Sunday, October 11, 2009

passed by bloodsports - weakness and fever

cut hurt aching wounded still bleeding there are tiny cuts all over my body. they won't heal they just sit there oozing blood over and over and over. I drown in my own confusion asking why. How much more can I tolerate how patient can I be why is life so difficult. why is life so shitty right now. The only things keeping me alive are the books I read, the sunshine, the promise of rain, the notion of rare films and the hope in her still. what does it mean when all this happens? why am i still alive? why do I constantly make everyone around me suffer? why am i pushed aside now? why am i living life in reverse? out of control i cry myself to sleep every night. my sheets are stained with blood from these seeping gelatinous wounds. they might one day be sealed by words of hope and forgiveness. to build life again. to lick old wounds. to let the light in again punching its way through celluloid frames. another bold distraction. this is supposed to be somewhat cathartic. to suffocate in insensitivity to asphyxiate by my own demands. such an overwhelming effort as i cling to every word uttered. i am unable to help the one i love. i am unable to help myself. i drift off yet again my hope worn thin but still as strong as ever. i want to live to build trust to see the ocean to taste... rituals. perception. perspective. i'm sick of all of it constantly flailing out there. hoping the process will reveal itself yet again so predictable and yet so memorable. how can i cope with this silence? this agony? i twitch every nerve floods my veins with disparate signals. I am drawn taut between the promise of joy and almost incomprehensible hurt. The tension is too much i talk to no one. i research patterns - the unknown - anything to help me understand what to do. I can't make a proper decision unless i have all the facts. life is an eternal process of adventure and self-preservation. lately i am less inclined at any kind of self-preservation. i twitch. my whole body shakes. the dreams the dreams the dreams I cannot talk of them now. I have disappointed so many people. perhaps i express myself badly. i have trouble communicating. i talk in obtuse rhymes something i thought she enjoyed. i wanted to open up. i wanted to conduct myself in a proper manner to treat the ones i care about with all of my heart. perhaps i give too much and leave nothing for myself except a rotten needy shell. a sick individual. i think of the songs that make me smile - but i won't get into them now. when i thought i pointed the way for so long. the attempt to understand the attempt to work it out within this sad, demanding structure i've surrounded myself with. i want to see the ocean. just to be there for once to ask why i am left behind.

what makes me happy:
thoughts said and received. an exchange of ideas. the daily process of being. remembering to stay healthy. "hello. how are you, dear?"
ridiculous silly little conversations. to be able to laugh at one's anger. the process of understanding each others emotions. to break free of this myopia.


Anonymous said...

A more pertinent question, perhaps: why are you pursuing something that, best case scenario, has little to do with you? Why the self effacement? It seems a notion of romance that excludes yourself, the unrealized hero. The unrealized hero is unrealized. One cannot be helped by an escape from... These are lessons people learn, as fetishistically unsatisfying as they are.
One never wishes to be a refuge, despite the fine conditions offered by liberal states.

George said...

Thanks Oprah!

O said...

Yr welcome, hon-- my advice would be to just go to a spa, take up yoga or learn japanese-- something to take your mind off of things. All this fretting is never good for anything.