Of a Feather

Today,
The mockingbird explained
How not to be afraid.
The hawk
Soared high
When I asked for a sign.
The egret has shown
How to stand on my own.
And I never believed I could fly.

Til I died.

Looking Back

Looking back, mediocrity
Was an illusory allusion.
I see now, all the times,
When life turned and
began to rhyme.
Little winks of light from
Some penultimate sway.
I could sit here and count
Those secret rhymes
all day.
Everything must matter
For what’s rendered in only
Invisible way.
Preventative measures and
Sunken treasures I find,
I exist for today while
The darkest maze
Lights up and
Finally
Unwinds.

Lucky Numbers can’t Lie . . . Right?

Well, good morning to you all. It’s been a chilly night. Some mornings I awaken and say, “I wonder how many followers I’ll be scaring off today?”

I slept like a fucking stone. Yesterday morning–after taking my actual prescribed dose of lithium which is twice what works well enough for me–I woke around four and the area around my liver was sore as all hell. It had the be the medication. I haven’t had a drink in years and even then, I’ve never had such pains before.
I didn’t let myself get too incredibly worried as I was going to the doctor to get my blood lithium levels checked later that morning. By the time I arrived the pains had stopped–thank god–but I let him know what had happened. On top of lithium levels I got my kidney, thyroid, and liver functions checked out. Now I’m just waiting on them to call me with my results.

Now I’m praying they don’t call me and say “Stop taking that Lithium! It’s destroying your body!”
This is the the singular medication that’s actually worked well for me. I’ve probably tried over twenty different kinds of anti-depressants and anti-psychotics in the past few years alone. I’m afraid that without this stuff I’ll be nothing more than that pitiful creature I was before. Melancholic at best. Fucking desperate and murderous more often than not. Hallucinations screaming in my ear. Vibrating my ear drum. Shooting down that labyrinthine tunnel in my head. Fuck!

I’m hopeful, though. Contrary as it may seem as far as hope goes, I’m sensitive in the area around my stomach. Back in the day when I would smoke weed like a motherfucker my goddamn spleen would hurt all the fucking time. No doctors believed me because, upon a physical exam and some blood work I’d be told that everything seems fine.
So, just because my shit hurts it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s been damaged. I must have super-sensitive nerves down there. Briley told me I have weakness in my solar plexus chakra. I never even told her about my past and present problems. That did catch me off guard a bit.

Another reason I have hope would be my lucky numbers. Or at least, my numbers. They’re 0, 1, 3, 7, and sometimes 9. They’re certainly not unlucky as I haven’t experienced anything awful where those numbers are involved–at least, nothing awful that didn’t turn out to be a blessing in disguise.
Yesterday while I was waiting in the exam room I was looking back over my discharge papers and noticed my bar-code number. (Yes, you get a fucking bar-code in that place now.)

ACC3071397

It was a pleasant detail I hadn’t noticed before.
And so I’ve decided I’m not going to worry unless a phone call happens to reveal that I should. I just hold a slight concern for now is all.

Briley is coming over today. Finally! I had to go all of yesterday without seeing her, though we did text back and forth like teenage girls. I’m a giddy teenage girl today.

— Giddy and Hopefully me

On the nature of Symbols

Superstitions thrive in the late night hours. Omens can appear at any time. Long before man could read or write he strove to learn the language of nature…to perceive her inscrutable pages. Now reduced to another twist in our Deeply Neurotic Aura. Primal. Instinctual. That section of brain awoken by fear.

Needless to say, I live in the spirit of signs and delusions…semiotic allusions. Paranoid schizophrenia. I’ll bet that some of you, are paranoid too. Standing on a cliff. The rest too sedated to notice. Analogies and metaphors screaming for a name.

Is nature an extensions of our minds? or are our minds an appendage of nature? Do they share whispered secrets across wide open spaces? Or has she long since fled from our sights; leaving us in a silence so desolate, so absolute, there’s no choice but to pit our own shadows up against a blackness too dark to identify them as what they are. Our selves. Our lies and our own mythical faeries and slavering devils. 

I don’t know. And I can’t recall my original point. 

But the deer would sooner trample me than lead me to any new adventure. 

–ⒿⓉ