....but the suburbs have no charms to soothe the restless dreams of youth...
Autumn morning - a real autumn morning. Would that it would be a real autumn day, but small steps, small victories here in the hothouse of the South; start with a genuine autumn morning, and soon the mornings will stretch their cold, bright blessing across the rest of the day, into the night. Oh, I crave the autumn cold - it is gentle to the joints. It is not so gentle to the lungs, but again: small steps, small victories, here in the landscape of my flesh, where dreams of rageless bones and muscles sprout like vines and blossom like cherry trees.
Tonight: to the Road, to the southern part of the state, deeper into the hothouse, in the dark. But it's okay: though I am not usually keen on night-time driving, I am anxious to see my aunt and her family, and it will be better this way. The alternative - fours of sleep, then rising at 3am to be on the road at 4am - is undesirable in all ways and fashions.
Were that I was going alone. But no: must be gracious, must be patient - doing a colleague a favor. Perhaps the night-time sky will be enough to settle her down, to calm her tongue and my nerves. She has yet to understand that outside of work, in the private spaces, I tend to silence. Perhaps she will learn this time. Or perhaps she will sleep this time, and there will be only the surrounding night, a little light music, and me with my thoughts.
The key to survival: the surrounding night, a little light music, and some form of mental entertainment, whether book or good movie or challenging video game or commerce with friends. These are the things that can put the spirit at ease for a little while.
9.14.2009
...even through the darkest phase...
...someone marches brave here beneath my skin...
...has always been...
I told a very good friend this weekend that sometimes I am afraid that the things people like best about me are the things I hate the most, are the things related to mania and are therefore more than just a little self-destructive and ridiculous. It's the truth; but I won't look close enough to figure out which is what, mainly because it's too scary to think that were I finally to understand those things and manage them, "control" them as it were, then I wouldn't be nearly as approachable, or friends might find me less comforting or understandable...
...on the other hand, my solitude would increase, and the balm that is to my soul would be indescribable...of course, until the loneliness became too great, and I made another stupid mistake in pursuit of trying to relieve that great and ignorant loneliness. It knows itself not well enough and blinds the heart to intelligence and reliability, to endurance and discernment. Sometimes - not all the time, and not in all people, and not in all ways - but sometimes, loneliness is a slut, empty and hungry and forever looking for fulfillment in others, the very place it is least likely to find relief...
This morning the bottom has fallen out of the sky, and it's raining; the lightning and thunder tormented the cats all night long, which in turn kept us up most of the night. Even the sleeping pill was helpless in the face of natural histrionics and distressed cats. It shouldn't have been; it's a hypnotic, for God's sake: WORK. Otherwise, my secret: sleeplessnes: will increase, will stretch and consume me, and the madness, which seems so close lately, will win. I am not interested madness except in a manic sense, or a distant, untouchably cosmic and universal sense - the intuitive language of the oracle, or the blood-wired wisdom of time older than we know. Madness at the individual, human level is a dark and terrible thing which I have seen before and am uninterested in again...
...but it hums against my brain, hums against my heart, and whispers its proximity, threatens and cajoles, telling me all manner of things, some of which are no doubt lies, some of which are not doubt truth. It's hard to tell....
...Maybe a great magnet pulls
All souls towards truth...
...has always been...
I told a very good friend this weekend that sometimes I am afraid that the things people like best about me are the things I hate the most, are the things related to mania and are therefore more than just a little self-destructive and ridiculous. It's the truth; but I won't look close enough to figure out which is what, mainly because it's too scary to think that were I finally to understand those things and manage them, "control" them as it were, then I wouldn't be nearly as approachable, or friends might find me less comforting or understandable...
...on the other hand, my solitude would increase, and the balm that is to my soul would be indescribable...of course, until the loneliness became too great, and I made another stupid mistake in pursuit of trying to relieve that great and ignorant loneliness. It knows itself not well enough and blinds the heart to intelligence and reliability, to endurance and discernment. Sometimes - not all the time, and not in all people, and not in all ways - but sometimes, loneliness is a slut, empty and hungry and forever looking for fulfillment in others, the very place it is least likely to find relief...
This morning the bottom has fallen out of the sky, and it's raining; the lightning and thunder tormented the cats all night long, which in turn kept us up most of the night. Even the sleeping pill was helpless in the face of natural histrionics and distressed cats. It shouldn't have been; it's a hypnotic, for God's sake: WORK. Otherwise, my secret: sleeplessnes: will increase, will stretch and consume me, and the madness, which seems so close lately, will win. I am not interested madness except in a manic sense, or a distant, untouchably cosmic and universal sense - the intuitive language of the oracle, or the blood-wired wisdom of time older than we know. Madness at the individual, human level is a dark and terrible thing which I have seen before and am uninterested in again...
...but it hums against my brain, hums against my heart, and whispers its proximity, threatens and cajoles, telling me all manner of things, some of which are no doubt lies, some of which are not doubt truth. It's hard to tell....
...Maybe a great magnet pulls
All souls towards truth...
9.01.2009
...with what's to transpire...
Sometimes I think that my fibromyalgia is actually a physical manifestation of my soul: burning, deep-seated, restless, unpredictable, painful, solitary. That doesn't help me swallow the fact, though; it makes me wish - harder than ever, more fervently than I did in the beginning - that I could find a way to make the pain an ally, to make it work with instead of against.
I'm having one of those days: nothing is the way I need it to be, or want it to be. I need it to be autumn already; I need it to be Thursday. I want a job to be available for me in New Orleans. I want to move to New Orleans; I taste her keenly today, on the tip of my tongue, on the edge of my thoughts. I am grateful to have a job in this state in this economic environment; don't get me wrong. But I'm tired of being here; tired of being anywhere but Home.
...I'm just tired and bored with myself...
...I wanna change my clothes my hair my face...
It's true, oh so true: it's not that I hate myself (I don't, most of the time), I'm just ready for a change; the current me is dissatisfied and dissatisfying. Not that I think a "new" me would be better - it would just be different, and that would be a change, and that helpless, vague feeling of misplacement would be assuaged.
It's difficult to describe, this feeling of misplacement, this hunger in the bones, this...unease in one's own skin and one's own life. How do you solve a problem you don't know the numbers or variables for?
I'm having one of those days: nothing is the way I need it to be, or want it to be. I need it to be autumn already; I need it to be Thursday. I want a job to be available for me in New Orleans. I want to move to New Orleans; I taste her keenly today, on the tip of my tongue, on the edge of my thoughts. I am grateful to have a job in this state in this economic environment; don't get me wrong. But I'm tired of being here; tired of being anywhere but Home.
...I'm just tired and bored with myself...
...I wanna change my clothes my hair my face...
It's true, oh so true: it's not that I hate myself (I don't, most of the time), I'm just ready for a change; the current me is dissatisfied and dissatisfying. Not that I think a "new" me would be better - it would just be different, and that would be a change, and that helpless, vague feeling of misplacement would be assuaged.
It's difficult to describe, this feeling of misplacement, this hunger in the bones, this...unease in one's own skin and one's own life. How do you solve a problem you don't know the numbers or variables for?
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