Mommies and Daddies

Is warmth familiarity?
Well,
For dear life and
Devout certainty,
The icy cold knows how
To hold me.

Like my airborne father
In his blaze of glory.

Is love empathizing?
To feel,
In infinite nerve
The world’s distressing
As if it’s me that hate’s
Caressing.

Like my moon-mad mother,
And her curses wrapped in blessing.

What’s In My Purse — MAN Edition!

This is an ironic gesture towards all the ladies out there who center entire blog posts around this very subject.

It’s not a purse, damn it. It’s a gas mask bag.

So what kind of shit do I haul around with me? Pointless shit, that’s what.

A picture’s worth a thousand uninteresting words.

There you have it. I have shared my most intimate treasures. Surely now you know me better than you did before.

Little Pills

Love’s a narcotic
Under flashlight
Test.
Little pills
That she keeps
In a locket
On her breast,
And at dusk
They’re by her bed,
Just enough
To keep me wanting
When the dawn
Breaks free.
Those little pills
Dance symbiosis
In a darkness
No one sees.

Allow me to reiterate how awful my phone camera is. No zoom or even flash. I only had one moment to get this shot. I’m getting a new camera in November when my check comes in. Meanwhile I can pretend my photography skills aren’t to blame.

Questions

Am I living
Or daydreaming
Just to pass the time?
Is this truth
Or am I dining
On more self-inflicted lies?
Perhaps this
Is my escape
While I’m being burned alive;
Or a drowning
Sea of questions
I’m unable to descry.

. . . And Rising . . .

It’s been nearly two weeks for me without any form of delusions or hallucinations. I can hardly believe it. It all seems too good to be true.
I was never able to trust reality. Without the ability to discern from illusion, I simply shrank away in defense. I cut myself off from it all; the real and unreal; both concepts practically indistinguishable from my little stronghold of insanity.
Now I share a world with the sane. I feel a part of it; and not a broken one either. Perhaps dysfunctional as far as society is concerned, but perfectly me. The healthy version of me. Content. Unafraid.

I believe I know where my aversion to spirituality originates, and it’s all based around my disease. In the past, any time I’ve seen, heard, or felt something I could deem ‘god’, well, that was my cue that I’d really gone off the deep end. Such an obvious indication that I feared it with a vengeance. Even moreso if I allowed myself to be deluded; to believe. In the end it’s all turned out to be bullshit, denial, and pure insanity.
That, my friends, is why I do not seek god. Sadly I find the whole concept inseparable from madness. Maybe that can change, though it must be slowly. I’m only now reacquainting myself with normalcy. I’ve got to get a good foothold before I go chasing after divinity. But, it is a possibility in my future.
Not that I’m going to start regularly attending church and praying before bed and every meal. But I am a human being, and like others, I need something I can trust. Something with my interests in mind and the power to save me; to lead me to my destiny.
Though maybe, that something has always been, and always will be me.

–A wolf in sheep’s clothing

Lotus Flower of Mine

You can get through this.
You can be free,
I know you can.

I’ve seen it in my dreams
A thousand times
For a thousand nights.

You can rise up
From the filth and the muck.
Untouched by the world
Mind unsullied by luck.

I’ve seen you do it,
An infinite times.
Don’t be afraid,
Lotus flower of mine.

---

(This one came to me in the shower. I quickly emerged soaking wet to transcribe it. These are the poems that disappear as quickly as they appear in my head. I’m not claiming it’s a masterpiece, but it was certainly easy to write.)

Bad Lines

Life.

Newly arranged
Into polka-dot line.
A bad verse
From a book,
Or a first date.
Straight as arrow
Arcing to create
New orifice in prey.

Where are my curves?
Where did my Zig-
Zag swingset go?

Where are those intersects
When the words would flow?

Not here, that’s fo sho.

Crystalline

Briley has turned me into a Bjork fan, and this song is uniquely amazing. I do prefer the remixes over the originals for this album as they tend to have more of a beat behind them.
Here are the lyrics:

Underneath our feet
Crystals grow like plants
I’m blinded by the lights
In the core of the earth

Crystalline (x3)
With our hearts
Crystalline
We kiss all quartz
Crystalline
To reach them
Crystalline

Crystalline (x3)
With our thoughts
Crystalline
We kiss all quartz

Crystalline
To reach love
Crystalline

Listen how they glow (x4)

Crystalline
Internal nebula
(crystalline)
Rocks growing in slow mo
(crystalline)
I conquer claustrophobia
(crystalline)
And demand the light

Internal nebula
(Crystalline)
Rocks growing in slow mo
(Crystalline)
I conquer claustrophobia
(Crystalline)
And demand the light

It’s the sparkle you become
When you conquer anxiety

Looking Up, From Above

I’ve finally decided that the first word on my about page should no longer be ‘schizophrenic’. Therefore I’ve changed it. My disease no longer has the power to define me. However small a gesture, I see this as another step towards being well and living a relatively normal life while still writing some pretty fucked up poetry.
So, no bad news out of me this morning.

Carry on . . .