Home is the same everywhere, filled of faces that never left. Come home broken, defeated, and talk with the broken and defeated, and feel okay knowing you got to see things, you got to meet people, you got to believe.
I am overcome by a sense of calmness and I need to let it be, I am calm, I am dead. The erratic dog in my ribcage is showing its first sign of age. It is slowing down. And like your Dog that shows its age it is a sign of time, it is a sign of the end and a reminder of all those things that aren’t coming back.
I close my eyes and decide to let go. Everything in the past can go. All the good too; that is why we hold on, all those times you had it all. The girl who loved you. The smiles returned. The stature. The energy. Motivation.
Now dull, beautiful dullness, calmness, not jumping up and down with the frequencies, staying here, staying still, accepting boredom, accepting myself. I need to, my low self esteem makes me too easy to manipulate, makes me do everything to please the one person in the world who cannot be pleased by me, my rebellious spirit is corrupted and wants to prove them wrong. Humans are too smart, they see that you would do anything and make you. Humans are too smart, they see that you would do anything for them because you need them, and once they smile at you, once they like you, you will awake from the spell and stop rewarding them, stop trying, stop being a little slave to their needs. So they make sure they never smile. Because they love the way you love when you're broken. Aren’t we all a little doomed, to have to worship something? We are all a little doomed; when letting go is peace whilst the currents have been dug out and redirected to steal whatever you have as you float by. And I cant let go just yet, too many things have me, so I hold on to watching my hand, to making sure it doesn’t grasp, doesn’t show white knuckles, and that is my life, that is my destiny, to be forever holding on to making sure I let go. There you have it, it is me who dies, and that is why I write when I arrive, because I am scared, and when it doesn’t matter, when I am not matter, when I am my soul walking up the rocks into the running water, when there is no thought into having something, in having nothing, no thought of the future or of the past, no stress on your insignificance, the white blank page stays blank. But I know I will be back, and maybe these notes are for him, for you, me. Right now the candle is lit, the flame stays still, incense burn and music plays. The page is still there for me and I will always be here for you.
The wine is horrible but I am not drinking it for the taste. The gasoline makes me proud that I can run on cheap fuel. I am searching for something, I am showing up to my mistress’ house because I need her, it makes her sick, but she stays calm, she listens, she does. I want to tell her about my Dad.
I say, “I would be so happy if my son wrote a book.”
She never replies. In her silence I go on and on and on.
“I think both of us could be a little more balanced in what we think the world is all about.”
Because, my mistress, I am too far behind my own eyes. Life seems to be experiment after experiment. And I want to step into my body rather than stay behind a glass window watching. But I am here, amongst others that are, and it feels like we are looking through different windows. If I was a boxer I would give myself this advice. Do not concern yourself with the trophy, but concentrate on getting out of the way of those punches. Then, once you do, once you see the patterns, maybe you can start throwing a few back. You know the worst thing is that I know I am right. That is a terrible burden. I am a gambling addict. For now I have to step away from the table because I have no chips, and the worst type of addiction is any you cannot support yourself. I just gamble with my life. Knowing I will look back with a smile. Well, smile away old me, if we make it that far, if I get us there.
Often I want to cry and music says I can. I want to swim in a pool of my own tears. I want this feeling in my rib cage to go away. I want this taste in my mouth to dissolve. And as it all happens I am calm. I am calm. Am I dead?
I took all my clothes off because there was a spider somewhere. Now naked I feel alright. What can they take from a man with nothing?
Well unfortunately I get a kick out of helping others. I get a kick out of being there for someone who has no one there for them. I get a kick out of the suicidal finding inspiration in the honesty of another. I like the idea of someone feeling okay when they don’t. I want to help. But here, the only way we can help each other is financially. I have no finances.
If I was a writer I would give myself this advice, don’t aspire to be like the other writers, they weren’t them either.
If I was a racehorse I would give myself this advice, don’t break your leg.
I am the reincarnation of someone who didn’t do anything.
I am lost
maybe I will find something here for you.
