To those we meet

I saw a line of people moving the same.  I focused my eyes down to my own hands.

Photo Credit: Maya Deren and Marcel Duchamp, the Witch's cradle, 1943

I saw ropes, strings of thick rotting wool grinding against my fingers manipulating those i've met to move according to my plan. For a long time I thought something was wrong, as if there was a chip missing inside, the most useful piece of the human mind. But as I took a second glance through the wounds and past the rope it dawned on me that this was not my original plan. For the strings continued to dance behind me and wrap themselves around the wrists of another and this was their original plan. To construct a pattern of movement by simply placing fabric in the hands of another. 

I dreamt of a bus.

We sat there waiting for it to stop. 


When it did we had a choice to make. 


If we left we would end up living the lives we were meant to, being with the people we were meant to be with, learning what was meant to be learned, seeing what was meant to be seen. It would have been as if our lives had never gone of track. 


and if we stayed....


everything would remain just AS IS. 




All the fighting, all the anger, all the sadness, and the little bit that felt like love would be constant...


forever. 






I can't say that I didn't want to leave the bus 

but I know I couldn't move an inch. 

What is this nonsense?

It's a lie to say that I know things. Moments in my life that I believed to be fate....
have proven to be nothing more than insignificant mishaps that brought me down another notch. 


I lose my mind a little more each time I come to this place. 


I hear twenty different stories at the same time. Laughing, giggling....I don't know how to separate them
so I try to focus on my own head but then I realize....that's where it's all coming from. 


Most of the time i'm numb and completely out of focus with myself. 


I see black while the rest of the world sees white.  I need to get out from here. 


Some people outline a colored picture by pressing the crayon down just a little harder. 


I feel like I can compare myself to that work. The inside of me has to be a lot lighter. 


But there is this thin line all around my body blocking any of that light from getting out. 


So am I just an outline? 

And once we had the present ----> 01/04/2010

I may be a repeat offender. 

To hear with the ears instead of reading with the eyes click here.




Right now I sit inside a three sided box. 
A cubicle meant to fit only human telephone wires. 
I am taught to act robotic and then lectured for my lack of inflection. 
I find myself staring blankly at the screen. 
The cursor is moving in perfect sync with the ticking of the clock. 
The blinking of the cursor reminds me of an archer pulling back his arrow, 
releasing it, and shooting it straight. through. my. heart. 
I find myself changing everyday. 
I find myself increasingly annoyed by people, like nails on a 
never ending chalkboard. 
I would say that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed
but that would require sleeping. 

Surprise

It may be a big surprise but I still keep a lot of things to myself. 


I may come across as hardcore and rough sometimes but it's really not what is 


underneath 


I have to protect a lot of what I think and what I feel


even though I've become more vocal and expressive when it comes to my depression


I still fear that there is a lot that can't be understood....or a lot that would be misunderstood. 


I'm easy to break but also easy to put back together but sharing every secret i've ever had 


would certainly leave me broken for good 


there are just some things that have to be left to the imagination 


i'm talking about mine, not yours. 

I don't want to fight with anyone or disrespect anyone, but i'm still at a battle. 


Sometimes I feel like some people trigger a bigger war, and although I love them, I have to


set them aside for a while. It's nothing to take personally, it's just another matter of survival..


...for me and 


although they may never see it, it's for them to. 


But try to take me in anyways. i'm very unpredictable and I may find a home within you 


if given the 


chance. 




XX 

The Inevitable

We spend our whole loves running away from it only to come face to face with it in the end. 


X Marks the spot. 


We have no choice. 

The vegetarian Hunter.

Saw a piece of worn down brick at the beach
worn down by the pressure of the ocean 


I'm not going to shape my words today to make them sound poetic
or beautiful


but enough to keep your attention


i'll tell it like it is


i'm hurt. I feel confused. I fell in love with a 20 gage shotgun
and not once did I think about pointing it towards my head and leaving
a mess for others to clean up. I didn't think about hurting others. I thought about
surviving. It made me ask myself when did the vegetarian become the hunter? 


I'm going through a shift
not a phase
I always go through phases 
but I go through these shifts that make me change
my morals, my entire belief system. 
It's strange. Because how can you stick with something for so long, claim it, 
be dubbed "holier than thou" by some, and then change what you believe in
just like that. Change the way you feel, the way you operate. Something happens to
make me go off course, or on course rather. I feel like i'm going to try to survive and
learn what I need to learn to do so. I think I might hunt. I think I might protect myself 
and those I love. I don't know if the confusion is making me think differently. Like I'm
stuck outside my own body. 


But i'm seeing the world in a different way. 

But I feel hurt by some things. I feel I have nowhere to go. Nothing to offer. I'm almost 30. Places I work close down, file bankruptcy, lay me off. They think I'm a charm, but i'm just unlucky. Supposedly I have this talent but I'm so lazy about it. I have all these ideas but no motivation. I can see things and think them but I have no way of getting them out...like my tongue is ripped off...like my mouth just disappears. 


Things happen. I choose to act one way because I think it's the right thing. But who sets the standards, the guidelines, for the "Right thing?" When did wrong become wrong. Maybe what's wrong is what's right for some people. Where do I get my conscience from. It's certainly not something I learned. 


I think I might have to go to my Dads for a while. I think I might have to try to find a job up there. Just save save save that way I can have enough for a home down here. 


I thought about myself lying in the bathtub after an overdose. But I can't do that in their house. I can't do that in their house. That's all i'm thinking. I just can't do that in their house and ruin the memory of their first home, that would be horrible. But the fact that i'm even thinking about it and the excuse I have to not do it is because I don't want to do it in somebody else's home. It would be bad for them, they'd have to move. That's not right at all.  It's just images. It's just an action that would never happen. Why am I even talking about this? 


I want to make music. I haven't had the time to. But now I have time to and something chewed through my keyboard cord. I wouldn't even know what to sing about. 


I've just been blank. Really out of it. I don't remember places or things. I can't even try to remember. I just don't remember. I feel like there is all this air inside. I don't know how to remember anything. I'm just really out of it. I feel like there is nothing inside of my head at all. No sign of life, no ounce of intelligence, just nothing there at all. It's strange because I know i'm getting depressed again but ordinarily when I am so i'm a fucking genius. I come up with all these beautiful ideas, poetry, novels, things that just sound so good. Everything just makes sense. It's like I tap into this other world, the other side of my brain that I couldn't ordinarily access. And it makes me see things in a different way. But right now I can't. All this air, all this heavy air it just feels like pure exhaustion. I can't think about anything, my eyes are droopy, i'm somewhere else, and i'm just not with it. I know. I know I know I know I know I know i'm not with it. How do I get with it. How do I snap out of it and make myself go on track again, whatever track it is. Because right now I'm not even close to a track. Just kind of hovering, hanging out on a fucking tree with a damaged branch that's about to fall and I don't know what to do. 


I miss my dog. I miss my son. I miss matt. I miss feeling love. 


I'm so pathetic. I'm someone who needs love. So much love, so much love. I've been on my own for a long time and I can live by myself, be in seclusion for weeks at a time. I don't have to be with guys all the time, i'm not one of those girls. I'm alone more often than not. But I need love so badly. I need reassurance. I need security. yet i'm really independent. It's so strange. This duality of everything. That's who I am. Just pure opposites. The vegetarian hunter. I don't make any sense. I really don't. 

Progression of Sanity

In a dark day there is still something igniting within that offers passage. 


In a dark day enough is broken to make it whole. 


In a dark day we're barely fed in a red world




In progression of sanity
chaos is still
and irrationality becomes shards of glass on the floor
instead of an illuminating centerpiece. 


In my progression of sanity
i've lost myself. 
I will become my very own personal stranger
just long enough to smile. 


time is bent 

by lying still
by breathing in
and breathing out
but never really wanting to


time is paused. 




By never changing your own perception
or the perception of those around you
By staying under the bed instead of on it
only present remains. 




I would rather progress than pause. 
I would rather gain sanity and leave 
this red world behind
especially its' center.