as long as some arbitrary date I thought was a good idea before I'd even started.  But I also always knew somehow that, by the time I got to this point, unless there was a really compelling reason to extend it, then it was just going to be a year.  Because the fact is, after making it one year, I'm very proud of myself, and I feel that is a really significant accomplishment.  Enough so that I don't feel the need to keep it going indefinitely.  I'm satisfied, for now.  And the other side of that coin, is that it's been difficult, and unpleasant, and I'm really just tired of it, and ready to see what change, if any, this year has bought me.  And the only way to see what effect it has had is to experiment, and see what happens.  So, that's the plan for Walpurgisnacht, 2013.

Anyway, that's a topic that deserves its own entire post, and I've been wanting to get to that for some time now.  But I had to at least mention it here for this post to make sense.  Because as I've been thinking about this upcoming Witches' Night, and planning out what I'm going to do, and how, and why, I've found myself getting really excited.  Wow, it's been almost an entire year!  Only one month to go.  Then I finally get to have a Guinness and a bourbon again.  I can't believe it!  And the more I think about it, and the more excited I get, the more I start to crave it.  Crave it in a way that I haven't craved it for almost the entire year I've been sober.

I don't want to say this year has been easy, but it also hasn't been especially difficult.  There have definitely been some very difficult moments, where I really wanted a drink and had to try really hard to avoid it.  But, by-and-large, on any given day, I haven't had to think about it.  I certainly haven't had to deal with resisting strong cravings on a regular basis.  But as the anniversary day approaches, I'm finding myself doing exactly that.  Knowing that I'm going to finally get to have some again so soon is making me really want some right now.  I'm like a kid at the beginning of December, counting down the days with my advent calendar.  And every day I'm getting a little more excited, a little more anxious, and it's a little harder to resist, and I'm wishing harder and harder that it could just be Christmas already!  

Until recently, the end of this period has always been in some half-formed "future."  Whenever I wanted a drink, I'd just tell myself, "Not now; I'll have one later."  And I didn't have to think about when "later" was.  It was just "later."  But now I can see that "later" quite clearly.  So instead of telling myself, "Not now; I'll have one later," it's become, "Not now; I'll have one in five weeks."  And pretty soon that's going to be, "Not now; I'll have one in a month."  And so on.  And the smaller that number gets, the louder and more insistently some part of me says, "Fuck it!  Close enough."  And then the more energy I need to expend shutting that voice up.  (Because there's no such thing as "close enough."  I'm going to see this through.  I didn't work this hard and this long only to fuck it up right here at the end.)

I didn't anticipate how much simply defining that "later" was going to effect me.  But as soon as it went from Vague to Specific, everything changed.  Such a minute distinction, but it apparently made all the difference.

Lesson learned.

Equal Night...

Twice a year
once for Yin
and once for Yang
We pass the Balancing Point
and hover there for just a moment
hanging in the Black
perfectly perpendicular
aligned with Our Star
Day lasts as long as Night
and Night no longer than Day
We pass this point
and balance on this edge
just as We begin to explode with verdant Life
and then again We balance here
at the other side of Our Revolution
just as We begin to grow cold and die
These Equal Nights are the doorways to Our Two Worlds
light and dark
Life and Death
Yin and Yang
back and forth from one extreme to the other
in Our Endless Revolutions
but always passing through the same
points of Perfect Balance
in one door and out the other
We live and die all the while
swaying to this Eternal Rhythm
and it shapes us
molds us into Who We Are
What We Have Become
And so We hold these Equal Nights as Sacred
Special
Holy
or Magickal
examples of those brief ineffable moments
of Alignment
and Balance
and Perfection
these Equal Nights guide us to seek those moments
within Ourselves
and without
We feel this rhythm
and We see this balance
return again and again
We see it in Our World
and We feel it within Our Selves
and We strive to achieve that perfection
And so do We accomplish
all Our many
Great Things

Wanting...

why don't you want me?
why don't you want me
the way that i want you?
why can't you feel for me
what i feel for you?
is it chemical?
just an accident of genetics?
or is it me?
is it the pills?
or is it me?
Is it something in our environment?
Or is it Me?
Is it the hormones?
Or is it Me?
Is it something in the way you perceive yourself?
Or is it Me?
Is it pathology?
OR IS IT ME?
Is it just a lack of empathy?
OR IS IT ME?
Is it the drugs?
OR IS IT ME?
IS IT SOMETHING ABOUT US?
OR IS IT JUST ME?
IS IT SOMETHING I DID?
OR IS IT JUST ME?
IS IT JUST A FACT OF GETTING OLDER?
OR IS IT ME?
IS IT JUST A MATTER OF TIME?
OR IS IT ME?
IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO?
OR IS IT JUST ME?
IS IT ME?
OR IS IT ME?
IS IT ME??
OR IS IT JUST ME?!!



please don't say
it's not you
again
i can't hear it anymore
because it is me
I am the thing
that you
don't want
not like that
not in that way

not so close

always at arms' length

no closer

because that is where

you want me

Band-aid Blurble...

Still crazy busy.  It's rare that I'm actually tired after a day of work; even when I've got a lot to do, my job just isn't that difficult for me.  But I'm working really hard, and really fast, and I can feel that's taken it out of me today.  And I'm not even one-tenth of the way through this task yet.

Don't look up the hill.  Just keep your head down and keep climbing.

I'm going to need to find some time to write soon here, though, or I'm going to start getting depressed.  It hasn't started to bother me yet, but I know it will, and that makes me anxious.  Every day I don't write feels like I'm doing something wrong; like I'm doing something bad that I know will make me sick if I keep it up.

Saying that here helps, but it's a band-aid, at best.  It's not a cure.

Selling My Time...

No time to write today, but at least it wasn't my fault this time.  Got assigned to a project that needs a lot of work done but doesn't have a lot of money, so they need me to do everything ASAP and without charging a bunch of hours, or else they'll go over-budget.  So I need to just put my head down and concentrate on doing this work as quickly and efficiently as possible to avoid fucking up the entire project.  And that doesn't leave me time for a lot of other things like surfing the web or checking email; or writing bad poetry.

Coming Home Again...

That sound
that instantly unforgettable sound
so alien in this setting
the garden in front of my home
but absolutely unmistakable
like hooks in my ears
pulling me toward it
no resistance
couldn't if I tried
half grunt
half moan
all hot need
rhythmic
repetitive
Uhh... uhh... uhhhh!
warm Spring day
one of the first of the season
her windows open
she doesn't care
or maybe she likes knowing
her naked lust echoes across the courtyard
for anyone to hear
oh, gods the things she is saying!
screaming out her climax
crying out for his
telling him where she wants it
telling him where to put it
I'm suddenly dizzy
losing my grip on the earth
heart racing too fast
palms beginning to sweat
mouth going dry
overwhelmed
overcome
pummeled by emotions from every direction at once
lust of the voyeur certainly
but also anxiety
          this is wrong
and fear
          what if someone sees me
and shame
and guilt

And jealousy
and sadness
I wish I could have what she has
I wish I could be him
and I know that will never happen
not for me
not anymore
those days are long dead
cold ash in the ground

As her hot screams
soften to moist sighs
and my lust sours into grief
the hooks evaporate
forgotten
and I turn my back to the strangers' intimate sounds
and crawl home

Alone In The Bathhouse...

alone in the bathhouse

i have the pools

hot cold warm herbal

all to myself

lying in the warm pool

water just about body temp

ninety-eight point six

i lay myself down

and let myself drown

a moment

lost in the gentle un-feeling of wet

ninety-eight point six

as it was in the beginning

only to rise again

back to the surface

through the membrane

into the light

into new life

and float

free

and gone

no sensation

weightless

perfectly balanced

only sound the muted

th-thump

th-thump

th-thump

of my slowed heart beating

in my drowned ears

the dull steady rhythm of life

eyes closed

floating

lost in dark nothing

lulled away by the pulse of creation

floating forever free

gone

gone

gone beyond

gone utterly beyond

form and function left behind

anchors in the warm water

tethering me to some distant memory of existence in

ninety-eight point six

letting go

letting it all go

drifting away

Neighbors...

Walking home from my appointment at dusk.  Walking down my street, in my neighborhood, on my block.  Group of kids in front of me, walking slowly, taking up the sidewalk.  I walk around them, between the parking meters and the parked cars.  Passing the tiny girl up front, she yells at me, "You best say 'escuse me!'  I got kids here!  An' you don't say 'escuse me??'"  I hadn't bumped into her.  Hadn't touched her at all.  Her kids, a boy and girl about five or six years old, were on the other side of her from me; I was nowhere near them.  She hadn't had to so much as move an inch to avoid me at all.  I had simply walked around her.  And now she's angrily demanding an apology from me, as if I had done something inexcusably rude.  Never in my life has anyone ever said "excuse me" for simply walking past me.  For bumping into me, or getting in my way, certainly.  But not for simply walking by.  Nor has anyone in my entire life ever expected me to excuse myself or apologize simply for walking around them.  She's deliberately provoking me.  And I don't understand why.  I haven't done anything wrong.  But I'm suddenly very aware that each of these kids is black, and I am white.  And this confrontation we're having is our neighborhood, to the core.  This is our home.

I've lived in my neighborhood for over fifteen years now.  This girl staring me down with angry eyes looks to only be about twenty, give or take five years.  It's possible that I was living here before she was even born.  I went to school in this neighborhood when I was a child.  I feel like this is as much my home as hers.  But she has no way of knowing this.  This has been a traditionally black neighborhood for over a hundred and fifty years.  Back then, it was the Freemen's quarter; the first people to settle on this particular piece of ground were freed slaves.  This has been a black neighborhood from the very first brick.  But a few years ago, it started to get very, very gentrified.  Rich, white developers came in and swooped up cheap properties, fixed them up with marble counter-tops and hardwood floors and halogen track lights.  Sold them to rich, white hipsters who wanted to live close to the burgeoning downtown bar scene.  Back then, I was the only white person living in my apartment complex.  Developers bought it and turned it into a condo.  We all got letters saying we needed to buy our apartments or find someplace else to live.  I bought mine.  Everyone else left.  And since then the neighborhood has been this uneasy mix of poor black living side-by-side with rich white.  And I've seen it.  Seen exactly this happening before.  But this is the first time I've experienced it myself.  She doesn't know me anymore than I know her.  We're both making assumptions about each other.  She has no way of knowing that I went to school around the corner, or that I've lived on this block my entire adult life.  All she sees is another doughy white, nerdy-looking hipster who had the fucking nerve to walk too close to her without showing her proper respect.

Things escalate very quickly.  "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to be rude.  I just walked around you."  "You best watch who you talkin' to 'for I smack yo' fat ass!"  There's no good way to respond here.  What am I supposed to do?  Fight these kids?  Let them beat me up?  Why?  So they can feel better about themselves?  So I can feel better about feeling better than them?  And there's clearly no reasoning with someone who, within a matter of seconds, is willing to resort to threats of physical violence with someone twice her size for something as minor as stepping around them.  Talking about it any further is clearly pointless.  There's no reasoning with a bully.  I learned that lesson the hard way, long ago.  No choice but to simply end this as quickly and quietly as possible.  I turn and walk away.  To more taunts and threats thrown at my back.  Victory cheers for having driven out the interloper, the outsider.  For having proved her strength and dominance to the rest of the tribe.  For having earned back the respect I somehow stripped her of by walking past her.  I'm instantly ten years old again.  On the playground again.  Having my dignity stolen by a pack of fifth grade delinquents again.  Being called "fat ass" again.  Feeling like an outcast again.  Feeling scared again.  For the first time in fifteen years, I feel scared in my own neighborhood.  For the first time ever, I feel like this isn't my home, and never will be.  I will never be welcome here.  I let them make me feel like an outsider in my own neighborhood.  I let these kids make me feel scared in my own home.  I don't feel like I had any choice.  And there's some part of me that feels I deserve it.

Quitting Time...

Time got away from me today.  Too much to do on a shortened day.  Now I have to leave early to make an appointment back home.  Wish I'd made time to write something.  Feel like I fucked up.  Feel like I wasn't paying attention, and ended up accidentally hurting myself as a result.

Aged...

I dreamt of drinking whiskey
first sip
favorite brand
dry for a year
now wet again
felt the weight of the glass in my hand
heard the ice tink against the sides
as it sloshed around in warm amber glow
held it under my nose and
inhaaaaaled
noseful of vapor burn
so wonderful
so familiar
comforting as a favorite old t-shirt
woodsmoke and caramel and corn
county fair
harvest festival
excited heart racing
time to do it
break the seal
break the spell
I cast on these lips last Witches' Night
ember sparks the tip of my tounge
and fire spreads down
my throat
and out
to my limbs
and through
my whole being
dopamine rush of
ohmyfuckinggods
and I know this is the single greatest thing
I have ever put in my mouth
and I know I was born to do this
and I wake up
thirsty

Exercise #2...

Let me in
Let me inside
I need to get inside of you
It hurts so much out here
Feels too much out here
Outside of you
Inside of myself
All by myself
Everything would be okay again
And I would know my place again
If you would just let me in
Let me inside of you
Let me sleep inside of you
Let me dream inside of you
Let me lose myself
And find myself
And remake myself inside of you
Where everything is warm
And everything is Love
Where all I am is gone
And all we are is one
Where everything began
And all my futures end
Where all that's broken now
Does our motion gently mend
Where we are all we need
And nothing matters more
Where all I have I give to you
And whispered wishes roar
It's not too late
Please seal my fate
My doom in you
Don't hesitate
Just let me in
Invite me in
To live and die
And forever abide
Inside
Inside

Winter? What Winter?...

I took the day off
for a storm that never came
Fucking weathermen


I'm too tired to write a poem today, unfortunately.  That's the best I could do.  Sorry.

For three days now, the local media has been nothing but coverage of this huge Winter storm we were supposed to get yesterday.  Up to a foot of snow was forecast.  It felt too warm for snow to me, but what did I know?  All the meteorologists were saying the same thing:  expect a huge, crippling snowstorm on Wednesday.

I was looking forward to it, honestly.  We've only had two tiny snowfalls this year, adding up to less than two inches, total.  It always felt like Winter was just around the corner, almost here, any day now.  And then, all of a sudden it was March, and the weather was warm and wet and smelling like the beginnings of new life, and I realized that Winter had never really arrived at all.  And that made me sad; I like Winter.  Just last Saturday night, I said to Her, "I wouldn't mind one more, big snowfall."  And now it seemed that just a few days later, Mother Nature was granting my wish.  So we prepared to take the day off work and hunker down together to have a relaxing, romantic snow-day.

But it never happened.  Twelve hours after the snow started to fall, we had about two inches on the roofs of houses, but that's it.  It wasn't even sticking to the parked cars, much less the sidewalks, much less the roads.  But the forecasters were still saying to expect up to ten inches in our area before the storm tapered off sometime that night.  And then the snow stopped altogether.  But the forecast didn't change.  Then it started to rain, and the little bit of snow that had accumulated on the rooftops began to melt.  But the experts were still saying we would be getting six inches before it was all said and done.  And once all the snow had melted, even the rain stopped.  And then the storm passed over, hours before "they" said it would, and we got a peek of sunset, just before it got dark.

Ever since, the local media has been filled with explanations and excuses for how they could've gotten it so wrong.  The entire region, including large portions of the federal government, shut down yesterday, not because of a crippling snowstorm, but because of the promise of a crippling snowstorm.  A storm that never came.

I was really disappointed.  I still am.  I felt cheated.  I was really looking forward to that experience.  And I feel like I've been waiting for it for years now.  Two years ago we had three major snowstorms, two of them blizzards.  Ten times the amount of snow we usually get.  But we've barely had any snow at all since then; only about three inches total over the last two years.  Which is ten times less than the amount we usually get.  I haven't even gotten my winter coat out of storage the last two Winters; I haven't needed it.  Where the hell has my Winter gone?  When will it come back?  Will it come back?!  I miss it.  I miss the snow.  And I'm tired of waiting for it.  I'm tired of expecting it and never getting it.  I'm tired of Winter disappointments.

Wah wah wah.  Sorry.  Spring's almost here, though, and that's always wonderful.  I'll start trying to look forward to that, instead.

In preparation for Spring, I shaved off my beard and mustache.  I was getting bored with the look, and annoyed by having all that hair on my face.  But now I don't recognize this moon-faced twenty-year old I see in the mirror, and it keeps freaking me out.  I always find that experience rather exhilarating.

Another thing I've been very aware of lately, is that the coming of Spring means hitting my one-year-sober anniversary.  It's less than two months away now.  That's really exciting, for a lot of reasons.  It's also scary for a lot of reasons.

But that topic is a whole post (and probably a few poems) in-and-of-itself, and this one is long enough as it is.  Maybe next time.

A Meadow In March...

Early Spring snowfall
dusts late Winter bloom
crystalline fractals piling gently
all around
to rest upon vibrant petal
leaf
stem
and ground
The field now
a riot of pixelated color
struggling to be seen under
blank canvas tarp of
Winter's last throes
Portrait of Nature's perfect balance
Yin meeting Yang
flowing together
each becoming the other
flower melts snow into water flowing into flower
demonstration of Tao
in this limbo-time between the seasons
that is no longer Winter
and not yet Spring
when the Universe gives lessons
to remind us that
there is no such thing as 
"impossible"

Other Words...

I love this song
but I want it to leave my brain
Go away!
Get the fuck out!
Leave me in peace!
Be quiet!
For fuck's sake
I have something I need to say
but I can't say it
with this song in the way
The same fifty words
the same catchy beat
over and over
looping through my mind on an
endless rotation
I'm feeling something slightly
complicated
that I need to express
to try and get out of me
but I can't find the words
beyond the lyrical wall blocking my path
And even if I could
even if I knew the words
I couldn't lay them out
couldn't string them together
couldn't find the flow or the rhythm
because all I can feel is the beat
that someone else created
pounding in my head
I'm infected
and I need to get clean
Someone else's art is interrupting mine
and I need to banish it
to wherever lost art goes
so that I can find myself again
hear myself again
so that the voice echoing through my mind
will be mine again

Thaw...

the air touching my skin was noticeably warmer this week

and today is the First of March

and people are beginning to talk about Daylight Savings Time

and there's that familiar excitement in my chest again

the Spring butterflies returning to my stomach

every time I smell the electric ozone scent of

growth

energy

power

life

carried in the warm, wet breeze blowing from the west

it's the chill down my spine

and the recurring gooseflesh

anxiously awaiting all the unknown

possibilities

opportunities

drifting in on the wind

every day it seems the Sun changes color a little more

shading from the hazy white-blue hue of Winter

toward the bright hot yellow-orange fireball of Summer

and I swear I can taste that color shift with my skin

licking it up

cat bath of photons

drinking it down

sunlight pouring straight into me as

endorphin

serotonin

dopamine

adrenaline

altering my basic chemical makeup

transforming

regrowing

my Self

coming back to life

waking the fuck up

waking the world up

I can feel it

I know it's time to move again

time to run again

time to drift again

time to dance again

time to fuck again

time to kiss again 

time to drink again

time to feel again

feel these things again

feel awake and excited and anxious and nervous and alive again

I can feel all of it beginning right now

with every new sensation when I step outside

I feel the familiar twitch of that little seed growing in the center of me

stronger each day

getting ready to burst