Having a difficult time taking Is and Yous and Mes out of my poetry. I wish I had a different face, but apparently I am no longer allowed to hack away at it. I want to get back to wonder. I want to get back to visions of enormous dinosaurs, but the real world continues to push back and it's not fair and I can't figure out a way to circumvent the charges.
I will. Stand up act 9 is coming. Long dark tunnel. I conquered my fear of absolute darkness a while back. Doesn't mean that it's comfortable though. I want to pick up house and walk away from it all in a bad way. Maybe a good way. Tough to think about. Do you just throw your hard drives in a ruck sack? I don't know! I'm asking you! Who helps you plan that sort of thing out? I have no clue.
Do ya have to bring an umbrella or something or do you count on finding one along the route? Could probably thieve one. Do you really want to do that? That's not who you are. You can take whatever you really want, but don't. Every single time you take you are taking something from someone else and that's no good. Let someone hold your leash. They're not holding you back. They're just checking you. You have to allow yourself to be checked at the hip. Take it and bounce off or try to run them over, but whatever you do correct your path. Not correct, but make adjustments because you have to and understand that it is alright to make adjustments.
Adjusting the dials is okay. Not everyone likes to hear music at 11, hell you don't either. Not everyone wants or needs a kiss or needs your face two inches from their own. Not everyone can be famous and not everyone will remember events the same ways you do. You're losing your memory and maybe that plays into part of why you are losing connection fidelity with your dream states. Be okay with working on it. There's no breaker to fire off in between where you're going and where you can never go back to and that's perfectly fine.
Do you bring a knife or no? Do you need to? Would you need to? I don't know! You can take what you want, but you don't have to. Are you expecting battle? It's a funky kind of war we fight and I've been seeing some strange things I don't know how to handle off of the top of my head. I need time. No picking up sticks. No running away. No abuse. Abuse is shorthand for sadists. What's short hand for saints? I want to plow into a wall and obliterate my body in a mist of red and bone. I want humor. Get the fuck away from me! I swear to god I will taste your eye fluid before the night is out, you mother fucker piece of shit, do you not know there is no such thing as a fair fight?
Rules are in place to keep me out of you. Period. Maybe it's all a matter of timing? That may be what I'm getting wrong.
Wanderlust eats away at me and I nibble back. I almost lit a cat on fire again. I'm doing good though. Being on good behavior and going to work almost every time I am supposed to go. I want to keep it up through the end of the year. I am not expecting much from Santa. I still ask him for a 1911 against my better judgement. No resolutions forthcoming and none will be given. I think I'll treat myself to a box of ammunition this year. One step at a time. Baby steps. We'll travel, but I'm not pulling up sticks just yet. I'm trying to monitor my speech. I've been speaking much too fast and running words together and feeling like I need to apologize inside my head every time someone says "what did you say?" I said exactly what the hell I said. It's hyper frustrating. It's like a stutter, but backwards and difficult to correct and heart stabbing when I notice it flowing out of my damned mouth. Not fair!
Howling in my head wont stop. I haven't snorted anything serious in a long time and my sinuses feel like they are about to shatter. "...turning the music up so ya don't hear the engine falling apart..." by hook or by crook we are going to fix this thing so it runs smooth. Chatty Cathy. Slow the fuck down and take a moment. The world's not crazy. It is just you. Everything does not smell like burning metal. It is just you. Space invaders.
///Kelis - "I Don't Think So" just dont think you're at my speed
Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
Showing posts with label wash and rinse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wash and rinse. Show all posts
12/1/13
9/12/13
Dissolving (some) Isolation, September 11th, Launch, and Laughter (touching roots)
It's been a long time. It had to be. I had a lot of things I needed to think about and learn an acceptable way to grasp, but I did! That's good. You know what else is good? Coke's slogan. I thought about it all day when I heard the commercial and now I can't remember what the hell it was, but I'm sure it'll come back to me tomorrow when I'm not thinking.
I will think of coke and remember the slogan for Coke that cracked me up because it was so dual apt they couldn't have done it by accident. Look it up. I don't assign homework in general and almost as a rule, but look it up. I was just thinking though, I have never assigned homework unless I had to. I kind of make a bad teacher in that way sometimes. I think that's the way it should be though; if you always come to class and never miss one you should be as well informed as the person who never goes to class, but reads the textbook cover to cover.
Sorry, I got distracted. I didn't know where to start and I've been looking for a way to start again, but nothing has lead back here the way I expected it to and then I was all out for starting points and so far away that I was all in for whatever I could find to begin again and I found what I was not happy to find but I'll throw it off from the edge of the rooftop and watch it fall down and try to make sense of it. Okay? Let's go:
September 11th. The day that changed 'merica. It didn't. America is still what it was. Only a little more paranoid. This day used to have a little more bite. I used to remember the servicemen I know and knew (not because they died, we just stopped being as close as we used to be) and the new ones I've met while fishing the river on a slow Thursday. I used to remember them with incredible reverence. Not so much anymore.
The one's still in are in because they want to be. The ones that are out are out on good terms and very well compensated, on the pay scale I aspire to climb toward that kind of stability, and have awesome resumes. I guess that still burns me a little on this day. Getting near perfect scores on the entrance test and damn near perfect on the physicals and getting bounced on psychological failures. The whole talk my dad gave me about "the family standard of excellence." I didn't want to cry or weep. I just wanted to pop out of existence with a genie wink when going in and making it as an infantryman and working a way up could be viewed as tarnishing "the family standard of excellence." I still makes me laugh out loud today to say it aloud.
Part of what makes me laugh is that, incidentally, he was right. After taking a year or two to think about it a little harder, I can see that I would have been a skittish, trigger happy, blood hungry, question asking, thinking, liability to the cause. I would have gotten myself and other people killed, given a uniform, a weapon, and a theater. That's just coincidence, though, pure coincidence, so it doesn't really count. At all.
Serendipity.
"Are you dead or are you sleeping, God, I sure hope you are dead." Dealing with a little paranoia break, but that's neither here nor there.
September is also the anniversary of the longest intimate relationship I ever was able to be a part of and it was fantastic. I forgot the date the first three years we were together. Finally made the brilliant move to add it to my phone. It stayed there after we broke up. I can vaguely remember some of the gifts, one of the gifts, I gave her. I think the others were holiday related. I can remember trying to figure out how to get flowers delivered to her office and the whole runaround I got. I can also vividly remember the violent times. The times when my brain fractured. The times when truth was too much for me to eat.
I am laughing because it is remembering the times when, more than anything else, I wanted the laws of interpersonal physics to suspend themselves. I do not know, though. Life is long. Who else are you going to travel the spectrum of drugs with when you're too old to work and done everything else and the prospect of shagging is as interesting as scrubbing your bathtub? Blackouts. Retirement is going to be an amazing thing.
So, September 11th used to be like holding a revolver in my mouth and pulling the trigger until the chamber clicked over several times while fingering an empty casing from the gun range. Not anymore. I'm passed it. Nothing's going to change my world, sweetness.
We will modify, sometimes ad hoc, we will destroy and build, we will continue to drive toward some kind of perfect state, but we will mow down no one else along the way. We will remain honest and not overly dramatic, maybe, we will masturbate to idle thoughts of bodily violence, we will maintain course and get to know the new ship, we will cultivate friendship, and build ourselves into better people instead of weapons. We will.
I don't want to spend too much time on this. I've been trying to structure my paragraphs better and slash the blocks into verses. The poet that keeps clawing it's way out of my mouth. I don't want to spend too much time on this and I'm three hours in so let's call it close.
I love you. I do. I shouldn't. If I could bury you each and be the one with the shovel over night, I would cum. It is a strange thing, I know. I love helping people, so much. There is no replacing the feeling of helping someone solve a problem and secure a future outcome 100%. 100% assured that what they wanted was what they were going to get. Nothing replaces that. Wherever you are.
I've been working to dissolve some isolation. It's important. An important thing. Once I finish the project I am working alone I am going to need to be able to interact on a normal basis to get another job to fill the money void. Money drives everything, doesn't it? More than that is learning how to interact with people without a group to diffuse the messy bits to. It's easy to do when there are many other magnetic orientations to diffuse field lines to. Not so much otherwise.
I am approaching a point where isolation will become counterproductive. Flat out. For a time. There are many options for filling the counter point to weigh it into a cantilever support system. Ad hocced. Performing the expense reports in my mind. It's not going to work. I think that is part of growing up. Growing the capacity to do that and know with some certainty what is bound to fail when it comes to tolerable and intolerable acts of personality.
I am getting closer toward dissolving some aspects of isolation. One finger on the trigger that will close fire bulkheads. I don't know what process or loop or instantiation will trigger something terrible, but I am prepared to eject instantaneously. I'm not your project. I am project enough for myself. Here come old flattop.
We are you friends. We are your friends. We are shoving off from the scrap yard brand new in many ways. The new ship is troubleshot and configured. There is nothing more to it than to do it. We are launching. We are reentering circles and seeing what snow will fall and where and what kinds of sculpture we can make of it until the sun comes up and melts it all. We are launching. Granted we were stocked up and manned up a week prior, but we didn't have the heart at the wheel to give chase to open sea. We do know. We are ready. Cobbled together from many different pieces, we are ready to see if it works. Shove off, baby.
Getting back to laughter. Getting back to what makes us laugh. Back to the roots of what made me start in the first place. Gain some understanding. At first it was a reaching out, it became a gps, and now it's a tough out. I don't like to think inwardly. As tough an out as they come. It's still a map. I'm on the far edge of it and it keeps drawing beyond the dark part of the space of influence. I think I am getting back to laughter.
Back to being able to really, really, indulge in the spaces life does afford for taking nothing too seriously and taking everything too seriously. That magical place where living life, at least the way you understand it presently, like it is your last day jives with the fact that, barring absolute worst outcomes in tandem, it probably isn't.
You're going to have to live with, regardless of how you or someone else can spin it, what you did today.
I want to spend that time laughing. We're launching again. We are equipped for combat, need it arise, we are equipped for food, it will arise, and we are equipped to question ourselves and somethings (not everythings) anew. We are equipped to observe and equipped for some closeness. We have an L six two D load out and we are ready to rock.
I am perpetually intermittently disappointed with myself. Lack of ability to grow networks combined with... grows. I wonder if I am some kind of cancer embodied sometimes. A walking carcinogen. You go back to her and I go back to... I feel like I am in a very long race to eliminate myself or as many people as I can take down at once. It's nothing personal. It's sporting. Not immediately but, I don't know.
Some days, walking down the street, I look at myself in the store front windows reflected, and it's a pretty damn cool thing to see that ambulating to wherever and enjoy that remove. There's no vanity there for me. Just trekking and knowing that we're doing it. We're doing it! We are out of doors and doing alright. I don't love the birds looking back sometimes with that "not if you were the last man on Earth" look. What the hell is that about?
We're doing this. I am as over myself as I'll ever be. It's passed time to laugh again. Laugh about little things genuinely. It's easy to see the world as whole. It's passed time to really chew on it again. Launch probes. Explore and navigate from afar or as far as possible, but do not be afraid to take readings from the machines you employ. It's time, however briefly, to try again to square up vision with reality and you'll never know how far off you are, or've been, unless that depleted round sails downrange.
///DJ? Acucrack - "Allegra" ... this is the soundtrack to stalking yourself. Searching out, the movie score. This is, bassed up, the chase; the quiet chase between functional and passable (between blending and fitting in).
I will think of coke and remember the slogan for Coke that cracked me up because it was so dual apt they couldn't have done it by accident. Look it up. I don't assign homework in general and almost as a rule, but look it up. I was just thinking though, I have never assigned homework unless I had to. I kind of make a bad teacher in that way sometimes. I think that's the way it should be though; if you always come to class and never miss one you should be as well informed as the person who never goes to class, but reads the textbook cover to cover.
Sorry, I got distracted. I didn't know where to start and I've been looking for a way to start again, but nothing has lead back here the way I expected it to and then I was all out for starting points and so far away that I was all in for whatever I could find to begin again and I found what I was not happy to find but I'll throw it off from the edge of the rooftop and watch it fall down and try to make sense of it. Okay? Let's go:
September 11th. The day that changed 'merica. It didn't. America is still what it was. Only a little more paranoid. This day used to have a little more bite. I used to remember the servicemen I know and knew (not because they died, we just stopped being as close as we used to be) and the new ones I've met while fishing the river on a slow Thursday. I used to remember them with incredible reverence. Not so much anymore.
The one's still in are in because they want to be. The ones that are out are out on good terms and very well compensated, on the pay scale I aspire to climb toward that kind of stability, and have awesome resumes. I guess that still burns me a little on this day. Getting near perfect scores on the entrance test and damn near perfect on the physicals and getting bounced on psychological failures. The whole talk my dad gave me about "the family standard of excellence." I didn't want to cry or weep. I just wanted to pop out of existence with a genie wink when going in and making it as an infantryman and working a way up could be viewed as tarnishing "the family standard of excellence." I still makes me laugh out loud today to say it aloud.
Part of what makes me laugh is that, incidentally, he was right. After taking a year or two to think about it a little harder, I can see that I would have been a skittish, trigger happy, blood hungry, question asking, thinking, liability to the cause. I would have gotten myself and other people killed, given a uniform, a weapon, and a theater. That's just coincidence, though, pure coincidence, so it doesn't really count. At all.
Serendipity.
"Are you dead or are you sleeping, God, I sure hope you are dead." Dealing with a little paranoia break, but that's neither here nor there.
September is also the anniversary of the longest intimate relationship I ever was able to be a part of and it was fantastic. I forgot the date the first three years we were together. Finally made the brilliant move to add it to my phone. It stayed there after we broke up. I can vaguely remember some of the gifts, one of the gifts, I gave her. I think the others were holiday related. I can remember trying to figure out how to get flowers delivered to her office and the whole runaround I got. I can also vividly remember the violent times. The times when my brain fractured. The times when truth was too much for me to eat.
I am laughing because it is remembering the times when, more than anything else, I wanted the laws of interpersonal physics to suspend themselves. I do not know, though. Life is long. Who else are you going to travel the spectrum of drugs with when you're too old to work and done everything else and the prospect of shagging is as interesting as scrubbing your bathtub? Blackouts. Retirement is going to be an amazing thing.
So, September 11th used to be like holding a revolver in my mouth and pulling the trigger until the chamber clicked over several times while fingering an empty casing from the gun range. Not anymore. I'm passed it. Nothing's going to change my world, sweetness.
We will modify, sometimes ad hoc, we will destroy and build, we will continue to drive toward some kind of perfect state, but we will mow down no one else along the way. We will remain honest and not overly dramatic, maybe, we will masturbate to idle thoughts of bodily violence, we will maintain course and get to know the new ship, we will cultivate friendship, and build ourselves into better people instead of weapons. We will.
I don't want to spend too much time on this. I've been trying to structure my paragraphs better and slash the blocks into verses. The poet that keeps clawing it's way out of my mouth. I don't want to spend too much time on this and I'm three hours in so let's call it close.
I love you. I do. I shouldn't. If I could bury you each and be the one with the shovel over night, I would cum. It is a strange thing, I know. I love helping people, so much. There is no replacing the feeling of helping someone solve a problem and secure a future outcome 100%. 100% assured that what they wanted was what they were going to get. Nothing replaces that. Wherever you are.
I've been working to dissolve some isolation. It's important. An important thing. Once I finish the project I am working alone I am going to need to be able to interact on a normal basis to get another job to fill the money void. Money drives everything, doesn't it? More than that is learning how to interact with people without a group to diffuse the messy bits to. It's easy to do when there are many other magnetic orientations to diffuse field lines to. Not so much otherwise.
I am approaching a point where isolation will become counterproductive. Flat out. For a time. There are many options for filling the counter point to weigh it into a cantilever support system. Ad hocced. Performing the expense reports in my mind. It's not going to work. I think that is part of growing up. Growing the capacity to do that and know with some certainty what is bound to fail when it comes to tolerable and intolerable acts of personality.
I am getting closer toward dissolving some aspects of isolation. One finger on the trigger that will close fire bulkheads. I don't know what process or loop or instantiation will trigger something terrible, but I am prepared to eject instantaneously. I'm not your project. I am project enough for myself. Here come old flattop.
We are you friends. We are your friends. We are shoving off from the scrap yard brand new in many ways. The new ship is troubleshot and configured. There is nothing more to it than to do it. We are launching. We are reentering circles and seeing what snow will fall and where and what kinds of sculpture we can make of it until the sun comes up and melts it all. We are launching. Granted we were stocked up and manned up a week prior, but we didn't have the heart at the wheel to give chase to open sea. We do know. We are ready. Cobbled together from many different pieces, we are ready to see if it works. Shove off, baby.
Getting back to laughter. Getting back to what makes us laugh. Back to the roots of what made me start in the first place. Gain some understanding. At first it was a reaching out, it became a gps, and now it's a tough out. I don't like to think inwardly. As tough an out as they come. It's still a map. I'm on the far edge of it and it keeps drawing beyond the dark part of the space of influence. I think I am getting back to laughter.
Back to being able to really, really, indulge in the spaces life does afford for taking nothing too seriously and taking everything too seriously. That magical place where living life, at least the way you understand it presently, like it is your last day jives with the fact that, barring absolute worst outcomes in tandem, it probably isn't.
You're going to have to live with, regardless of how you or someone else can spin it, what you did today.
I want to spend that time laughing. We're launching again. We are equipped for combat, need it arise, we are equipped for food, it will arise, and we are equipped to question ourselves and somethings (not everythings) anew. We are equipped to observe and equipped for some closeness. We have an L six two D load out and we are ready to rock.
I am perpetually intermittently disappointed with myself. Lack of ability to grow networks combined with... grows. I wonder if I am some kind of cancer embodied sometimes. A walking carcinogen. You go back to her and I go back to... I feel like I am in a very long race to eliminate myself or as many people as I can take down at once. It's nothing personal. It's sporting. Not immediately but, I don't know.
Some days, walking down the street, I look at myself in the store front windows reflected, and it's a pretty damn cool thing to see that ambulating to wherever and enjoy that remove. There's no vanity there for me. Just trekking and knowing that we're doing it. We're doing it! We are out of doors and doing alright. I don't love the birds looking back sometimes with that "not if you were the last man on Earth" look. What the hell is that about?
We're doing this. I am as over myself as I'll ever be. It's passed time to laugh again. Laugh about little things genuinely. It's easy to see the world as whole. It's passed time to really chew on it again. Launch probes. Explore and navigate from afar or as far as possible, but do not be afraid to take readings from the machines you employ. It's time, however briefly, to try again to square up vision with reality and you'll never know how far off you are, or've been, unless that depleted round sails downrange.
///DJ? Acucrack - "Allegra" ... this is the soundtrack to stalking yourself. Searching out, the movie score. This is, bassed up, the chase; the quiet chase between functional and passable (between blending and fitting in).
7/30/13
Growth Is Hard, the Burna
Growth is hard hard hard. I don't like change. Routine is a life saver. Regulation. Having to think about what to wear and what to eat and when and how much and how many layers and what's clean and what's not and the questions mount up so damn fast. Is there gas in the car, is there not, is there enough gas to get to a gas station, is there milk, are there eggs, did you put your socks on before you put shoes on, did you wear a belt, did you need to, are you wearing pants, is your shirt buttoned, tucked, or untucked and should it be. Did you brush your teeth, did you brush your beard, where are your sunglasses, do you need them, did you check the weather, where are your keys, are your cards in your wallet, did you get back to the people who left you messages, did they message you at all, what's your schedule like, do you have a schedule, where's your cereal, do you need more, what's for breakfast, what's for dinner, did you smoke yet, should you be, what's the month budget for it, did you budget, shouldn't you be quitting, did you make time to draw, did you make time to check up on the engine light, did you do laundry, is your stuff in the dryer, did you vacuum the rugs, have you brushed the cats, did you water the garden, where's the coolant you picked up, have you gathered the scattered spare change, where are your shoes, where are the good jeans, did you hang up your good tees, how are the ice trays, did you take out the trash, did you look into buying fans, where are the new fish hooks you bought, who keeps letting their dog poo at the corner of your house, have you checked the mail, where's the other set of keys, where's your good hat, have you changed your water filter, what's the beer situation, did you buy new brushes for work, have you paid your phone bill, when are you changing your tires, have you washed your hair, have you checked your piercings, did you wash your sheets, have you clipped your nails, did you tie your shoes, is there an undershirt beneath your top, have you looked into ... brain explosion.
Routine really is a life saver. I'd kill myself without it. Without routine it is impossible to identify brain shrapnel apart from reality. Impossible to separate the notes of a song from synapse misfires. I haven't been slipping too much and I'm proud of that. I've been doing a good job of managing schizophrenia and delusion. I've been sharp and on my feet enough to know when control was slipping and intelligent enough to understand when a decent time to step back and lock my body in arrived. I'm happy for that. I'm happy that I've been able to not just see my friends and old family, but divide those conversations from the larger dialogues with other people and keep them private. I am happy that the ones without names can be separated from the ones with.
I've been trying to keep ourselves busy in the factory and it's going good. The warehouse is buzzing and everyone's happy and still yapping at each other and it's fantastic. Everyone is accounted for, the first time in a long time. I can't sit on it though. They will start to wander away and then we won't be working together for half a damn.
I've been thinking over the last time I was in the hospital when they brought me in and made me intern myself as a bargain. That night still itches me. Still makes us furious. I didn't do anything wrong that day! I shut my mouth too, but they had us hooked up to a couple machines and I was lying through my teeth the whole time and to this day we're sure my heartbeat gave us up. I stood up and it jumped real hard from rest to joy panic and the doctor winced and I winced and started sweating and everyone started screaming in my ears and I tried to run, but the door was locked from the outside and that's just plain unfair and I got mad. Mad as hell.
Routine is a life saver, though. Do X at Y time. Z comes after. A comes first, followed by B. Sometimes D, but it's okay if C jumps in before D as long as A and B come before and X and Y follow. Without it, without that, things get jumbled and then dreamland starts to bleed into reality and then things I shouldn't say and people who have no business in my circles start to have conversations with people they have no business meeting and then those people start to get mad at us because we've been talking about them behind their backs and once that check is cashed there's no going back on it. Then I get burned because they make me pay and there's no way to explain to them because as hard as I try to explain it to them they don't hear me and I've already gone too far and that's far enough.
Growth is hard. It hurts. Learning what you can and can't do. What I can and cannot do. What is and is not acceptable. More than anything else I want to meet someone who can sit down with me and them and have a good long coffee conversation. I know they're not real, I know they are real. I have to constantly monitor sounds. I have to consistently monitor their footsteps so I know when and whom I'm looking at. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair! I want you in my world. I want you in my shoes so you can understand the kind of ... it's not fucking fair.
I play music so loud so I don't have to hear. I hope I go deaf. I wouldn't mind still having eyes because I love to look at nature. I love looking at nature. Sometimes we hate what I see because they are there always now and it's terrifying and it's gorgeous. Seeing where they've been and we talk about it across fields. Are you hiding from me? You with the- I hate it. I hate it! Are you alone? Did you come alone? No! Not ever! I'm never alone! Do you know what that's like??? Do you know what that's like?????? Get away from me! Stop lying!! Stop lying in my ear!! Just go away!!! It never happens. It never happens like I want it to and I try not to take it out on us. Not to take it out on you. Growth is hard. My dad used to assure me it was just angels and devils talking to me and if I chose the path of loving Jesus I would be able to sort them out and I would know which ones it was because "the Bible tells me so." Goodnight and good luck.
Managing is harder. It's difficult boxing that part of me away. Walling and fencing it off so I can still be a part of the rest of 'merica. Hard not to play into their hands. The whole thing burns to malfeasance. Reciprocal engine with no off button. The only thing you can do is try to avoid putting gas in it. I want new genes. I want new genes. I want new programming. I've been doing good. Little star. Little little skittish star, but I've been doing good. Been doing good with putting words the right way and conversations the right way, and containing, but it's exhausting and it hurts us on the inside parts. It hurts a lot. I want to be alone so badly and I don't know how to get there. I don't know how to get back to good sleep.
It's not about my parents or the violence pushed way too far or relationships with friends or dating or god or medicine. Battling. Don't celebrate the battles, celebrate the war. I want nature to stop talking to me. A billion dollars for silence. A trillion dollars for blindness. That's the wager. Just give me one less eye and blown out ears. Still no guts to do it myself. Take it away from me. Just shut up! Shut the fuck up! Growth is hard! Being adult. Sometimes I wake up and I know I'm still stunted, but inside a giant robot that has capabilities far beyond what my head is prepared to command. I didn't want it, but I know I have to deal with it, continue to learn how to use it to become a part of the rest of the structures or destroy it so it doesn't damage the space it occupies and the rest occupying the same space. It hurts. It hurts a lot. It's confusing to us. I've been doing good though. I want to keep it going. I want to blend in better. I am working on growth, but it's hard as hell.
///Bjork - "Pluto" ... a little bit tired, but brand new...
Routine really is a life saver. I'd kill myself without it. Without routine it is impossible to identify brain shrapnel apart from reality. Impossible to separate the notes of a song from synapse misfires. I haven't been slipping too much and I'm proud of that. I've been doing a good job of managing schizophrenia and delusion. I've been sharp and on my feet enough to know when control was slipping and intelligent enough to understand when a decent time to step back and lock my body in arrived. I'm happy for that. I'm happy that I've been able to not just see my friends and old family, but divide those conversations from the larger dialogues with other people and keep them private. I am happy that the ones without names can be separated from the ones with.
I've been trying to keep ourselves busy in the factory and it's going good. The warehouse is buzzing and everyone's happy and still yapping at each other and it's fantastic. Everyone is accounted for, the first time in a long time. I can't sit on it though. They will start to wander away and then we won't be working together for half a damn.
I've been thinking over the last time I was in the hospital when they brought me in and made me intern myself as a bargain. That night still itches me. Still makes us furious. I didn't do anything wrong that day! I shut my mouth too, but they had us hooked up to a couple machines and I was lying through my teeth the whole time and to this day we're sure my heartbeat gave us up. I stood up and it jumped real hard from rest to joy panic and the doctor winced and I winced and started sweating and everyone started screaming in my ears and I tried to run, but the door was locked from the outside and that's just plain unfair and I got mad. Mad as hell.
Routine is a life saver, though. Do X at Y time. Z comes after. A comes first, followed by B. Sometimes D, but it's okay if C jumps in before D as long as A and B come before and X and Y follow. Without it, without that, things get jumbled and then dreamland starts to bleed into reality and then things I shouldn't say and people who have no business in my circles start to have conversations with people they have no business meeting and then those people start to get mad at us because we've been talking about them behind their backs and once that check is cashed there's no going back on it. Then I get burned because they make me pay and there's no way to explain to them because as hard as I try to explain it to them they don't hear me and I've already gone too far and that's far enough.
Growth is hard. It hurts. Learning what you can and can't do. What I can and cannot do. What is and is not acceptable. More than anything else I want to meet someone who can sit down with me and them and have a good long coffee conversation. I know they're not real, I know they are real. I have to constantly monitor sounds. I have to consistently monitor their footsteps so I know when and whom I'm looking at. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair! I want you in my world. I want you in my shoes so you can understand the kind of ... it's not fucking fair.
I play music so loud so I don't have to hear. I hope I go deaf. I wouldn't mind still having eyes because I love to look at nature. I love looking at nature. Sometimes we hate what I see because they are there always now and it's terrifying and it's gorgeous. Seeing where they've been and we talk about it across fields. Are you hiding from me? You with the- I hate it. I hate it! Are you alone? Did you come alone? No! Not ever! I'm never alone! Do you know what that's like??? Do you know what that's like?????? Get away from me! Stop lying!! Stop lying in my ear!! Just go away!!! It never happens. It never happens like I want it to and I try not to take it out on us. Not to take it out on you. Growth is hard. My dad used to assure me it was just angels and devils talking to me and if I chose the path of loving Jesus I would be able to sort them out and I would know which ones it was because "the Bible tells me so." Goodnight and good luck.
Managing is harder. It's difficult boxing that part of me away. Walling and fencing it off so I can still be a part of the rest of 'merica. Hard not to play into their hands. The whole thing burns to malfeasance. Reciprocal engine with no off button. The only thing you can do is try to avoid putting gas in it. I want new genes. I want new genes. I want new programming. I've been doing good. Little star. Little little skittish star, but I've been doing good. Been doing good with putting words the right way and conversations the right way, and containing, but it's exhausting and it hurts us on the inside parts. It hurts a lot. I want to be alone so badly and I don't know how to get there. I don't know how to get back to good sleep.
It's not about my parents or the violence pushed way too far or relationships with friends or dating or god or medicine. Battling. Don't celebrate the battles, celebrate the war. I want nature to stop talking to me. A billion dollars for silence. A trillion dollars for blindness. That's the wager. Just give me one less eye and blown out ears. Still no guts to do it myself. Take it away from me. Just shut up! Shut the fuck up! Growth is hard! Being adult. Sometimes I wake up and I know I'm still stunted, but inside a giant robot that has capabilities far beyond what my head is prepared to command. I didn't want it, but I know I have to deal with it, continue to learn how to use it to become a part of the rest of the structures or destroy it so it doesn't damage the space it occupies and the rest occupying the same space. It hurts. It hurts a lot. It's confusing to us. I've been doing good though. I want to keep it going. I want to blend in better. I am working on growth, but it's hard as hell.
///Bjork - "Pluto" ... a little bit tired, but brand new...
7/14/12
The Best Thing
about living alone is you can do your own dishes whenever you feel like it. The worst thing about doing your own dishes is the definition of doing dishes. If doing dishes means an empty sink, you're probably making it too easy, because your sink will be empty and your bedroom will be full of dirty dishes. Do your goddamn dishes. A dirty plate is not a pillow, no matter how you spin it.
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