think i had a psychotic episode today.
i don’t know for sure.
it was while i was driving.
what i do know is that the fear and terror that i felt was as bad as it has ever been
terror and fear so huge that it overtakes everything
but there was no pain
no physical pain to be afraid of
just the fear that always accompanies it
no looming precipice in front of me
nothing different about the day.
what i do know is that approaching ten thirty this morning
while i was driving
while i was driving i was filled with overwhelming dread
i mean serious fucking dread like a tornado sky out of the clear blue.
arguing with myself over what to do
really, i mean come ON wtf
look at the complete lack of signal
how much further now? not much
i pulled over as soon as it was safe enough
hazards on, music on
into the deep we go
i had to tell someone what to do, it became clear.
i pulled over, made a short video.
said what i needed to say
that i am okay
(i do not believe that for a second FUCK no but i don’t understand what’s happening, either)
my phone pin.
my master password.
again that i am okay but i need to tell, i need to say.
so no one is sitting there with my dead hand in theirs trying to get into my phone
the way i did.
the way i had to.
i have no plans.
only the nearly ever-present need to fight to stay connected to the earth.
(more later, i promise. i’m fucking tired.)
i did my job today.
i did my job well, today.
it was non stop and busy and there were too many people and now i am
and now i am sitting barefoot on my couch
too overwhelmed by everything to want any noise near me
the noise inside my head, also nonstop
the pain in my hip from not resting but for ten minutes, nonstop
shoulders, tense, up around my ears
hot tears fall, splashing my lenses
i can barely breathe.
I look at this
it looks like a cookie
i wanna eat it
I look at this and I think you might have liked it.
Like really liked it.
It has that stone boulder-type look that you loved
you made your file folders and icons all have it
It has that riveted, homemade robot-type look to it
that wonky, wabi-sabi ancient technology look.
something you could have unearthed on a dig
or found in our backyard, sticking half-up out of the dirt.
You can see my fingerprints in it, for now.
You can see the literal hand of the artist.
The linen cloth I use to protect both surfaces
above and beneath.
I had to come forward this far.
I had to come forward this far
to make something I truly think you would like.
I think so much that you would like it.
but why am I trying so desperately to please my dead husband?
i don’t think love ever dies, not by itself, no.
I think you can kill it.
rather, I think it can die, but it has to go down violently.
Sometimes it can be so sudden,
like a switch,
and it’s gone, vanished.
Other times it lingers,
hangs on longer than is healthy.
making its presence known
Taunting, but there is no smile, no joke, no closure.
Not regret, no.
That’s the confusing part.
As angry as I am, still
As angry as I am I know that it was good
Not enough to stay.
Not enough to keep ignoring my own self.
Not enough for who I am now.
Not enough for who I have Become.
728p 8 september 2020
i do not want to be alive right now
i want to be not here right now
i do not want anything other than to not fucking exist right now
but i can’t write that and post it now because
everyone will freak the fuck out
so i cant post it
i cant reach out
i cant scream
i cant tell anyone
i just have to not do anything
not do anything
not do anything
just sit with this and struggle and scream inside my own head and not do anything nothing nothing nothing
it is all i can do to sit and type
and the stench of that motherfuckers cigarillo is in my fucking apartment
and all i want to do is punch him in his fucking dumb face
nothing i cannot do a thing
i will scream and scream and scream and not stop and i cannot stop i have to do nothing.
i know if i open my mouth i will scream and scream and not stop so i dont
my shoulders are tense and around my ears and tight
this empty this noise
this noise this noise this noise
there is no enjoy there is not any enjoy.
i need to smoke.
i need to smoke but it does not last
my plant is so thirsty she needs so much attention i cannot give her the attention the care she needs she is suffering.
i take great big gulps of air but it is not enough there is not enough air..
i am going to go smoke and maybe it will be enough
if i just smoke enough
nothing is enough
my brain is on fire and falling into a crevasse
there is no end to the fire no bottom in sight
it is a relatively quiet evening
even with the idiotic clapping of some fucking asshole for some fucking reason
even with the assault of garbage music that competes with blasting television noise
no yeti-footed neighbor upstairs
(took his black-and-tans and split)
stop with the fucking clapping for fuck’s sake already
i don’t want music
i don’t want noise
i want silence
my eyes are dry, for now
core unclenched, shoulders still tight, but lower
i can think about packing a bowl now
try without becoming frustrated, fucking it up
easy to do in general, yes but nothing is easy and if that asshole doesn’t stop clapping soon
fuck i am exhausted.
You need to stop what you’re doing and listen to what’s linked below. A love poem to New York by Roger Cohen called “I Forgive You, New York”.
I’d had to stop listening to it when it first aired; too painful. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past fifty-two years, it’s that painful things can’t be avoided forever. I’ve learned how to lean into the pain, breathe through it, adding potsmoke as often as necessary, let it untangle, unsnarl. To understand that not everything that happens is meant to be understood. That in itself has been infuriating, frustrating, obliviating. That even though I am hurt, hurting, in pain. That even though, I can’t be sure that I will ever know why. That I can’t compel the answer. That nothing I can do, no innate power of mine is enough, no existing love and care and kindness is enough, that I have to accept that I may never know. Because even if I went against my nature, blew shit up, caused a lot of unhappiness past my own, that not even that would be a sure thing. And that so many more people would get hurt for nothing.
So I can only appeal to better natures to tell me. I can only be hopeful that better natures exist and that I have not been completely misled for so long.
And if that is the case, then I really, really need to be gentle with myself. Because learning that painful a lesson is going to take a long time to absorb.
you dearest, sweetest man.
sweet and seeing my sweetness
nothing hidden, not even in the beginning
because friends don’t lie
Friends don’t hide things from each other.
I don’t want ours to be the kind of relationship where we hide things from each other.
no matter what they are.
there is nothing you can tell me that I will not hear.
you only have to tell me.
it’s all I ever ask for.
there is so much to talk about, always.
so much to share, to discuss.
it is this part that I miss the most, the talking
the hashing over
the intricate and meandering conversation.
I love listening to the sound of your voice,
your passion obvious and enchanting
as we talk about everything, and nothing
although nothing is nothing, is it.
finally a spate of cooler weather of breezy
easy-breezy chicken francese
head less on fire
brain, still convoluted and badly tangled, untangling.
thoughts racing and tangled more, faster
I don’t know less what?
Less rage, more anger.
Less fury, more sadness, and disappointment.
Less fire, more ice.
There is no
“what did I do to deserve this?” or
“I didn’t do anything to deserve this”
Those thoughts begin to bubble up and are stopped at the first word.
No. I say no.
I will not begin to embody those thoughts.
This has nothing to do with me.
Not ever again.
it has gone on so long now that there is no coming back.
there is no balm,
no quiet murmured assurance,
no comforting touch that will ever, ever save me.
Not from this.
I thought I knew you.
I suppose I do.
You know what you have lost.
I see now what I have gained.
1019p 16th august, 2020
where did you come from?
(out of nowhere, out of time)
you are at the same approximate place
in space and time
I have proof that time travel exists.
I do. It does.
His time ran out.
Ours is beginning.
I have learned so much along the way here
To you, to here, to now.
I have learned enough to be able to show you the way
for it seems you are ready to learn.