my psychologist says i need to keep a journal concerning the events of my life and my face. so i am gonna try to write everyday. this is going to be more than just a blog, this is going to be unfiltered expose. if you disrespect what i write i will kill you. i am not talking about critiquing what i write, that is fine, but if you disrespect me or my friends or the open wound i am going to display i will hunt you down and do to you the things i only imagine. i will take out the violence of the places i have been and the places i am doomed to go. now you are warned. don't fuck with what i am about to lay down, you can comment, you can love, you can sharpen me as iron sharpens iron, but i swear to everything that is holy and everything damned if you cross me in the way i have outlined you will feel the hell that i live in.
let's begin.
i am dangerous, i am a danger to myself and those around me. i walk a tight rope over perilous fires. the danger is this, when the pain comes i turn into the essence. unlike my common life as vice lord of punk rock destruction and articulate member of the rebellion when i transition into the essence i turn. the essence is the place where evil spawns and good people go to die. i have to wear a goofy hat every where i go, trying to keep the wind from my face. the hat itself hurts but not as much as the breeze/gale always blowing in colorado winter. we will get to the absence of vice here in just a few, more about my recent trek to walgreens. i went to refill my scrip which now costs $20 instead of $13, fucking drug companies. fucking profit. as i walk the aisles waiting for the line at the counter to die down i turn. i wonder if i can drink a gallon of bleach, i notice they put the knives right next to the bleach. good move idiots. i think about killing everyone in the store except the guy in the texas hat and the disabled man. i know i wouldn't enjoy everyone's blood running at my feet but i believe it may help rescue them. as i am checking out i lie to the woman working the register, i tell her i work at Kodak, graveyards. the disabled man mentions he knows someone who works there i chat with him about it. lie lie lie. he buys it and it makes his night, he got to connect with the flow of mankind, he is a part of a whole because i lied. fuck who preaches as long as the voice of the One is preached. i fucking hate going outside, the wind hits my face and i want to run screaming inside.
i really want some vice right now. but i can't, no cigar, it has nicotine, no caffeine so no coffee or chocolate, no alcohol because of recent events, hell i couldn't even get an erection today when i tried to rub one out. no fucking vice. no healing, no peace. i take countless drugs, i get shots in my face, i do everything to reinforce the safety nets and fences i have to be corralled in, i am wearing thin. my head is pounding, my face is the hell in the dark. me and my buddy G. talk about sinner's heaven. i will get there someday, but until then i stay in saint's hell. i know earth has no injury heaven can't heal - i can go there any time i want but i am afraid if i punch my own ticket on that train i can't ride. i will have to wait it out in the station with all the other kids who drank the gallon of bleach.
yesterday one of the girls at work told me she knows i could be a serial killer. oh what she doesn't know. i want to do things to people that i can't describe, think about the cenobites in hellraiser then add the dash of humanity i would bring. pinhead didn't cry as he educated and enlightened. i would weep as the bodies stacked. i am not sure about tomorrow. but i know about right now. i am not hurting anyone right now, at least i hope i'm not. the violence that portols through the right side of my face is the violence in the garden and the violence on the hill. the violence i want to crush materialism and pop television with. horrible horrible things. are there hidden gems? yes am i going to find them. i don't know, i know there is gold in them hills but every swing of the pick turns up dirt and fools gold.
i think about blood letting, i wonder if acupuncture would help. marijuana, lsd, letting a good friend just knock me out every day with a strong right cross to the center of my disorder. the cheapest surgery price i found is $65k, add to that anesthesia and then hospital stay. an insurance 80/20 split leaves my little family with $20k of debt that would be hard to roll with. i feel horrible about the shit A. has to go through because of this, she is sitting next to me right now and i hope she is and is not reading this. i feel like hell that she is trapped with me in this disease. it only shows her unwavering devotion and love. i don't even know why i am so loved. she is the voice of the One when i am being crushed, G. shows up and keeps the raging fires of brimstone shared and unburdened from me. the One is with me via the people i am with. the One is in heaven and on the earth both places at once and with out error. everywhere and nowhere all at once. brilliant. i am trying to give up on asking why. why is an empty dead end alley of thought, i wish i was more like one of our hybrid dogs. they don't ask why and they take things day to day. some day i will probably be able to do this with out having to process actively. someday but not today.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Where Do You Live?
...or maybe better - Where Are You? Where do you exist... i think any answer works here. a little bit here a little bit there - all valid points. in memories, in a chair, whatever. Maybe you don't exist. well let me say if you don't exist and you are reading this then that is a pretty nifty trick and i want some of what you are drinking.
Identity. It is the big four: 1. Who are you? 2. Where have you been? 3. Where are you at? 4. Where are you going? Four questions, not one longer than four words. Some of the hardest questions to answer. I would rather face a million moral problems than be forced to answer any of these with speed.
these sorts of questions come up from time to time. generally when crisis comes to town. i can't remember where i first heard these four questions positioned together. they seem to fit well. i know it's not deep stuff but i think of these things when i embark on any sort of adventure. good questions to ask.
Identity. It is the big four: 1. Who are you? 2. Where have you been? 3. Where are you at? 4. Where are you going? Four questions, not one longer than four words. Some of the hardest questions to answer. I would rather face a million moral problems than be forced to answer any of these with speed.
these sorts of questions come up from time to time. generally when crisis comes to town. i can't remember where i first heard these four questions positioned together. they seem to fit well. i know it's not deep stuff but i think of these things when i embark on any sort of adventure. good questions to ask.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Crushing Blow IV: You Don't Know Where I've Been Lou, You Don't Know Where I've Been
in some sick way i feel bad when i don't post, i like to imagine legions in the great cyber no where clinging to my words. huddled masses waiting for the new land i provide. delusion and i know it. Aside from the MPD of the few readers i have, i feel like what i write is only read by a select few. so i often feel like i am writing for them. and most of them - unlike the title of this post would suggest - Know where i have been. for those of you who don't i only have these words: buckle up.
Crushing Blow IV - The Failure of self.
monday was the normal bad - violent streams of electricity, purging fires of pain, you know, the normal stuff for me when there is a bad day. i don't go to work, i hide from contact on the right side of my face. monday night as i walk down the stairs of my split level i misjudge how much wall exists at the bottom of the stairs. it is dark and i am thinking the staircase ends at the wall so i am believing i am all clear to take a right turn at the bottom of the steps.
i have disproved existentialism. i believed there was no wall. but let me tell you, when i turned my face into the 18" of drywall, wood, and paint it was real whether or not i could believe or hope it away. in fact not only was it a wall but my personal teleporter. as soon as my face hit the wall it became a doorway to a universe where only pain and darkness exists.
i immediately feel to the ground blind and screaming. i cry, cowered into the fetal position, the unseen slamming an electric chair into my face. my dogs are going wild because all they know is i have been transformed. i am no longer the one who loves them, who feeds them, who walks them, i am an animal. a wounded beast, something to be growled at. i am something that is growling.
when i regain enough consciousness to crawl to the bathroom, i inch my way along the carpet and supplant the pain inspired nausea and tears into the toilet. i have been to another place. forced transcendental meditation. in short, this was, by far, the worst pain i have ever felt. i have been broken, shot, burned, dislocated, tortured and none touch this. i thought i was a tough man but i am not. 18" of wall made me less than whole. it shook my core. that little bit of material taught me a lesson i had long lost my touch and taste for - i am incomplete.
needless to say i didn't go to work all of last week. i cowered from wind, from touch, from everything. i tried to gut it out like i have been taught but i couldn't make it. i broke and called the doc on thursday and she was unhappy that i had waited. i was in her office that afternoon, face cold packed with anaglesiac and a shot of marcaine into the nerve. my doc wants me out of the unit where i work. talking all day slays me. not to mention the fact i am losing it a bit right now. granted i have never thought of my self as completely sane. i have always felt i am in a place where everyone else gets to except that i live there. my emotion is always extreme, rarely am i not thinking or twitching away. i burn at both ends and this horrible condition called trigeminal neuralgia rips away most of the trappings of normalcy i maintain to keep from scaring other people. i find myself using words with acquaintances i normally save only for friends and enemies. for those who know me they know i keep the cards close to my chest but lately i can not. i am the walking wounded and i am not hiding with bandages, i am bleeding on my desk, bleeding on your desk.
the real fear of the week though is friday night. for fairness to all involved i will not speak of it all here. i can keep some cards close still and i chose to do that now with these. i will say this though, i thought that i would break this weekend. i thought i would be in prison by saturday afternoon and i thought i would have been dead by sunday morning. i am not. i am most assuredly alive and eternally grateful to the One who taught me how to breath under pressure. how to sweat drops of blood and how to drink the cup that's mine.
Blessed are you, One, king of the suffering, blessed are you for teaching me the way of patience, forgive me my pride and thinking i run with out you as my source. continue to teach me your way of Suffering. teach me your way of healing. One, you have got my full and undivided attention. i am finally inline with purpose. red stubbled and gaunt i am here only for you. teach me to love, make me beyond as you are but make me human still.
Crushing Blow IV - The Failure of self.
monday was the normal bad - violent streams of electricity, purging fires of pain, you know, the normal stuff for me when there is a bad day. i don't go to work, i hide from contact on the right side of my face. monday night as i walk down the stairs of my split level i misjudge how much wall exists at the bottom of the stairs. it is dark and i am thinking the staircase ends at the wall so i am believing i am all clear to take a right turn at the bottom of the steps.
i have disproved existentialism. i believed there was no wall. but let me tell you, when i turned my face into the 18" of drywall, wood, and paint it was real whether or not i could believe or hope it away. in fact not only was it a wall but my personal teleporter. as soon as my face hit the wall it became a doorway to a universe where only pain and darkness exists.
i immediately feel to the ground blind and screaming. i cry, cowered into the fetal position, the unseen slamming an electric chair into my face. my dogs are going wild because all they know is i have been transformed. i am no longer the one who loves them, who feeds them, who walks them, i am an animal. a wounded beast, something to be growled at. i am something that is growling.
when i regain enough consciousness to crawl to the bathroom, i inch my way along the carpet and supplant the pain inspired nausea and tears into the toilet. i have been to another place. forced transcendental meditation. in short, this was, by far, the worst pain i have ever felt. i have been broken, shot, burned, dislocated, tortured and none touch this. i thought i was a tough man but i am not. 18" of wall made me less than whole. it shook my core. that little bit of material taught me a lesson i had long lost my touch and taste for - i am incomplete.
needless to say i didn't go to work all of last week. i cowered from wind, from touch, from everything. i tried to gut it out like i have been taught but i couldn't make it. i broke and called the doc on thursday and she was unhappy that i had waited. i was in her office that afternoon, face cold packed with anaglesiac and a shot of marcaine into the nerve. my doc wants me out of the unit where i work. talking all day slays me. not to mention the fact i am losing it a bit right now. granted i have never thought of my self as completely sane. i have always felt i am in a place where everyone else gets to except that i live there. my emotion is always extreme, rarely am i not thinking or twitching away. i burn at both ends and this horrible condition called trigeminal neuralgia rips away most of the trappings of normalcy i maintain to keep from scaring other people. i find myself using words with acquaintances i normally save only for friends and enemies. for those who know me they know i keep the cards close to my chest but lately i can not. i am the walking wounded and i am not hiding with bandages, i am bleeding on my desk, bleeding on your desk.
the real fear of the week though is friday night. for fairness to all involved i will not speak of it all here. i can keep some cards close still and i chose to do that now with these. i will say this though, i thought that i would break this weekend. i thought i would be in prison by saturday afternoon and i thought i would have been dead by sunday morning. i am not. i am most assuredly alive and eternally grateful to the One who taught me how to breath under pressure. how to sweat drops of blood and how to drink the cup that's mine.
Blessed are you, One, king of the suffering, blessed are you for teaching me the way of patience, forgive me my pride and thinking i run with out you as my source. continue to teach me your way of Suffering. teach me your way of healing. One, you have got my full and undivided attention. i am finally inline with purpose. red stubbled and gaunt i am here only for you. teach me to love, make me beyond as you are but make me human still.
Friday, November 7, 2008
the sinner and the pentecost
it rolls like smoke from slow burned cloves. sin is easy for me. don't get me wrong, i can't stand it, it makes my skin crawl but sin is easy for me. i have epic problems with the canonization process but i think Paul nailed it just right when he wrote that what "i want to do i do not do and yet what i do not want to do this is what i do. oh what a wretched man i am, who shall save me?' this is the liturgy i have. i am samson's anger, david's lust, paul's prejudice, judas's kiss. there is no doubt about it i am a sinner. there are times when my actions are evil to the brink of as proverbs says, don't chill with those who plan to do bad. which in my layman's tongue translates to don't hang with me.
it whispers like germinating dandelions, their white seeds floating like the Spirit of the One, where ever it pleases. John the Apostle said no one knows which way it comes or which way it goes. there are only whispers, at least you should hope there are only whispers. the terrifying scream of the One kills mortal men. it is not something to be hoped for. like sin, the spirit crawls, but it doesn't crawl on the outer epidermis, it crawls on the inside. since the spirit goes where it please it knows my darkness, no question of the mire it finds. i invited the Spirit to do this and it does it of its own accord. it wants to know me with deep breaths of deep findings, deep pain, deep hells, deep sins. it wants me to have deep love, deep healing, and deep heavens. the heaven the Spirit gives me is not clouds and harps. it is deep wells for a thirsty man, the Spirit takes me to a sinners heaven. a broken man's healing.
there is no doubt that i do not understand it all. i am a broken bodied, mind mutated deviant, sinning, coarse, uncaring loaf, who has perfected hedonism. i do not know why i am still in the corp real state, i should be dead - i was dead. but i am alive. not of my own accord. the Spirit loves to go into the death in me and wring it out. the Spirit loves to woo me, taking hold of me, whispering into my ear things to lure me away from the clove smoke. it is almost physical. the tongue of fire resting on me. the only language is the whispers of the One. it is spoken in the heart. it can not be uttered with the lips. the One knows me, the One is hurt at times because i choose the darkness but the One loves me. i don't know why but i am loved by the One.
the sinner and the pentecost.
it whispers like germinating dandelions, their white seeds floating like the Spirit of the One, where ever it pleases. John the Apostle said no one knows which way it comes or which way it goes. there are only whispers, at least you should hope there are only whispers. the terrifying scream of the One kills mortal men. it is not something to be hoped for. like sin, the spirit crawls, but it doesn't crawl on the outer epidermis, it crawls on the inside. since the spirit goes where it please it knows my darkness, no question of the mire it finds. i invited the Spirit to do this and it does it of its own accord. it wants to know me with deep breaths of deep findings, deep pain, deep hells, deep sins. it wants me to have deep love, deep healing, and deep heavens. the heaven the Spirit gives me is not clouds and harps. it is deep wells for a thirsty man, the Spirit takes me to a sinners heaven. a broken man's healing.
there is no doubt that i do not understand it all. i am a broken bodied, mind mutated deviant, sinning, coarse, uncaring loaf, who has perfected hedonism. i do not know why i am still in the corp real state, i should be dead - i was dead. but i am alive. not of my own accord. the Spirit loves to go into the death in me and wring it out. the Spirit loves to woo me, taking hold of me, whispering into my ear things to lure me away from the clove smoke. it is almost physical. the tongue of fire resting on me. the only language is the whispers of the One. it is spoken in the heart. it can not be uttered with the lips. the One knows me, the One is hurt at times because i choose the darkness but the One loves me. i don't know why but i am loved by the One.
the sinner and the pentecost.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
The Lonely One
what is man? a little dust, a little breath, hopefully a little bit of the infinite. it's funny because the more i read and thought and chewed upon your loneliness the rudder of my brain kept turning me back to the loneliness of the One. is it weird to think of the One as lonely, needy even.
imagine the wild passion spilling over. the One scouring the expanse of infinity looking for an entity to share something with. The One a ravaging beast, salivating with hunger and desire. and knowing if it self replicated that it would know itself already and couldn't share, couldn't embrace, couldn't delve, hope, desire, love. So the One creates humanity and in the cool of the evening walks with it in the garden. Then the betrayal comes. The war begins. From the first breaths of love the One knew there was the risk of being alone again. Knew there would be spilt blood. So blood was spilled and once again we can know and be known by the One.
And here we are, humanity, thick and impestuous. Full of ourselves, our vain glory and vain defeat. Our only design is to be the company of the One and yet it is the hardest aim. our greatest love and yet we are distracted by the wiles of the other creations... alas i digress this is not about me, it is to be about the One. The Lonely One.
One did something never done before with us, it made us able to love. not just something that is loved but something that can love. this alone illustrates the desperation behind one aspect of the One. it is paramount, essential, we realize the One has a desire only we can meet. the implications behind this are unmistakable. somehow the One is both whole and incomplete at the same time. coexistently. with out error. i can only imagine the only thing preventing the universe from dissipating under the weight of the One's desire for us is the One itself. people wonder why there are supernovas, wild fires, why destruction even exists. all these things are displays of the loneliness and desperate love of the One. i am utterly ashamed and utterly loved all at once. bound for destruction yet saved because the One died and did not stay dead. let me run that one by you one more time. the One died yet lived.
there is so much left to say about this but because i need to stop writing immediately (i work illegally from work) here is where it will ned for now. please comment as i want to know what you think
imagine the wild passion spilling over. the One scouring the expanse of infinity looking for an entity to share something with. The One a ravaging beast, salivating with hunger and desire. and knowing if it self replicated that it would know itself already and couldn't share, couldn't embrace, couldn't delve, hope, desire, love. So the One creates humanity and in the cool of the evening walks with it in the garden. Then the betrayal comes. The war begins. From the first breaths of love the One knew there was the risk of being alone again. Knew there would be spilt blood. So blood was spilled and once again we can know and be known by the One.
And here we are, humanity, thick and impestuous. Full of ourselves, our vain glory and vain defeat. Our only design is to be the company of the One and yet it is the hardest aim. our greatest love and yet we are distracted by the wiles of the other creations... alas i digress this is not about me, it is to be about the One. The Lonely One.
One did something never done before with us, it made us able to love. not just something that is loved but something that can love. this alone illustrates the desperation behind one aspect of the One. it is paramount, essential, we realize the One has a desire only we can meet. the implications behind this are unmistakable. somehow the One is both whole and incomplete at the same time. coexistently. with out error. i can only imagine the only thing preventing the universe from dissipating under the weight of the One's desire for us is the One itself. people wonder why there are supernovas, wild fires, why destruction even exists. all these things are displays of the loneliness and desperate love of the One. i am utterly ashamed and utterly loved all at once. bound for destruction yet saved because the One died and did not stay dead. let me run that one by you one more time. the One died yet lived.
there is so much left to say about this but because i need to stop writing immediately (i work illegally from work) here is where it will ned for now. please comment as i want to know what you think
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
