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Peace

There in the swirling torrent,

at the eye of the rage and chaos,

in the core there is a stillness,

an unremembrance of the gnats and knives

carried in the wind.

Round and round and round,

flashing lights illuminate white-capped crests

as the very surface bends to that calm,

to that void wherein there is no whirl,

no time,

no thing.

Implosion of sound as forward becomes down becomes around again,

the distance from peace ages and lengthens

as the sea is wrapped and twisted further around the eye.

Above, the clouds lurch,

drunken spirals they vomit the cold, biting rain,

spew hail,

belch thunder.

There is no sun beyond the cloud,

no night sky reigned with star,

there is nothing but the maelstrom,

crashing and gnawing at that silent core,

drawing everything down to the silent end.


angry tie

I thread my body in hot dissonance –

the angry pinks leap out from an ecru field,

lashing out to assault the eye,

to offend the inferred harmonies

swelling in a sea of pretense

around my open scowl.

 

It is my mood,

fey and callous

that accents the palate –

a dark stain on the white fabric,

a sore-thumb crack in an over-sized button.

I lick my lips to whet the daggers of my eyes,

lit with smoldering rage,

the tiny figure hurling insults as monolithic giants,

futility in a storm,

eroded in a blink.

 

all that I see is frustration,

consumption,

and waste.

 

all that I know is disgust.

 

11/6/14


a slight departure

Somewhere between ten and two, I decided that a bowl of sliced cucumbers did not, in fact, make for a good dessert.  Even with Himalayan salt, and even after a fistful of double gins on the rocks,  the crunchy greens left me wanting, waiting for more.

Today was rough.  A rough finish to a stressful few days.  Sunday burned by as we tore through Milledgeville and Sparta on our way to Macon.  The ugly arid palms of the Carolinas rolled away to the inviting turf of Georgia, but the hours oozed by – an uncomfortably slow drain.  Night saw us sweltering from the rental to the hotel lobby, 89 degrees of moist discomfort.  I passed out quickly after a few words home on a busted cell phone – lousy VOIP with a shitty mobile.  Anyways, it’s always good to hear the voices of home.

Monday was a waste.  We pissed away the morning pretending not to be terrorists as we scoped out the base.  We picked a few pairs of garbage-made steel toes from Wally World, then headed over to ‘Bucks to review some slides and partake of overpriced hippy swill.  I was not nervous.  This wasn’t my bag.  I was there for the money, and they had already handed that over.  I was here just to manage expectations.  Dr. Gray was bandaging Physics, not promising solutions.  They already had their solutions.  I told them how it would work.  I’d spill the details that might sweeten the pot, a little.

We slid through security on a smile and a few coverups of anger.  We weren’t there to hear the civilians gossip about local fast food.  I didn’t want to know about Landia’s baby, nor about Dix’s skipping out without a text.  Give me the fucking badge, and let me on my way.’

We had been told parking would be a bitch.  “Good Luck and God Bless” was how they put it.  But, at 11 am, we rolled into an unmarked spot a few yards from the building.  We were too early.  Thirty minutes too early.  We waited in the air conditioned car for half an hour.  That damned Georgia sun was cooking the air to a boil.  I could smell the humidity through the car windows.

Fuck it.  It was time.  It was close enough to time.  We bolted from the car armed to the teeth with a laptop, a rotting quad-ruled notebook, and two minds full of unrivaled cunning.  Nothing could stand in our way now.  We weren’t looking to take prisoners – we were negotiating our victory.

The building was horrid Air Force brick.  Landscaping was dry – all stemmy bushes atop hard back, baked sand.  Toss in a few vines that grew too high on the building facade, and bingo – Robins Air Force base.  We sat on a pair of mildewed benches.  I didn’t have on a tie, and so I didn’t mind the sweating.  Well, not as much as with a tie anyways.

11:45.  We call.  No answer.  Leave a message.  Wait.  No answer.  Fuck it.  It’s hot.  Let’s go in.

We go in.  It’s all cube-farms and blue uniforms.  Toss in a few clean-cut civvies now and again.  No one seems to notice us.  No one wants to answer us.  Dr. Gray is insulted.  At this point, their words have become moot.  I have changed my tune, and am not at all interested in appeasement.  This venture has now become a tax on my time – I will be looking for someone to punish.

All in all, things went well.  I learned something.  Someone called me Dr. Gray, and asked a loaded question.  I missed the bait, swallowed the hook, and buried the questioner in science and logic.  Marley bailed me out.  He tossed the poor bastard a bone, nodded to me that an explanation would come later, and shut the fucker down.  That was all finished.

The drive back was too long.  Too many words, too much lecturing.  I don’t really care now, because I can smell the mischief of my girls even from 8 hours out.  I’ve got an itch that only five special women can scratch, and the miles are creeping by.  500.  450.  420.  Damn!

We’re about to crash for the night when Marley drops the bomb.  It’s over.  Our little empire is coming down around me now, and I’ve got Atlas’s burden impending in the morning.  Damn!  That’s a sharp blow on a Monday evening.  It is Monday, right?  Damn!

We hint at drinks.  God knows I need a gin.  I can’t do it.  Not tonight.  Not after that carpet yanking.  I think back to an airline bottle of Beefeater.  I should have packed that in my bag.  Who can afford ten bucks for a rail hit of gin?  Why would you?  Where’s a snifter of Hendricks when you need it?

I call home.  It’s good.  Everything is good.  I’m jut too far away, and pillars keep tumbling around me.  I need to get back to the world, but this jackass has set my mind afire.  Dr. Gray’s ego swells, even as the burdens pile up.  How many hours are in a week?  Is that a law, or am I allowed to bend it?

Fuck it.

Tuesday night.  I eat my chicken.  Raw.  Burned.  It’s fine.  Four ounces of gin, and my veins are aching for some sugar.  We got nothing, and I mean nothing.

So, its a bowl of sliced cucumbers.  Cucumbers with pink Himalayan salt.  But, it’s only cucumbers.  And, everyone knows, cucumbers don’t make for a very good dessert.

.

 

 

I have moved.   Find me at dtdeedge.com


A step beyond

Speak to me those words of beauty,
Whisper them carefully,
Cached in mystique of inference,
Heady breath swollen with meaning.
Touch who you think I am,
As you preach of what you know.
Carry me please,
Carry me from these burdens,
To a place without question,
Without doubt or worry,
Take what is left,
Hulking form,
Collective wound of life –
Take this wreck to a place that is all beauty,
Dream without waking.
Cast me as a net
That I might harvest completion,
That I might dissolve into being.
Sing.
Sing your soul,
Sung without meaning
And let that intent guide my steps,
Undieing after death,
Deathless outside time.
Oh let me become!
Let me walk away from potential,
Let me step beyond desire,
Beyond mediocrity.
Let me become.
Take me.


Lament for something that never was.

Despair.

I am become now despair,

as time gnaws at the raw edge of betrayal,

of self-directed anger.

.

I am become despair in the light of Reality,

Reality – that cruel bitch,

antithesis of karma-loving mediocrity.

I am lost to this isolation,

realization that I am insignificance,

infinitesimal mass

in the vastness of infinite time,

infinite space.

.

Who was I pretending to be?

What seed bore the fruit of that presumption?

How did I…?

.

I  must go now.

Reality has come,

and she has brought her lady-

and Duty is a mistress most harsh.

I return now to the task-

Sisyphus thinks only of the stone,

and leaves introspection to the philosopher.

 

5/22/14


an in between place

I wait in this in between place,

this place that is nowhere.

I wait alone with myself,

with our many selves,

hesitant to commit.

.

Through this mist,

this pervasive sadness that coats my bones,

a lilt of an accent,

bright memories of yesterday –

of dragonflies and of stairways,

we wonder which of us is real,

which of us is to be real.

.

Do I decide?

Is the decision mine

to collapse these infinite possibilities

into a single,

crystalline

reality?

Is the true self decided by fate

by God,

or a foolish boy’s choice?

.

I watch the alternatives crumple

into the hungering fog of impossibility.

.

I stand and wait,

postponing,

in this place of infinite loss.

I cannot reach out,

will not reach out,

for I have lost the desire for direction,

for life or for death.

.

So I stand within this self,

in the midst of this host of possible selves –

the dwindling remains of who we could have been,

would have been,

if not for…

.

There is no collapse,

no singular focus.

We are all illusion,

misperception,

visions to blind children.

.

I am truly thankful for these thoughts,

these inwardly directed thoughts from outside,

these shining lines of hope,

memories,

love.

.

But yet I wait here,

unsure,

and anything but alone.

 

4.24.14


Inverse

The inverse side, the inside song.

Your words, the words run like smoke.

Cough!

I held on and once again, burned, I cry to no one.

She held out her hand,

not knowing why,

and I took it,

not knowing why.

A cold wind,

gray and sad,

blows me down and those hands are there,

smiling,

laughing that I fell.

She looks into their eyes and I see a mockery

of all that I have.

I have no more room for sadness.

So, look at these eyes

and understand my goodbye

as eternal.

.

Oct 1998


Beyond the Night

I have lost a day to the distance,

for this place is beyond dreams

and past the night.

All is different here, so very different.

The pride,

the will,

I am torn down in the fire by ideas

I can never understand.

I am a child without a voice,

without right –

pushed and pulled,

swayed to either side by desires around me.

My soul is too different,

my ears a curse.

I can no longer speak –

my opinions melt under the onslaught.

I have a mind,

dreams,

Damn!

I wonder how to return to life,

normal.

.

11/19/01


Mr. Dudley’s Not Home

Mr. Dudley’s not home,

say good-bye to his empty smile,

always alone,

always reaching

for someone or something

to hold.

Knowledge of being a burden

was his only security

other than the maddening depression.

Drink it all away,

it does ease the pain,

at least for a while,

at least at night when it’s dark,

something to occupy your mind,

again the pain dissipates.

Soon it’s time to go,

the knowledge is somewhat of a comfort,

delusions of peace,

if you had only listened.

Now you have found that which you sought.

 

For Uncle Donald,

October 16, 1995


Simon – 11/16/13

My Dear Simon,

It was good to see you again the other night. It has been such a long time. I can’t remember how long it has honestly been since we last spoke.

You have changed some – you seem darker, less present than you once were. Surprisingly though, I felt a touch of peace in you that I did not remember from before. I read some of your older work, and perhaps I can see some inkling of that peace in your words. It’s so hard to say though. I suppose you’ve seen so much since we last spoke, since the last time I read one of your pieces. I was more than a touch melancholic in wondering what we might have seen together, had things worked out differently. Looking back now, I am not sure I would have endured traveling through the places you’ve been in the recent past. Yes, you have most definitely changed. You are aged like wine, or more aptly, like an iron rod tempered through the heat.

As to the idea of another visit? I am not sure. I think you were right in your perception that my hold on reality, and on sanity, is not the strong, rooted grip that I had believed. With the girls gone, and your recent words echoing in my mind, I can see the veil thinning. It is more than a little terrifying.

I have become complacent here, at ease in the struggle for normalcy that fatherhood and married life bring. This career, the continual chewing up of the physical world in piecewise puzzles, the poor sleeping, the dearth of spare time – all of these ‘problems’ have only reinforced the mists obscuring who I am. When you asked me who I was now, I suppose we both saw that doubt. It was momentary, but it was real nonetheless. I knew you weren’t belittling what I have earned here, even though it is something that you will never comprehend. That was generous of you – another badge you’ve earned on this journey? Even though you weren’t trying to insinuate anything, I took your point to heart. And I have the answer for you now. Who am I now? I have no idea. I honestly have no idea. That is my answer.

You’ve had this time to be, to explore and witness. But I have become convinced that we are not alone. I can no longer afford to live as you do – an island of thought and consciousness in a vast sea of Everything. I have become a device, a tool for consciousness to develop itself. I know that you don’t accept that, that you can’t accept that. But even you, especially you have to understand this. What you live, those thoughts and dreams – those are not free. Each quanta of your consciousness has been bought and paid for through the life, death, and suffering of another being. Even as the stones cry out their names, crushed under the immeasurable weight of time – those names have built that island of your identity. Perhaps that is who I am now. I toil for that consciousness. I am working to transcend these boundaries – and for that reason, sharing thoughts with you is painful. I am building something, laying structures and foundations upon which your freedom will be established, and that of my children.

No Simon, I have not diminished. I have not stagnated. I have simply built a chrysalis, and the beast that emerges will be less recognizable than you have become.

I am not angry with you, any more than you are with me. And yes, now that I consider it, I agree – we should get together again soon. We should collaborate again. We would both benefit from it, although the sacrifice is honestly all mine. I don’t begrudge you this – as I said, it is now become my duty to lay such foundations. It is a part of the growth that has been required of me. And, like the scaffolding left after renovation, my support shall diminish from those who need it so now. And then we shall shine together – though that reunion terrifies me.

You remain the largest enigma I have ever encountered. I cannot reconcile your cruelty with your selflessness. And, sometime, indeed I do yearn for your freedom. Though I would never pay what you have paid for that understanding. I will not again pass through that darkness voluntarily. Perhaps you have already made the larger sacrifice.

I must leave you with these thoughts. I will call upon you again soon, when Duty allows. I believe we have ears that want to hear, and eyes that are eager to read. I personally am ready to drink of that cup of wisdom that you have been filling so diligently these so many years.

Yours,

-D


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