1000 Miles.

Something forever
fascinating
a thousand miles
in the distance.

Ocular lock.
Forgo blinking.
Just can’t avert my gaze.

Nothing worth investing
in this place all ’round
me anyway.

Walls surround, caving.
Dark cloud looming
above, growling
so deep

I can feel the earth
tremble
beneath my feet,
always fear
its ready to strike me.

Face: deadpan.

Soul hiding behind:
stuck in
suspended animation.

Like my sorry
excuse for
a life: trapped
in chilled amber,

all as a future
awaits far out there.
Sometimes seems

that only
my eyes strive…

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Renegade Emotions (Out of My Way).

Fighting
to keep the despair
at bay
as I ride another wave
of seeming futility,

determined not to let it
pull me back under.

Found the message
in the bottle:
“avoid my bubbly,
intoxicating contents.”

Only exacerbates
depression.

Turn to these pills for sleep,
devil’s lettuce
and extra-strong Kava tea
for decompression.

Cannot allow
these renegade emotions
to pull strings
in me like a puppet:

had more
than enough if it.

Must keep my soul
in charge,
get out of here, break
new ground

before it’s far
too late,

so out
of my fucking way,
already.

Dream of a Vanishing Drive.

2/2/18.

In the dream, I was at my parents house at night and had to leave for work, but when I went outside, my new car was gone. I looked everywhere, but it had apparently disappeared. When I went back inside and told everyone, no one seemed to care about how mysterious this was, how fucking frustrated it made me.

Eventually I went back outside and, to my relief, found that the car was there again. Wasting no time, I hopped in and started it up, noticing the time in the process — I was not yet late for work, as I had feared. I then started honking the horn to alert one of my sisters (or some girl) inside the house that I was ready to leave, as I was supposed to give her a ride. She didn’t come outside, however, and I was determined not to leave the car again in order to go get her, fearing it would once again vanish, and so kept up honking.

Somehow, I ended up going back inside anyway, only realizing once I was in there that I had somehow absent-mindedly left the car despite my fierce determination not to do so, which endlessly frustrated me.

Once back outside, my suspicion is confirmed: the car is gone yet again. I also vaguely recalled how something else had mysteriously vanished earlier in the dream, though I’ve maintained no memory of what it was.

There are a few things I noticed about this dream. First, I’ve been reading the first book in David Paulidies’ Missing 411 series for the last day or two, which I received through the local library. It deals with mysterious disappearances of people from national parks, which likely inspired the disappearing car (and whatever vanished earlier) from the dream.

My fear of being late for work in the dream might have something to do with the fact that I called off work Thursday night. I’ve been trying to stop drinking, but I was angry and depressed and caved in, only to drink too much on Wednesday night and pay for it due to my utter stupidity when I work up early on Thursday evening for my weekly third shift. I was horribly hungover; my head was spinning, I was constantly vomiting. The last thing I wanted to do was call off work, but as the time to take my shower and leave approached I didn’t seem to be getting any better, and my frustration with myself grew to a fever pitch.

There was a moment at the end of work on Wednesday when I found myself in the third-person witnessing perspective, observing my thought processes as, while I mopped the dining room, I attempted to justify buying beer on the way home. It was as if I was watching some automatic program playing itself over in my head, which disturbed me. I then found myself following through with it — much like how I suddenly found myself leaving my car behind in the dream to go back inside the house.

Of A-Bombs, Nietzsche, and Some Kind of Love.

Photo captured
more than your image.

In amber
there lies
a moment:

joy
upon your face.

You found your place.
Only forward now.
No looking back.

Ubermensch with a vagina,
as I always claimed
when contemplating
your personality

in the context of the speaking, tale-telling,
long dead, mustache -man’s
philosophy —

one which suffered
an abrupt end,
like a machete
to an obstacle,

much like the nature
with which you severed
our bond.

Me?

I’d dropped
my weapons,
held up my hands,
fingers spread far and wide,

palms, buck
fucking naked, hypersensitive

and suffering from spotlight
radiation poisoning.

This level
of exposure

sinking
into me, so deep
it knocks
now on the door
of the impenetrable seed:

this time capsule
of the soul
that protects me until
my time of blossoming.

AOLs, STRAY CATS, Projections and Transference.

Fixate on the target.
Grasp the glowing prana.
Hold your psychic breath,
keep projections in check:

make your inner world
a window
and not a mirror.

Mind still
and indiscriminate
in meditation,
through following the breath.
Seek to sustain it:

Judgments and interpretations
at this stage
only serve to muck up
the process.

Abstain.
Find comfortable
distance.

Gather raw data
from the third person,
witness perspective.

Be sure to document.

Only in the wake
should you work

to discern
the signal
from the noise,

communication
from interference:

ever on the lookout
for AOLs,
STRAY CATS,

projections
and transference.

Trials of a Vicious Belly.

Narrowing tunnel,
flickering light at the end.
Feeling black and blue,
and all I ever see is red.

S’pose it’s a step away
from being blind with rage,
full participation in a world
that’s clearly gone insane,

but being constantly bruised
is certainly taking its toll,
my blue is getting darker;
my black, siphoning my glow.

Fallen into lifting my lost soul
with spirits, herb, and pills,
dragging out the end in denial,
efforts to postpone the kill.

This way of life, it’s just dead.
One way, or the other,
or reconcile heart and head.

Clenched teeth, sharp tongue
viced ‘tween stained,
once pearly whites.

Blood boils, nerves on edge,
oscillating between
this lashing out,

swallowing my pride,
bloating my already vicious belly.
There has s got to be a better way
and I need to find it

before I go
irreversibly insane

and there is no way to stop,
circumvent or destroy it.

Unnecessary Absurdities.

What a curious circumstance.
How, even on this crazy earth,

did I find
myself here,
after all? So close

to what could’ve been,
but never
will be, as I never
believed in me, so no
chance for us,

the three
of us in mundane bliss,
the traditional
unit, our nuclear family.

Normal is uncomfortable
enough of a mask
without introducing
unnecessary absurdities.

Excuse me as I embitter
you, all

as I break
my own stone,
black heart,

bomb
my hope
to the likes of their hell.

Pandora’s Earth.

Synchronicity intrudes
again into your life,
holding a mirror
to your shadow side,

the growing black,
the strengthening grip
of a dark desire

kept locked
in a box
between heart and mind

now breaks out and spills
down to the ground,
water, fluid chaos, crying
up and into the sky,
watering your lone stars,
kissing her own…

“And all
as they fall
in line
with mine?”

You find
yourself in a morbid corner,
sinking in a curious quagmire,

brought down
to do or die.

Keep a promise or lie
to one of those dangerously
high on a short list
of souls

to whom you feel
aligned,

she’s probably
the love
of your life,

or at least a mirror,

a shadow,
a reflection
or silhouette

to let you know,

a reminder you’re never
really alone.

Like it or not.

This is the soil
from which hope
grows,

yet ask
yourself: are you truly
the seed
that finally hit bottom?