before we bomb our moon

ella stares spooky t'ward the stars

as if she somehow sees, already,

that our shining moon soon will explode.

we'll lose a magnificent, magnetic man.

ella's smile stretches, curls wide, ever-glad;

she loves inconveniences, too!

ush-ode

it is just something wonderful. my chest stays open, my chest stays higher, n i feel my third eye stretching back behind either ear.

it is still that thoughts chase away, quickly curious; repeated distractions race time.  but - also there is a body-awareness.  sensations pull attention toward the physical, n somehow pleasantness, comfort, beauty (in these times especially easy to appreciate) curl my thoughts n calm my body.

invigoration plus inspiration, when overused compounds into quick-hearted, hyper-alert, destructive, anxiety; but, the positive is so enticing, that it attracts well-worth its risk.

scared curious

it did not take long for me to get out of depression, once i understood it safe to disregard long-held beliefs, once i understood the detriment of those beliefs, n after many repeated assurances that i can trust myself more than the definitions of self long-provided by others.

the Other does not know me as i do.

previously so appalled by humanism, i spoke out against pride, egotism, n intellect, but the disgust ought not to have been mine. the disgust was the trained (ingrained) response of a culturally-accepted coping mechanism, the disgust of those who long-defined me, prepared to destroy "evil" pride, well-orchestrated to hold down the individual, to discourage independence n intellect.

it took much more for me to escape anxiety. indeed, i have not yet fully beaten this battle, although a detox has returned my mind n restabilized my bearings.

reunited with my mind, trust is only slowly formed. slowly i meet myself, and slowly again i write.

curiosity trickles back, constantly teasing me from the corners of consciousness, reminding me of awe, of significance, n reawakening a very frightened child-self within. questioning how i had coped reintroduced curiosity, and i allow curiosity to define my essential self even while the Other would still hold control, n even while the Other denies my child's worth.

anxiety, though, does remain, for a life filled with lessons of belittlement (even my yet-young life) struggles long to leave behind the unhealthy always encouraged.

= old habits die hard

lil leslie: the child-self within, now fights with strength never known, strength without source. standing unsure, i am convinced only of the necessity that change continue.

on some of schopenhauer

schopenhauer has shown me the human species, and i am grateful, for his insight into our instincts, our intentions, and our nervous system can reduce my focus down to essential needs, which apart from, i am ever-encouraged, there are no requirements or regulations for existence.  this awareness frees me from any summation of myself aside from physical contentment, which in-turn leads only toward proper physical care.

(arthur schopenhauer's On the Suffering of the World)

click a face

in january oh-nine i travelled a mexican daydream with these three men.  

i've only now finally uploaded some photos.

nightmares

when i dream when i sleep awkward family speckle a schmorg of recent events, and awaken me to awful emotions n uncomfortable vulnerability.  night-time dreams wake me early and they wake me permanently.

when i dream during the day i travel to italy.  the sun is so warm, my skin is sticky, and the light is very bright.  the air is comforting with curious smells, and the view awes my spirit wide-open n assured. daydreams are made of my finest memories, perfect moments of a blessed life.

unconscious thought and uninhibited imagination ruin my mornings = the days are filled with dreaming enough.

click my face

only finally put up photos from new york, which are rather shitty on a disposable camera, and out of order, and not many.

elizabeth wolfe the cat

one can see in her eyes, that she is cheshire, but i did not recognize those stripes or that grin until we were home.  i surmise that in her kennel she had worn a disguise; i fell the fool and forever now am play-thing of the wacky cat.  

but this wacky cat does not want to be my friend, cheshire is haunting, constantly changing size, disappearing, reappearing - would i have a kind kitty had i completed that carroll essay?  

failure again, now has stolen away even my pet.  wonderland only bemuses the sane; madmen belong trapped troubled beyond rabbits' tunnels.

: )

 

love is more calming than yoga,

more euphoric than a street drug.

after days rapid flying scared black stuck

you slow every thought

your love is soft

my mind has stopped.

instead of rushing thinking scared blind stuck

now i only feel

i love you.

step nine

in case there was any doubt, vile fate confirmed that everything keeps getting worse.  

i received a letter from him today, making amends, because he is in narcotics anonymous.

it was a big shock.  he must have fucked himself up, and i felt badly for him.

his letter began by telling me about a friend of his who committed suicide.  his letter began very contrite and regretful.  his letter was full of praise.  but his letter was not what it first seemed, for every word laboured to avoid responsibility.

the self righteous bastard is not to blame, you see, because only drugs gave him evil capacity.  such a comfortable scapegoat for personal decisions.

look! how his life is now turning around for the better!  so humble to have sought out help, how healthy he is dealing with his demons!  he is such an upstanding fellow, to have written and warned me how easily i too could lose all decency -- he has saved me from my own certain decline!

things have gotten worse

in the fall i told a few people that i was depressed, immediately after the second abuse, because i knew that i could not handle it.  the spot in my chest had filled up inside with more pain than i knew it could carry, and dragged along with it so much else extra, which i hadnt even realized was connected. 

my skin broke out in scales.

today it took me three joints and an ativan to stop crying.  three joints and an ativan, which are the docs' orders for treating depression and panic, since the side effects of prescription drugs have ravaged me.  doctor, derma, and the pervert in student counseling all suggested herbal, alternative, eastern, organic.  

...but also an ativan now and then, for the times desperation turns spastic?  

my mother thinks that i should be on a tranquilizer.

i have confided in too many people to still pretend that there isnt a problem - but fuck if confiding in anyone means that someone will help.  i have distracted myself for months, hoping that time heals everything eventually, and hoping that i'll have enough time to heal.  

what the fuck am i supposed to do now

i only write in textedit because i hate the green and red correction lines wiggling their graffiti instantly and constantly under all of my so-strained prose.

at the age of twenty four, then, it becomes apparent that i have somewhere missed the powerful man whom i was supposed to marry, ensuring my easy life.  it is inconvenient to face being with someone of my own means, everything being fair, having to earn everything.  how can it be that i am proletariat in a world i was once so positively destined to own?