Fears Rattle

“Fear was no longer thrilling—just scary and everywhere. ”
A Rattle With Death In Yosemite, Kyle Dickman

Fear Snake
Venus Aversa

Fear. My constant companion through my youth, one whom I delighted in tormenting and teasing. Then, I encountered Fears progeny, through which it reigns over the emotions of men, Death. After being dealt a near death dealing, if not certainly life changing, experience of a Traumatic Brain Injury. The same Fear, now held a different power, a power given it by myself. My experience with life can now be explained by this quote “Fear was no longer thrilling—just scary and everywhere.” – A Rattle With Death In Yosemite, Kyle Dickman. My fight to regain self, intelligence, belief, and sense of safety became a daily if not hourly battle. Everything was magnified by my mind to be a “flight or fight”, “life or death” experience. This meant, hyper-vigilance, on guard for the next attack. Not patient with any perceived threat, I magnified the innocent comments of people, the common occurrences of life to the point where I railed against them and actively fought with anger and violence, whether verbal or physical, I would push back against all comers. I still fight, though a little calmer now, mainly through constant help from my God and my wonderful woman, and I find that I can relax, even if its just a little, and let what will happen, happen. I cannot control life, I must accept death (not just death but a possibility of dependence on others for support, a huge blow to my ego) and uncertainty. I must LIVE and find JOY from the now, where I do breathe and walk on my own. I have survived, and there will come a time I will die, or be incapacitated. But let it be, let it be.

 

(This post is new and unedited. Due the brevity of life, I put it up immediately to teach whoever may want to know about me, and perhaps about them.)

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Soul Burn

“Affliction comes to us, not to make us sad but sober;
not to make us sorry but wise.” –  H. G. Wells

 

romantisme-noir

 

Eternal sadness abounds, never giving an inch against the burning sun

Tears on the edge, never cease to torment this one

Emotions raw, callouses never to form on the soul

Why?

 

What do I lack that fights against the shade of desperation?

 

Endless suffering clouds, always preempting the dawn

which rises in without concern of this one

Even a feather, lighting on my mind brings pain

Why?

 

The First Rung

“The first step, my son, which one makes in the world, is the one on which depends the rest of our days.” – Voltaire

Reaching up from this muddy pit

My hands find the first rung
I’m not letting go of it, my feet still stuck
Screaming at the top of my lungs
From this first rung on the ladder
I will not be thrown
Everything in me yelling, you can’t do it
Everyone around me laughing at my attempts
No comfort, no friends when your down this low
The first rung is all you have
Yet I climb, slapping for the next rung, I will ascend
Out of this frothing mire
I will not let go, beaten down time by time
I find myself alone, beginning again
I shake myself from my own doubt
Now I find myself afraid to succeed
What will be required of me?
No more easy carefree existence
The struggle becomes necessary to stay on the ladder.
At the bottom, swimming aimlessly in the lost masses
Who cares what you do?
As you climb out, everyone looks at you, they are encouraged by your rebellion
To climb out of their own mess, to take the challenge of living again.
This first rung, the hardest, taking the most courage to live beyond
The lies spoken to you from those in your youth, and by your lovers
Who are no longer there.
Discomfort at having to leave your habits, your friends.
Not everyone will follow you up,
Most times, no one will.
You will have to meet those who are climbing on your way up.
You see they left the mire long ago,
Every now and then glancing back to see the despair
Which they escaped so narrowly.
So I cling, to this first rung, by tenacity, hard to define
This first rung is life, this first rung is mine.
Also published in:  Broowaha
Also published in:  Life As A Human

03082011

Am I?

“What a terrible feeling to love someone and not be able to help them.”
Jennifer Niven, All the Bright Places

 

Vortex tumblr_ombbz58Pk31twrbr9o1_r2_500

 

An inexorable sadness crawls over my soul

My familiars struggling for breath, swallowing

Great gulps of life’s saltwater hopelessness

And I am powerless.

An unexplainable fountain pours the source

In touch with the obscure, a manifest creeping

mindlessly moving and untouchable seediness

And I am powerless.

An excruciating desire grows in my soil

To lift a hapless soul from withering

In a vortex of spiraling downdrafts

Am I powerless?

I Love Beautiful Dark Things – Not all things dark are evil

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” Mary Oliver
afanador
I love beautiful dark things,
that bring shadow to your life,
making things come alive,
with depth and mystery.
These beautiful dark things
are what’s between bright and nothing,
a hope of a world beyond extremes.
 
I love beautiful dark things,
without which you’re two dimensional.
Lost on the page of life.
I bring direction with my beautiful dark things,
They show you where the light is,
the subtlety of life,
bringing texture from flat canvas.
 
I love beautiful dark things,
Not all that’s dark is contrary to light.
I’m wherever light is found,
I’m the coolness in the heat,
I’m the protection on the run.
Beautiful dark things are
mysteries of things to come,
A shroud to cover your soul.
 
I love beautiful dark things…
 Also published in Broowaha
09022011

Just A Look

“Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand. WILLIAM CONGREVE, Love for Love

The plainest man who pays attention to women, will sometimes succeed as well as the handsomest man who does not.” – CHARLES CALEB COLTON, Lacon

 

mvninn
The attentions of a woman make me feel alive and vibrant with power. Like a crashing wave, her look and positive glance wash over my life leave me with a feeling of satisfaction. What curse am I under? The power in her movement captivates me and stops my whole world to see her for a moment on the miraculous hinge of change, all it takes is her reaction. If she likes me, pays me some attention, then peace and excitement in abundance. If she turns away, her rejection ignites a fire, inciting a riot of feelings in my body. Though heaven call and hell reach, nothing matters but her at that moment. There’s no end to the amazing things that I’ll put my body and mind through to see her smile. Not just a special her, but the one that has stopped my heart from proceeding with its mundane tasks. Dropped to my knees, not by an amazing model, rare and fleeting, but by that woman who holds herself with such confidence and sexuality that I find a smell of desire wafting across the room to bring me to my knees. I’ve stumbled down the steep paths of self-esteem, yet to know she’s there, watching with interest, gives me the most incredible lift. This hawk takes to an empowering thermal desire and rises to heights unreachable when you, sweet woman, give me your smile.

01242013

Hindsight

“Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It’s like killing yourself, and then you’re reborn. I guess I’ve lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.”
Charles Bukowski
skins
The morning after, it’s plain to see,
the drunken mistakes, you did to me
Your eyes are teary, with stains of sorrow
I’m hardened to that, it’ll happen tomorrow
As the sun sets fear, sings lullabies
Soon you’ll be home, bringing hell and goodbyes
Again the saddest story is now told
I’m becoming a drunk too, as I grow old
You stained my mind, with intoxicated words
Breaking my soul, with your scourge
this morning tells a story, of my final plea
I lay this bottle down, because you have become me.