...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...
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?
8.26.2009
....tell me how, baby...
....for a night, you took me by surprise...
Restlessness makes for fickle tastes. I'm excited about dyeing my hair tonight for two reasons: (1) it'll be hella cheaper than paying for my usual hairstylist to do it, and (2) it's a change. I'm ready, hungry for change: ready for the seasons to change, ready for my hair to change (I've decided to grow it out), ready for different things.
My brother's wedding is next weekend; after he gets married, I can go get my orbital piercing and start seriously pondering tattoos. For our anniversary, the husband and I have decided to get coordinating tattoos. I'm having second thoughts about it because the tats we've picked are rather large; I keep telling myself we don't have to go full-size with them, and I hope the husband agrees. One of the reasons I haven't gotten a tattoo before now is that I've had a hard time committing myself to something so permanent. Piercings heal up - not that I plan to get rid of any of my 12 ear piercings any time soon. I'd love to get a lip piercing or a nose stud, but I think the fam would really freak. Not that I care what they think, per se: I just prefer not to flaunt my tastes in their faces, know what I mean? I'm not ashamed; I just respect my family and their beliefs and personal opinions.
As soon as the wedding is over, too, I plan to do something drastic with my hair color, too. Not sure what yet, but I need to; something dramatic must be done - I need the change desperately. Autumn is yet weeks away, and I don't think my soul can wait that long for a dramatic change. I must affect such a change.
...that is why I woke and cried out...
Restlessness makes for fickle tastes. I'm excited about dyeing my hair tonight for two reasons: (1) it'll be hella cheaper than paying for my usual hairstylist to do it, and (2) it's a change. I'm ready, hungry for change: ready for the seasons to change, ready for my hair to change (I've decided to grow it out), ready for different things.
My brother's wedding is next weekend; after he gets married, I can go get my orbital piercing and start seriously pondering tattoos. For our anniversary, the husband and I have decided to get coordinating tattoos. I'm having second thoughts about it because the tats we've picked are rather large; I keep telling myself we don't have to go full-size with them, and I hope the husband agrees. One of the reasons I haven't gotten a tattoo before now is that I've had a hard time committing myself to something so permanent. Piercings heal up - not that I plan to get rid of any of my 12 ear piercings any time soon. I'd love to get a lip piercing or a nose stud, but I think the fam would really freak. Not that I care what they think, per se: I just prefer not to flaunt my tastes in their faces, know what I mean? I'm not ashamed; I just respect my family and their beliefs and personal opinions.
As soon as the wedding is over, too, I plan to do something drastic with my hair color, too. Not sure what yet, but I need to; something dramatic must be done - I need the change desperately. Autumn is yet weeks away, and I don't think my soul can wait that long for a dramatic change. I must affect such a change.
...that is why I woke and cried out...
8.17.2009
...I believed I could...
...I'm just the same but brand new...
There are pains in my shoulders this morning, pain in my back...it's a warm lightning-like pain, a pain that feels like water bubbling and less like stabbing. It makes my eyes want to water, but there's not a lot of moisture in my body right now because of my allergy meds.
I'm viciously tired - exhausted, really, is a better word. I know I'm reaching critical mass as far as sleep deprivation goes. It's like having a secret, this kind of sleeplessness and exhaustion.
There's a spark, a little warm kernel of burning ambition in me today, a desire to accomplish much and to be productive. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, and the mind unfocused.
....the people in the street had overtaken you...
Despite the pain threading itself through me this morning, and the secret that is sleeplessness, there's an odd and unsettling joysong humming in the center of me, a kind of madness steeped in the Spiritus Mundi. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. Perhaps secrets are better than I thought.
There are pains in my shoulders this morning, pain in my back...it's a warm lightning-like pain, a pain that feels like water bubbling and less like stabbing. It makes my eyes want to water, but there's not a lot of moisture in my body right now because of my allergy meds.
I'm viciously tired - exhausted, really, is a better word. I know I'm reaching critical mass as far as sleep deprivation goes. It's like having a secret, this kind of sleeplessness and exhaustion.
There's a spark, a little warm kernel of burning ambition in me today, a desire to accomplish much and to be productive. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, and the mind unfocused.
....the people in the street had overtaken you...
Despite the pain threading itself through me this morning, and the secret that is sleeplessness, there's an odd and unsettling joysong humming in the center of me, a kind of madness steeped in the Spiritus Mundi. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. Perhaps secrets are better than I thought.
7.28.2009
...we wake up a few times...
....to speak of dreams that made it hard to sleep....
It can't be real, this feeling, that the world is coming to an end, that all I know is folding inward, collapsing inward. I feel deceptively full, and surprisingly empty. The will disappears; the body rebels. Hope seems frozen and waning; desperation seems vital and waxing.
...are you surprised that I ain't ordinary?...
I don't know what to do. This life ain't workin' right now; maybe it just doesn't work at all anymore. I don't know. I'm...tired. Thwarted. Visionary. Angry. Restless. Not necessarily for travel; these bones have given up already - Louisiana to Mississippi to Maryland to New York and back again, then Monroe to Sulphur. Coming soon: Louisiana to Mississippi, two weekends in a row.
I shouldn't complain; but it's all too heavy all of a sudden, and I don't know what to do.
It can't be real, this feeling, that the world is coming to an end, that all I know is folding inward, collapsing inward. I feel deceptively full, and surprisingly empty. The will disappears; the body rebels. Hope seems frozen and waning; desperation seems vital and waxing.
...are you surprised that I ain't ordinary?...
I don't know what to do. This life ain't workin' right now; maybe it just doesn't work at all anymore. I don't know. I'm...tired. Thwarted. Visionary. Angry. Restless. Not necessarily for travel; these bones have given up already - Louisiana to Mississippi to Maryland to New York and back again, then Monroe to Sulphur. Coming soon: Louisiana to Mississippi, two weekends in a row.
I shouldn't complain; but it's all too heavy all of a sudden, and I don't know what to do.
5.11.2009
....that is why I woke and cried out...
....the dark days of my mind press down like the summer heat...it's easy to draw a curtain between those dark days and the full-functioning consciousness that will carry me through the day. But out of sight is not out of mind; I know about the little man behind the curtain. I can see the outline, the silhouette of what waits, what always waits.
I am not delusional. I understand my flaws, my weaknesses. I suffer from a sometimes debilitating self-loathing. I wish I didn't. I wish I could shed the ice that, as a friend of mine once wrote, "comes to cover [my] heart."
This is why solitude is so much safer.
Dreaming of silence, of loneliness. Loneliness is perspective, solitude comfort. Dreaming of different kinds of angels, of a world where all is valued with love, rather than morality or economics.
Where are the open green fields?
Russia changed me, all those years ago. I was always restless, but Russia gave me a vision I would never had had otherwise, and it changed me, my mind. Added to the restlessness. I dream in vistas, in places, in terms of buildings and spaces; Russia sharpened that sensibility. All my travels have, but Russia in particular. Russia gave me a seriousness that was not borne from instability; rather, it was a seriousness borne from understanding how large the world was, and from standing in an overwhelmingly different context.
I need that again. Not necessarily from Russia (though I would never turn that down), but from somewhere, somehow. I want a new life, a new way of thinking. I want freedom.
I want to not hate myself, to overcome my fear of regret. To learn to live in moderation, without the demon of mania. To learn to sing the right songs, to say the right things, to live a simple life.
I am not delusional. I understand my flaws, my weaknesses. I suffer from a sometimes debilitating self-loathing. I wish I didn't. I wish I could shed the ice that, as a friend of mine once wrote, "comes to cover [my] heart."
This is why solitude is so much safer.
Dreaming of silence, of loneliness. Loneliness is perspective, solitude comfort. Dreaming of different kinds of angels, of a world where all is valued with love, rather than morality or economics.
Where are the open green fields?
Russia changed me, all those years ago. I was always restless, but Russia gave me a vision I would never had had otherwise, and it changed me, my mind. Added to the restlessness. I dream in vistas, in places, in terms of buildings and spaces; Russia sharpened that sensibility. All my travels have, but Russia in particular. Russia gave me a seriousness that was not borne from instability; rather, it was a seriousness borne from understanding how large the world was, and from standing in an overwhelmingly different context.
I need that again. Not necessarily from Russia (though I would never turn that down), but from somewhere, somehow. I want a new life, a new way of thinking. I want freedom.
I want to not hate myself, to overcome my fear of regret. To learn to live in moderation, without the demon of mania. To learn to sing the right songs, to say the right things, to live a simple life.
4.23.2009
...you know it all by heart...
...why are you standing in one place?....
Fear, I think. Not so much the uncertainty principle, but rather ramifications. Outcomes. And I'm tired, too. There are things burning beneath my skin, and I can't define them. It frustrates me, hungers me, thwarts me. Words become suspicious in their inadequacy. The silence, sacred though it is, offers little in the way of wisdom, or comfort. Or, if it is offering something, it seems more like mockery than clarity.
I feel...disloyal. Anti-social. Angry. Lonely. Sad. Yet those feelings are ineffectual. Nominal. I crave the numinous, the feathering tips of water, the voiceless song of fire. I need to define this indescribable feeling, or it owns me. And I don't know that I want this feeling - how I'm feeling now - to own me. I'm afraid it won't teach me anything other than fear and infertile silence.
I want to go home tonight and lock myself away, not leave again until I have to go to work tomorrow. I'll turn off the lights, save one lamp, light candles, and read, listen to music - surround myself with inanimate but worthy sources of comfort and wisdom.
...but a promise made is a promise to keep: I'll go over to my friend's house tonight, watch a little TV with her, before retreating home, to ponder and agonize, to fret and thwart the blazing heart, the burning mind, the useless flesh. Sometimes I wish I weren't a born-and-bred sadist: I suddenly appreciate the usefulness of self-flagellation, the purification that comes from the mortification of the flesh. And I can't help but think I could find some...answer, some relief in that practice. But the only such mortification that I've found is to sleep, or self-denial of pleasure.
And I crave nothing but solitude.
Fear, I think. Not so much the uncertainty principle, but rather ramifications. Outcomes. And I'm tired, too. There are things burning beneath my skin, and I can't define them. It frustrates me, hungers me, thwarts me. Words become suspicious in their inadequacy. The silence, sacred though it is, offers little in the way of wisdom, or comfort. Or, if it is offering something, it seems more like mockery than clarity.
I feel...disloyal. Anti-social. Angry. Lonely. Sad. Yet those feelings are ineffectual. Nominal. I crave the numinous, the feathering tips of water, the voiceless song of fire. I need to define this indescribable feeling, or it owns me. And I don't know that I want this feeling - how I'm feeling now - to own me. I'm afraid it won't teach me anything other than fear and infertile silence.
I want to go home tonight and lock myself away, not leave again until I have to go to work tomorrow. I'll turn off the lights, save one lamp, light candles, and read, listen to music - surround myself with inanimate but worthy sources of comfort and wisdom.
...but a promise made is a promise to keep: I'll go over to my friend's house tonight, watch a little TV with her, before retreating home, to ponder and agonize, to fret and thwart the blazing heart, the burning mind, the useless flesh. Sometimes I wish I weren't a born-and-bred sadist: I suddenly appreciate the usefulness of self-flagellation, the purification that comes from the mortification of the flesh. And I can't help but think I could find some...answer, some relief in that practice. But the only such mortification that I've found is to sleep, or self-denial of pleasure.
And I crave nothing but solitude.
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