smothered and helpless
so much kept so far away
I am kept far away
every voice invasive and alien
unwelcome
all enjoyment, empty
I tried to fill it in
food and noise and distraction
just amplified the shutdown
it breaks through the hardened scab
oxygen and pain come
flooding

some void unrepresented
gone unnamed and accumulated
depth enough to threaten submersion, 
permanent

the masochistic urge turns again
a subtle terror constant
fleshy form distorting

(searching for an outer emptiness to match this inner

any stimuli akin to skin peeler)

your poor body, so long disregarded -
ignorance, wilfully scarred

can't be rid of it

it must be opened and scoured, 
the rotten edges scraped clean,
breath filling the space
it's so easy to push away
but I cannot

I do not want any of this right now.

No choice but to be subjected
to your inner chaos.
No options for delay now that it is there.


They witness 
so it can stay open. That is all.
The rest - 
the wounded physician's work.
All the best.

This culture is one of suffocation
And placation
Fear torn divisions 
Indignation
Incarceration
Demonization
What we had once has been crushed
So we douse our bodies with the dust 
And spread information
Instigate independent thought
Use the tools that trap to break the bars
It will not stay down.
Spirit is rising up.
The dead are shining down.
Carry the fire on. 

So we douse our bodies with ash
To burn it burn it down
With the fire
With the fire
To burn
It
Down
With the fire
With the fire
To throw it, throw it down, throw down
into the fire

The concept of separation
The fear of not belonging
A structure bent and breaking
Ready for the fire

We are all dispossessed.
Our dead are kept away.
But we listen and will try
To learn how to burn
With the fire.
With the fire.

revelling in the unravelling

I have not been using this blog that much lately... minimal posts in the last few years. I started to feel like it was very self-indulgent, and I never shared it about with people because it was always an expulsion into the ether, just to get stuff out so it wasn't whirling around in me or in my books or documents folder - it was freed into the world. Without expectations. 

But I realize that act has allowed me to feel safe within a space - safe and vulnerable simultaneously, safe to be vulnerable and to fuck up and to not make sense all the time. To be self-indulgent, to be lost, to be fucking confused and to post shit poems and good ones and dreams and rants and all in between. No one was going to read it, but it was still exposed and free. 

I think I might be okay with it now though. I have plenty of words to say and if they all happen to be in the context of this messed up and dark and ridiculous blog of mine, well, so be it. No need to hide anything. I am a human. I have grown, and in this age where so much of our lives are documented (more curse than blessing I feel), I won't hesitate anymore to let that be seen. Fuck it. Why think too hard, why feel insecure? Too many other areas where I have to be so careful and thoughtful and meter my expressions. Here it is just whatever. I like that, it is easy. I'm not going to take myself too seriously. Life's too short for that sort of shit.

So... here is a new poem.

***

The whole thing is a bit fucking hard you know

not dying and still going and trying to make a thing out of all the ness

flailing and breathing and sometimes getting waterlogged and sluggish

pouring out yourself and leaving your dreams in a small patch of drying mud

on the bank of the reservoir

the hums and vibrations of the music you could make just ghosting about in your heart and

in other people's ears

waiting to be born

swimming about in the void in anticipation

little souls bodiless

jostling to be illuminated

to be vessel-ified

so they can walk among the living at long last

just to find that the whole thing

is primarily constructed of aching and yearning and clawing

interspersed with moments of gold

some chemical compilation allowing the exposition of time and our worlds curling out all around

like a carpet unrolled

out

and off a cliff

so mid air is the same flailing we make when drowning

only faster

the outer world rushes and shoves us

the inner does the same

only slower

until we just follow some path that calls and could be maybe the 'right' one

stumble out onto gravel that cuts up our feet and mud that slows us and we stray

regardless of which way

we might go

some roots stretch below and above we try our best to climb to

some fruit that looks so plump and why can't it just be in our hands right now

why can't that juice just run down the chin joyously

instantly

instead of having to stretch and slip and watch as they rot and drop

why does the perception persist that one branch reaching is better than another

or that one unfurling is more divine

or that one river is more valid than another

that nature has intention is absurd

that our souls draw us onwards is a certainty but certainly no one knows how

though we futile try to clarify our whole damned limitless lives

only clamped tight and stemmed the flow along the dendrite by the mortal uncoiling

the spoiling of truth's vine

the sunshine was too hot,

the river too dry

the rains come too fast and

the roots, exposed, died

rotted from the inside

but songs get written anyway

and recordings get made

and they end up in our ears and seep down through the veins even when the sky is bleached and our eyes blind

our dreams touch something fresh and alive and cool beneath the surface dust

the crust is only as thick as the apple's skin

not even

and that wellspring may seem untouched but we drink deep sometimes

when something sings

that sorrow and hope hydrating dried up cells and

rejuvenating without reason

so purposelessness has its own surge of life

and suffering has its seasons

and laughter has its bright lies so shiny in the night

lifts us up in the face of not much you know

not much at all shielding us from the void

shimmering shapes of souls awaiting transportation

on the other side

a supple and thin skin dividing the material from the divine

and try as we might

there is no breaching that line

only in that moment

where we are born or where we die

a single split second glimpse before we get redefined

and forget until the next time

the same cycle over and over the same patterns untwined

revelling in the unravelling is all we can try

make a sound into the empty

listen deep and dream

***