Greased Shadows


Shadow child on a wire.

It’s like a greased shadow that always flits away at the moment of its realization. From the opposite side of the equation it must be infuriating to exist as a singular potential point of reality. To be there, not there, pulled away at the last second like a word that gets lost on the way out from lips.

I’ve let myself destroy so much of myself with this obsessive tracking and back tracking to find a semblance of reality, to make a change now seems not futile but like capitulating. Facts are facts though, and today I find myself more miserable for the fears and fascination that I ruminate on sober or half cooked hazes.

For all my certainty that I can find a conclusion that somehow rectifies the damage that I must have caused and that I’ve jailed myself inside mentally and emotionally no for more than a year I’m no closer to finding peace than ever in this fucking quest to verify my own sanity or its absence.

It’s not the drugs (though they sure as hell didn’t help), its not the crushed moments of happiness so consistently fucked up by my that wildly erratic streak of madness that would bring about a beast of a person rather than the genuine me. It’s an absence of understanding and a goddamn mental block that seems to sit heavier than lead across the pathways upstairs that say, “do something different and get something sustainably different. Make a fucking choice, you’re miserable, choose joy instead and go back to devil may care appreciation for the individual seconds. Intensity used to be something you looked forward to without fear, stop jumping at phones and the thunderous chance to strangle what could just as easily be a figment of your imagination. Go be wild and spontaneous and crazily thrilled to be alive, goddamn it, just fucking decide that happiness is as infectious as this venom you’ve been spewing to the detriment and disgust of anyone within spitting distance. Go get back in the manner of loving and spread some joy, learn something, make a change, and even if it’s as a fuck you to the unseen initially it’s still a choice you can make.”

I’m so sick of being sick in the head like this man. Fucking hell I’d like to see something amazing mundane and start appreciating the hell out of it….like that damn “American Beauty” scene with the plastic bag.

I’ll get there I suppose…I even start college in January and have a new list of goals for the first time in I don’t know how many years. Momentum, have to get it building up to break this bloody inertia.

Vented.

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Stars in My Eyes


I want someone to look at me like the stars shine in my eyes Like by my light they can see everything more clearly As if I illuminate even the darkest and most desperate of skies Brilliantly lighting up the night with my happiness To tell me that he’d like to lie in the curve […]
https://seremdipitous.wordpress.com/2016/06/23/stars-in-my-eyes/

Affection like a puppy, but with pulsars for eyes. Love it. – S

Birthday Suicide Blues (2015)


Kicked out of yet another program last year….this time on my birthday 2015. Hiked 23 miles through New Bedford and wound up shooting coke under a bridge to celebrate….detox the next day. Sigh…madness and mayhem on tap.

Suicide Blues

Information overload leaves a catatonic state,

Insane flashbacks that babbling never slakes.

So, I’ll lift a glass or grab a spoon,

Always a delight to numb out while speeding towards one’s doom.

Sweet and luscious memories deride me in a torrent,

So, I’ll hit it twice and blank it out till I become abhorrent.

Streets, infections, jails, and horrifying youth,

Tweaked out, blacked out, cracked out, hiding from a truth.

It hides behind each one I take, lurking in the corner,

A queasy feeling critter all sewn up dark,

“Truth” is my last remaining mourner.

With bulging eyes and clasping paws it looks comfort to provide,

But I’ll show it how, I’m living now, in ghastly fear and pride.

Battering awareness until thinking is a chore,

Wish it didn’t taste so good or I’d be less a whore.

So feed me everything you’ve got –

The booze, the pills, the lines, the rock.

Pump it in as fast you can until I’m outlined in chalk.

Eventually all will fade away and leave behind my friend,

“Truth” says that all this time it was just fine to reach out for an end.

I could have saved my aching skull from cracking at the ridge –

It’s too late now though, and all I dream of is hanging from a bridge.