Resurrection, Warrior

I simultaneously feel like I’m dying and resurrecting

But the turnout for the show’s not great

I recurrently forget what I was th-h-h-h-inking.

High. Higher than Mount Everest (why is it spelled that way?)

Beyond the breeze

Gentle mist

Ahhh—the crest of your chest bounces

As demons take shape in the land

Never abandon

Never forget

Party on, warrior(!)

Everyone in My Family is Doing Something

My mother is shopping for a house

Which two of her sons will finance,

Father is sleeping, recovering from his disease and a job,

Brother the middle is working on crypto,

Brother the youngest is in his room, being secretly productive,

And I am working on a novel with a friend.

 

The family is doing things, and we’re all a part of the story of our lives.

My Voice

The sarcasm in my “uh-huh”s

Whether I intend it or not

The sadness in my “sure”s

Accepting things

 

The emotion in my voice is not foretold in any story of my history

But who wrote about me? Anyway, I just want to go on a walk most of the ti m  e .  .  .

Dad’s on Vacation

We’re not waiting for dad to go home

He’s on vacation in Kiev

Whoa, hum this tune with me, dad

I can’t hold all the boulders back without a wall

Hinder me, set me free

Who, hum this tune with me, dad

 

We’re in line for the rollercoaster

Whoa, it could run us over

On the streets, in the sheets, while we weep and eat cereal

At the breakfast table,

It could run us over, whoa

 

Night time and I’m two steps behind the work call

Rhythm and trance in my mind to set up’;–

Set up, let go, set up set up setup–

 

Another summer, all drenched and cleanly

Solemn summon and a hint of licorice, whoa

Don’t blow me over, I’m just your only candle, whoa

Don’t send me your bombs in the post, I’m just a lonely runner, whoa

Allsores

Gala, soft spot fer her

Yep, right in between thousands of bicycles

I guess some people think it sounds better live

Yep, there’s a glitch right on the computer’s screen

Letting through the bits and filtering out the wit

I’m a whore, dumping this misogyny on the world

You know me, we dance and we let out some steam

Then the clean things say, “Louder, louder”

And I forget, the world forgets, me-me-me

 

I lived with my family for the years

In the same house, they were years wasted

We could have been in love

And laughing

But time holds no bias for how you spend it

We could have rode bicycles

We could have rode bicycles

 

There’s an unused piano and a drum set in the garage

Downstairs, yeah, that’s where we go to smash

That’s where wo go to make a ruckus

No disdain in these eyes, in this heart, only capability

 

Soft spot, yeah, for them all, but F–could’ve lasted longer

Hell, could’ve had fun

But that’s just how it is

The closest to you are hardest to love and you’ll know that someday

So don’t go on vacation with your sister, man

You know it, eye-sore, yeah, you know the stain on the retina

Chaos, Utter Chaos of a Blog Post

Well no one seems to be sustaining the party or doing the heavy lifting tonight (but bless you all working on books, blogging about travel and gardening, mysticism and magick, the plethora of things you do–so wonderful), just on my feed I mean, in my opinion, nothing is quite for me.

So here I am. Doing it myself.

Here’s the thing.

I might have…

Something.

SOmething.

 

Nothing.

 

Okay well nevermind. I just never really have anything to talk about. So much is off-limits. I don’t know what to say. My finances are in check. I even started budgeting, never mind that I practically have enough savings for the deposit on a new house. I’m so financially responsible it hurts. Well, not that financially responsible; it doesn’t actually hurt.

Hidden in this, somewhere, must be some meaning that I’m just not seeing.

Sorry, there was a implicit change of topics there.

“No one’s holding you back.”

 

That’s the obvious thing to say. Innit.

Well.

You know what I think about that, if you know me half at all.

 

Chess: For analysis. Not a fun game. Brutal, failure feels terrible. Chest pain. Pressure. It’s not an overdose.

What am I talking about. I’m drifting off. Segues. On the road. On the blog paper. What is blog paper? I wish they made it. They = the market. The market = commerce section of society.

Maybe it exists in some country. I don’t know all the countries. Interesting thought on my evening walk earlier tonight: I’m just doing everything wrong. No, sorry, that was an interjection without the appropriate punctuation. I just had to get it out. What I meant to say was: Well now I forgot. That, too, was an interjection without the appropriate punctuation. Oh me. What do I ever do. What do I ever do.

I haven’t the slightest.

But you know; and you know; and you know.

Three’s the magick number.

But for loss of words, there isn’t much in the blogosphere.

Not that I’m bashing.

But there’ it could be much more personal. And it’s already helluv friendly, but it could be much… well, more. Unless my illness really is a psychotic paranoid dystopian world enforced upon me with no traceability back to reality whatsoever.

Man. I don’t want to.

Mmmm. Hmmm. Right. Now. so..

To continue:

And then:

 

So:

 

Okay okay okay. I don’t know. I’m sorry. That might not have been what you were expecting but for sure I don’t have any legitimate clues. And he flips it, and now it’s some sort of symmetry group for me to analyze. That’s right: I know some math.

 

I bought like four books on math for my Kindle within two days recently. Within the last week. Kindle books are cheap, but they’re not free. What can I say.

Don’t trust what you read on the internet.

I guess what I’m supposed to do now is try to remember that interesting thought I had on my walk this evening. Here we go…

*clocks ticks away*

Okay, now I realize: There were more than one. I like the way I said that. But anyway, there were more than one. The one I remember is: Things can be categorized into two categories: 1) Art; and 2) Everything else.

Doesn’t that sound interesting?

Art, and non-art.

For starters, what does that say about the way your mind works, if that would be by chance how you categorized the things and concepts found in the world?

Interesting, for starters.

And then, why this sharp disjunction–one item category vs all-but item category.

I was trying to, basically, come up with a word (or at least a phrase) for what non-art things are. But I couldn’t! So I just thought: Art, and non-art.

Why? Why look at the world that way? Muse. Interesting. The Muse of Interest. Not financial. Not computational. Not informatic. Just conceptual focus and leisure.

So to me, folks, that’s how the world is. There’s so much art in it, really, that it’s not like a 1/99 like it seems; I’d say it’s more of a 45/55. [Art/non-art].

Excuse me, I might’ve overdosed on my psych meds for the night (can’t remember) so I might be complaining about minor chest pain interjectedly throughout this post.

The dead giveaway will be if my speech is slurred. So I just have to talk to myself every once in a while–nope, starting to feel it. I probably overdosed. I don’t think it’s lethal though. It’s such a small dose to start with. The other dead giveaway would be akathisia (intense restlessness-like second-by-nanosecond counting down the moments not moved, always needing to move, nonstop, incessantly) and as you may have guessed, no, I did not get up out of my seat and start crazy pacing around the room. I’m still here writing.

You know, the worst thing I would feel about if I died were my family. It would hurt them so much. I just can’t die. That would be so unfair to them.

So I better be fuckin’ careful.

And sane. About my actions.

 

So back to the topic: art vs non-art. Art is something aesthetic, or, inspiring, or sentimental, or full of feels or a certain genre of cognition. Style comes to mind. Motion, ideas, dreams. Some words that I see coupled to art.

I just did a slur check. Turns out, talking to yourself is surprisingly amusing. I should try it more often.

I don’t know what to say about the art thing though, folks. It’s up to you. Define art for yourself, as a homework exercise, and I’ll give you a cookie and a web beacon as a reward. It’s a deal.


The next topic I wanted to touch upon was…

Well actually, I’m not so sure again. I didn’t really have one planned. I’m sort of making this up as I go along. So much animosity from these family members. Egads.

But it’s kind of funny, brother The Youngest did a Mario RPG pratfall in his room (I deduced from the sound of it) and it was simultaneously funny and intriguing. Like, what was he doing in there? It’s such a bemusing (in a good way) little gesture. Gesture I guess is the word for it, right? Would it be? It’s a little more whole-body than just a gesture, though.

See? Topics seem to spring up.

Oh. A visitor who I haven’t seen in a while. Miss [name omitted for confidentiality]. Knew her from school. That’s about as personal as I’m going to get (this time).

Well at least she’s not bothering me or being abusive or anything. How nice of her. Feel free to hang out and watch, motherfucker! =)

 

Pratfall. Mario RPG. You should look it up. You probably can’t find it. It’s such a small piece of the game I doubt anyone’s dedicated any videos just to it alone.

Here’s the first google youtube hit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClOF5s8Xfnc.

That’s right: Mario RPG IN GERMAN, motherfuckers.

What a term of affection. A word which I feel is mispelled officially, but I won’t digress.

 

What was I talking about? My mom just texted me from the beginning of her shift at the hospital so I got distracted from this post. You know, this post I’m seeing behind everyone’s back.

Lol. I’m just obsessed with wordplay aren’t I.

In any case, do I say that a lot? Yes I doooooo.

Okay. Getting a little loopy.

 

In any case:

Actually I think that was the end of our topic.

Ugh, starting to get a headache. Weird. Don’t normally get headaches. As long as there’s no akathisia or slurring, I should be alright. I can tolerate minor pressure/pain in the chest. I’ve had that before with no consequence. My regular blood pressure is fine and I exercise mildly routinely so I should be in good enough cardio shape.

What’s on all your guys’ minds? Guys’ and gals’. I never hear from any of my followers, it makes me so sad. I would love to get to know you all better. I know the majority just slammed dat follow button and never logged back in at all, but some of you I recognize by your icon or alias as regular Like-ers. Thanks! Thanks for all the Likes! I really do appreciate it.

 

God, you can tell my mental health is just milestones better than it used to be, can’t you? Go back and read some of my blog posts from two years ago. Jesus fucking Christ. Horrifying. Bad horror novel.

Yeah. I was not in good shape. I don’t want to talk about it too much, but I don’t want to suppress it and not talk about it at all, either. Moments of time belong in time. So it goes.

 

I am on such a roll, I just don’t want to end this! Ugh, more chest pain. Like a knot behind my left pectoral. I rrreeeeally don’t want to go to the ER. Such a hassle. Why isn’t it spelled hastle? Cakes. Anyway.

 

I could go on for ages. I really feel like so able right now. If the risperidone (the one I might’ve overdosed on accidentally, just a mild OD), the normal regime, doesn’t do the full job, we might increase my abilify back to 20 mg. So anyway, that will probably be the nail in the coffin for the schizoaffective disorder.

That feels like a good note to end on. Just namedrop that bomb of my disease on y’all. Yall. Y’a..

Cya!


Oh yeah! I should write a poem for you, the Audience, my cherished audience, as this is a poetry blog. Here we go!

 

Under Mine

I nearly died that night

Thinking of you in your red dress

Caressing the pet cat and meowing at me

For not displaying enough affection

I was underperforming at the pinball

Machine and as usual gave up too soon

But you resurrected me and now I am here

Well, there’s not enough to be said about the

Situation, circumstance, matter

Lest the hats we wear control us a little more than

We may think to know

 

I give up on you when you know me

But weld the two joints together and

Animatronic love chaos unfurls its

Sails and dives into the Caribbean

The only Bean native to the American cost

Loss, and all strangers associated with it, may

Be assailed, at whim with will, to distribute the

Funds set aside for their own well-being

 

I give up when you call me

A loser, anyway, sticking tongues out doesn’t

Renew the lease or unleash the peace or

Mend the tears in the fabric we wear together

We knew then, as we do now, that holding it–

Hands in hands in sacks–

To such high standards wasn’t wise

So we grew out of it, on purpose, and touched our lips to

The soothsayer’s ball and sand a lullaby, soothing

“Go, go, little ball, go…”

 

~v

I’m really craving conversation with all the people I respect in my life but who don’t think of me–not out of disrespect, but because they don’t know me or focus on other aspects of their lives. It’s interesting to think of myself as a side player on the field, a minor character in the story.

At least I have myself and my own life. I’ve begun to construct one. Six years ill. And just now starting to live.

The Usual

Yeah think of how much work I’m getting done

Until the next interruption

Much better a cycle than a pause

And how can I even say that?

How can I think that way?

Both ways–

It’s scary

I have no doubt

I wonder

Family: Future History

Civilization

Dawning

Dawning on me

It is that, I suppose, no one will know

My family’s future history

Unless

I go about my life making it such that

They do

 

I don’t want to leave a legacy

Flat and plain

But my family…

I care

I wish for us to be remembered

With a story

A picture

A whole

Of who we were

Where we went

And what we did