Without pomp or excessive celebration I, your humble narrator, do proudly and graciously present the 2009 XMAS LIST OF DEATH!!
1. Nasty breakup with my semi-girlfriend
2. Friends aunt dies
3. Friends wife has a brain-tumor
4. Friends father has a brain tumor
5. Friends car gets broken into, stereo destroyed.
6. 2 relatives of co-workers slip into comas within a week of each other.
7. the worst headache of my life decides to hang around for a week and a half (still going)
8. Friends retina detaches and initial surgery does not fix the problem.
9. 2 coworkers' sisters die this week.
there's more but it's all slipped my mind.
happy holidays everybody.
12.24.2009
12.17.2009
things
He drives around in a daze. Head a whirlwind.
Music plays; his favorite bands but he feels only mild annoyance
at the distraction proving not good enough.
He shops for christmas, buying gifts for loved ones with
neither joy nor excitement.
He dreads the day.
I pull hard on my nth-too-many cigarette. Look towards mountains
nearly obscured by smog.
He wants to feel.
Stare into oblivion. My head is pounding again.
I dream of finding a purpose to something, anything.
He is an automaton.
I reach out to the void because there's no-one left to save me.
never really was.
no reason to continue, beyond fear of death and some middling sense
of social responsibility.
I grasp at straws.
he grasps at straws,
And I come up empty-handed.
I think to reach out to friends and realize that most are gone,
or so removed i can't share myself
-or he just plain doesn't want to see them.
Run my finger over the smooth surfaces seeking electricity.
nothing.
I feel dead. Don't know what moves my muscles.
-some instinctive drive to perservere maybe?
the wildcate side fighting to surface?
He feels a fleeting moment of joy as he drops off a carful of
gifts he organized, and a half-grand to a childrens shelter
-only to be crushed upon leaving.
crushed at the thought I can't share this with her.
and it's always her.
In my fucked up head. on my fucked up mind.
can't shake this great loss.
For all the bad, my love for her was unmitigated, pure,
and fiercer than ever previous.
He left her.
He couldn't take her abuse anymore.
But i still love her.
And my life is meaningless without her.
And if there were anyone to, they'd tell me it'll pass,
just give it time.
he tried to tell himself that too
but this time feels different.
Worse than my worst breakup
worse than the most agonizing heartbreak of his life
-and he's had a few.
this time he doesn't care about feeling better.
this time he moves on rails.
and in my musings on trying to feel
i'm still not seeking redmption,
merely a temporary distraction. a single crest in
the wave of my forward motion.
This feels like eternity,
like my agony is a frozen frame of a bad movie.
Doomed to flicker and eventually burn through into emptiness.
'Dear god,' I think
'I want my money back'
and my wasted time.
I want to give up on everything.
but this shell keeps moving.
these lungs still painfully intake air
and then exhale.
my heart feels broken. I literally feel the clasp of a fist
around it lately.
but somehow the bastard still beats,
if only out of spite for me.
My head still processes just enough for me to mime my way through
social interactions.
-but in private it pounds so bad he can't even see straight.
he sleeps little, and fitfully.
what are dark circles under most peoples eyes become whiter
patches in mine
-symbol of health
The body still grows and tightens and, in proper lighting, begins to look
like that of a warrior.
and all he wants to do is grind it to burger.
feed it back to the earth.
But the earth turns fine without it.
He longs to disappear.
to sleep, perchance to dream.
...and all that bullshit.
He thinks he hides it well
but everyone keeps asking if i'm ok.
People who know peeople who know someone who knows me
->keep asking if i'm ok.
3rd party worry. concern by-proxy.
such a strange thing.
he feels infected and volitile
But in reality I'm just sad.
.and lonely.
.and tired of this life i find myself in.
every day I feel myself slipping deeper under this sea of melancholy.
I can't even see the shimmer of the surface anymore.
..
.I don't even want to.
Now it's later, Night.
Loneliness coagulates around me, though i'm surrounded by people.
Despair becomes all-encompassing.
I leave my safe haven.
for alcohol.
for something to numb my throbbing existence.
buy a bottle. for myself.
-and it's you and me and a bottle makes three tonight.
..only there is no you.
-only me.
Hate the holidays with a seething passion.
hate the disaster it introduces in my life.
he drives, accidentally (subconsciously?) passing landmarks; ghosts.
I wince physically at the flashes of imagery.
I write in a smile and a tired embrace.
fill lives with terror and sorrow
-on paper.
I punish my characters for the iniquities of my tangible world.
sometimes i feel sorry for them.
thought: now i'm writing fluid, stream-of-conscious.
that thought, however, destroys its revelation.
now i'm consciously thinking about unconsciously writing.
water and oil.
osmotic oppression as metaphor for my head.
where is my mind-where is my mind
where am I?
why isn't it time for whiskey yet?
I am Pavolovs' alcoholic dog
and happily so.
From the dawn of man there has been unhappiness and confusion
and through all of it man has sought to numb it.
We ferment, we fuck, we kill, pray, risk, dream, create, annihlate.
we are seekers who feel we've unlocked the universe on godly beautiful
quantum and physic levels.
we turn to science or god for alpha and omega
and we're still as clueless as the protoplasmic morass
that formed this consciousness.
consciousness: mans great gift?
the worst curse ever inflicted on anything.
Rocks rend, trees wither, water freezes, evaporates, condenses, bonds and splits
all without this idea; awareness.
and all through sane machinations.
that pedestal we claim is a holocaust.
I was born; of this i am fairly certain.
but what am i?
atoms formed into molecules formed into larger and larger
conglomerate systems.
What great work is man?
Give a man too much sodium and his 'personality' changes.
give him too much water, or too little, and he dies.
destroy a few cells and he has no memory.
All we are is a great number of complex interactions and we, as our components,
are part of greater unseen systems.
I am an amino acid in a cell broken down and reused
-not a beautiful and unique snowflake.
-or so it goes.
He smiles at a friend but doesn't mean it.
He grits his teeth.
I wash myself in copious amounts of nicotine and caffiene in the meantime.
I smoke.
I attack my primary mode of survival multiple times daily.
I autolyse.
But what function have i ever performed?
Such juvenile thoughts I have.
what are we? why are we?
like a highschool doper trying for deep affect
I ponder these pointless things.
Break me down.
Had a forgotten nightmare last night during my few hours of shutdown time.
woke up dizzy.
vertigo defines me. envelops me. destroys me.
He glances at his phone, realizes he's waiting for a call he know won't come.
a casual conversation ensues.
and she comes up.
his chin quivers and his eyes gel instantly.
-the friend beats a hasty exit
and he wants to die a little more.
I am awash with the urge to flee, run, escape...
--but to where?
Music plays; his favorite bands but he feels only mild annoyance
at the distraction proving not good enough.
He shops for christmas, buying gifts for loved ones with
neither joy nor excitement.
He dreads the day.
I pull hard on my nth-too-many cigarette. Look towards mountains
nearly obscured by smog.
He wants to feel.
Stare into oblivion. My head is pounding again.
I dream of finding a purpose to something, anything.
He is an automaton.
I reach out to the void because there's no-one left to save me.
never really was.
no reason to continue, beyond fear of death and some middling sense
of social responsibility.
I grasp at straws.
he grasps at straws,
And I come up empty-handed.
I think to reach out to friends and realize that most are gone,
or so removed i can't share myself
-or he just plain doesn't want to see them.
Run my finger over the smooth surfaces seeking electricity.
nothing.
I feel dead. Don't know what moves my muscles.
-some instinctive drive to perservere maybe?
the wildcate side fighting to surface?
He feels a fleeting moment of joy as he drops off a carful of
gifts he organized, and a half-grand to a childrens shelter
-only to be crushed upon leaving.
crushed at the thought I can't share this with her.
and it's always her.
In my fucked up head. on my fucked up mind.
can't shake this great loss.
For all the bad, my love for her was unmitigated, pure,
and fiercer than ever previous.
He left her.
He couldn't take her abuse anymore.
But i still love her.
And my life is meaningless without her.
And if there were anyone to, they'd tell me it'll pass,
just give it time.
he tried to tell himself that too
but this time feels different.
Worse than my worst breakup
worse than the most agonizing heartbreak of his life
-and he's had a few.
this time he doesn't care about feeling better.
this time he moves on rails.
and in my musings on trying to feel
i'm still not seeking redmption,
merely a temporary distraction. a single crest in
the wave of my forward motion.
This feels like eternity,
like my agony is a frozen frame of a bad movie.
Doomed to flicker and eventually burn through into emptiness.
'Dear god,' I think
'I want my money back'
and my wasted time.
I want to give up on everything.
but this shell keeps moving.
these lungs still painfully intake air
and then exhale.
my heart feels broken. I literally feel the clasp of a fist
around it lately.
but somehow the bastard still beats,
if only out of spite for me.
My head still processes just enough for me to mime my way through
social interactions.
-but in private it pounds so bad he can't even see straight.
he sleeps little, and fitfully.
what are dark circles under most peoples eyes become whiter
patches in mine
-symbol of health
The body still grows and tightens and, in proper lighting, begins to look
like that of a warrior.
and all he wants to do is grind it to burger.
feed it back to the earth.
But the earth turns fine without it.
He longs to disappear.
to sleep, perchance to dream.
...and all that bullshit.
He thinks he hides it well
but everyone keeps asking if i'm ok.
People who know peeople who know someone who knows me
->keep asking if i'm ok.
3rd party worry. concern by-proxy.
such a strange thing.
he feels infected and volitile
But in reality I'm just sad.
.and lonely.
.and tired of this life i find myself in.
every day I feel myself slipping deeper under this sea of melancholy.
I can't even see the shimmer of the surface anymore.
..
.I don't even want to.
Now it's later, Night.
Loneliness coagulates around me, though i'm surrounded by people.
Despair becomes all-encompassing.
I leave my safe haven.
for alcohol.
for something to numb my throbbing existence.
buy a bottle. for myself.
-and it's you and me and a bottle makes three tonight.
..only there is no you.
-only me.
Hate the holidays with a seething passion.
hate the disaster it introduces in my life.
he drives, accidentally (subconsciously?) passing landmarks; ghosts.
I wince physically at the flashes of imagery.
I write in a smile and a tired embrace.
fill lives with terror and sorrow
-on paper.
I punish my characters for the iniquities of my tangible world.
sometimes i feel sorry for them.
thought: now i'm writing fluid, stream-of-conscious.
that thought, however, destroys its revelation.
now i'm consciously thinking about unconsciously writing.
water and oil.
osmotic oppression as metaphor for my head.
where is my mind-where is my mind
where am I?
why isn't it time for whiskey yet?
I am Pavolovs' alcoholic dog
and happily so.
From the dawn of man there has been unhappiness and confusion
and through all of it man has sought to numb it.
We ferment, we fuck, we kill, pray, risk, dream, create, annihlate.
we are seekers who feel we've unlocked the universe on godly beautiful
quantum and physic levels.
we turn to science or god for alpha and omega
and we're still as clueless as the protoplasmic morass
that formed this consciousness.
consciousness: mans great gift?
the worst curse ever inflicted on anything.
Rocks rend, trees wither, water freezes, evaporates, condenses, bonds and splits
all without this idea; awareness.
and all through sane machinations.
that pedestal we claim is a holocaust.
I was born; of this i am fairly certain.
but what am i?
atoms formed into molecules formed into larger and larger
conglomerate systems.
What great work is man?
Give a man too much sodium and his 'personality' changes.
give him too much water, or too little, and he dies.
destroy a few cells and he has no memory.
All we are is a great number of complex interactions and we, as our components,
are part of greater unseen systems.
I am an amino acid in a cell broken down and reused
-not a beautiful and unique snowflake.
-or so it goes.
He smiles at a friend but doesn't mean it.
He grits his teeth.
I wash myself in copious amounts of nicotine and caffiene in the meantime.
I smoke.
I attack my primary mode of survival multiple times daily.
I autolyse.
But what function have i ever performed?
Such juvenile thoughts I have.
what are we? why are we?
like a highschool doper trying for deep affect
I ponder these pointless things.
Break me down.
Had a forgotten nightmare last night during my few hours of shutdown time.
woke up dizzy.
vertigo defines me. envelops me. destroys me.
He glances at his phone, realizes he's waiting for a call he know won't come.
a casual conversation ensues.
and she comes up.
his chin quivers and his eyes gel instantly.
-the friend beats a hasty exit
and he wants to die a little more.
I am awash with the urge to flee, run, escape...
--but to where?
11.30.2009
drive
He sits in the backseat of his sisters SUV as she drives towards their dinner location. Next to him is his 9 month old niece, who cries from teething, and the related fever.
He reaches out a hand to comfort and she grabs thumb and pinkie in either hand, pulls it close to her. She calms slightly but begins to cry again. He whispers quietly that it's ok, that she'll be warm and eating soon.
She leans forward and he realizes she can't see who is sitting next to her. He moves his face into a thin ray of road-light and she reaches out to feel the strange features she still can't quite see. She tugs his beard slightly and he sees an unmoderated smile cross her face as she quiets and calms with recognition.
Tears begin to well in his eyes as he smiles, and he finds himself thankful for the cover of nighttime.
He reaches out a hand to comfort and she grabs thumb and pinkie in either hand, pulls it close to her. She calms slightly but begins to cry again. He whispers quietly that it's ok, that she'll be warm and eating soon.
She leans forward and he realizes she can't see who is sitting next to her. He moves his face into a thin ray of road-light and she reaches out to feel the strange features she still can't quite see. She tugs his beard slightly and he sees an unmoderated smile cross her face as she quiets and calms with recognition.
Tears begin to well in his eyes as he smiles, and he finds himself thankful for the cover of nighttime.
11.28.2009
another
I stand and smoke in the dirty winter air.
The world has just ended.
The ground beneath me is still stable and cars pass, full of holiday shoppers.
An old woman walks by singing 'have yourself a merry little christmas' off-key to the music pumped by the city onto the street.
The world has just ended because she is gone.
I try to think back to happy moments, to stay positive, but can only feel shock and hurt.
This is what the survivors at Nagasaki must have felt; wracked with disbelief as their world vaporized around them. Family and friends blown away, physical entities eaten in one quick storm of hell.
Wonder: Where did they go; How did they survive?
What can humanity do after its heart is torn from its trembling grasp?
I jump in the car and drive toward home. 'Home' for the moment being a temporary setup in my parents basement.
Strike two.
Mentally work through the crisis that i'm 30, suddenly single, and living back with my parents. Try to call a friend to alleviate the panic.
'We're sorry but your service has been temporarily suspended for a past-due balance'
'fuck!'
strike three.
Having utterly failed at life I scrape together spare change.
'yes!'
just enough for a coffee..but not for a refill.
It's saturday. Payday is thursday. I have a pack and a half of smokes and a half-tank of gas til then and i'm screwed, because life drives the urge to chainsmoke.
I think of how heartbroken i've been this last month as i tried to make things work between us; how i spent each day in hell for nothing...and then there was the lie or, as she claimed, her forgetfulness..sent me into a 30-minute tailspin as i drove too fast and trembled. My heart raced and i felt like i was going to burst.
-'this is what going insane feels like' I thought to nobody in particular.
Then came the cold, both physical and emotional. Cracked a window to smoke and winter night froze my little insulated world immediately; froze so well I forgot to be heartbroken and, in that instant, that blast of cold, the world ended.
The radio tells me 'Today is the greatest day i've ever known' in that grating, nasal, whine. I resent the choice of song and feel almost a glimmer of emotion well in me. I smash it down.
No emotion for this guy, only loss, anger, and loneliness.
He steps away from himself, assesses his life:
has nothing. is nothing.
wanted only one thing.
'way to fuck that one up buddy.'
'shut up'
He knows it wasn't his mistakes that caused the apocalypse and yet, can't help but wonder if...
well..he has no use for 'what if'. He needs 'how?'
how to survive.
how to move forward.
how the fuck did he end up in the third person?
I take the narrative back and sit, sipping lukewarm, awful coffee. The shop is nice, the owner a friend, but the coffee is terrible as ever. Served up at a piping 65 degrees by a girl i used to find cute, but somehow don't anymore.
I rub my neck.
ah. pain. physical pain.
I am still alive.
:::
:::
:::
Lucky me.
A lady comes in and orders a 'grande' latte. All around cringe visibly. The formerly-cute girl takes it in stride, graciously educatinng the lady, whos timbre sends fingernails down my mental chalkboard.
More sad music. Pulling me down now.
I get the urge to run -or to cry, which makes me want to run as I am unwilling to break down in the coffee shop.
Both wash over me uncontrollably and i stand to leave.
The drive home is rough. I am distracted. I forget to shift at a stop. Stall my car at a light. Feel the setting sun illuminate my eyes. Recall how they were, more than a few times, described as 'wildcat eyes'. Now i'm not so sure. If they reflect the soul they are more than likely dull and lifeless.
[Break]
The world has just ended.
The ground beneath me is still stable and cars pass, full of holiday shoppers.
An old woman walks by singing 'have yourself a merry little christmas' off-key to the music pumped by the city onto the street.
The world has just ended because she is gone.
I try to think back to happy moments, to stay positive, but can only feel shock and hurt.
This is what the survivors at Nagasaki must have felt; wracked with disbelief as their world vaporized around them. Family and friends blown away, physical entities eaten in one quick storm of hell.
Wonder: Where did they go; How did they survive?
What can humanity do after its heart is torn from its trembling grasp?
I jump in the car and drive toward home. 'Home' for the moment being a temporary setup in my parents basement.
Strike two.
Mentally work through the crisis that i'm 30, suddenly single, and living back with my parents. Try to call a friend to alleviate the panic.
'We're sorry but your service has been temporarily suspended for a past-due balance'
'fuck!'
strike three.
Having utterly failed at life I scrape together spare change.
'yes!'
just enough for a coffee..but not for a refill.
It's saturday. Payday is thursday. I have a pack and a half of smokes and a half-tank of gas til then and i'm screwed, because life drives the urge to chainsmoke.
I think of how heartbroken i've been this last month as i tried to make things work between us; how i spent each day in hell for nothing...and then there was the lie or, as she claimed, her forgetfulness..sent me into a 30-minute tailspin as i drove too fast and trembled. My heart raced and i felt like i was going to burst.
-'this is what going insane feels like' I thought to nobody in particular.
Then came the cold, both physical and emotional. Cracked a window to smoke and winter night froze my little insulated world immediately; froze so well I forgot to be heartbroken and, in that instant, that blast of cold, the world ended.
The radio tells me 'Today is the greatest day i've ever known' in that grating, nasal, whine. I resent the choice of song and feel almost a glimmer of emotion well in me. I smash it down.
No emotion for this guy, only loss, anger, and loneliness.
He steps away from himself, assesses his life:
has nothing. is nothing.
wanted only one thing.
'way to fuck that one up buddy.'
'shut up'
He knows it wasn't his mistakes that caused the apocalypse and yet, can't help but wonder if...
well..he has no use for 'what if'. He needs 'how?'
how to survive.
how to move forward.
how the fuck did he end up in the third person?
I take the narrative back and sit, sipping lukewarm, awful coffee. The shop is nice, the owner a friend, but the coffee is terrible as ever. Served up at a piping 65 degrees by a girl i used to find cute, but somehow don't anymore.
I rub my neck.
ah. pain. physical pain.
I am still alive.
:::
:::
:::
Lucky me.
A lady comes in and orders a 'grande' latte. All around cringe visibly. The formerly-cute girl takes it in stride, graciously educatinng the lady, whos timbre sends fingernails down my mental chalkboard.
More sad music. Pulling me down now.
I get the urge to run -or to cry, which makes me want to run as I am unwilling to break down in the coffee shop.
Both wash over me uncontrollably and i stand to leave.
The drive home is rough. I am distracted. I forget to shift at a stop. Stall my car at a light. Feel the setting sun illuminate my eyes. Recall how they were, more than a few times, described as 'wildcat eyes'. Now i'm not so sure. If they reflect the soul they are more than likely dull and lifeless.
[Break]
1.31.2009
blech
Sorry for the absenteeism. Been slowly dissolving.
Will try to return to my semi-erratic schedule shortly.
until then, i'm trying something new. My twitter page
Will try to return to my semi-erratic schedule shortly.
until then, i'm trying something new. My twitter page
11.17.2008
Though the sketch is getting old now, the cracks don't show.
the fan in my room rings harmonic
the hand in front of me pauses
mind rolls on
how tempting lately, how terrible
how benign it all seemed in retrospect.
watch the lights flicker in instrumental giddiness.
grinning skulls stare cold judgemental
the earth vibrates just so i can feel
feel i do, too much
close drooping lids catch a moment
perfection in a ten-minute song.
in a twitch it all vanishes
but here i sit.
alone bombarded
alone where i should be sleeping
and cant
run a hand over this cold body
wishing its ridges were more defined
the hand in front of me pauses
mind rolls on
how tempting lately, how terrible
how benign it all seemed in retrospect.
watch the lights flicker in instrumental giddiness.
grinning skulls stare cold judgemental
the earth vibrates just so i can feel
feel i do, too much
close drooping lids catch a moment
perfection in a ten-minute song.
in a twitch it all vanishes
but here i sit.
alone bombarded
alone where i should be sleeping
and cant
run a hand over this cold body
wishing its ridges were more defined
11.11.2008
maybe it's me that's changed.
sit by myself, sad morning
try to make sense of my life
my page is marred by a previous years indentation
try to caffienate: wake up
have to score, music for a movie, have two weeks
no spare time as is
-in the city, oh oh
wish i could hibernate
shut this all off for a few months
dodge the snow and holiday season
how have i changed? why?
have i lost or gained?
the day: haze of sorrow.
feel like painting a wall, screaming out to the morass
don't really want an answer,
just for it to be known that my spirit withers
sit by myself, sad morning
try to make sense of my life
my page is marred by a previous years indentation
try to caffienate: wake up
have to score, music for a movie, have two weeks
no spare time as is
-in the city, oh oh
wish i could hibernate
shut this all off for a few months
dodge the snow and holiday season
how have i changed? why?
have i lost or gained?
the day: haze of sorrow.
feel like painting a wall, screaming out to the morass
don't really want an answer,
just for it to be known that my spirit withers
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