crazy – Opinions Of Eye

The Fall

“[…] as if the next thing must quickly come along to occupy her, or the abyss might open. What abyss? The abyss that waits for all of us, when all our actions seem futile, when the ability to fill the day seems stalled, and the waiting takes on an edge of dread. ”
― Anita Brookner, Latecomers

I fell. Deep. Down a dark hole. Some call it love, some call it hell. I prefer a nomenclature of a different sort, “Abyss”. I keep falling, there’s no bottom, no end. I throw up ropes hoping they catch on ledges of sanity as I slip past in a free fall. There’s no reason, no understanding of this mystery, and still I fall. Controlling my fall is a crazy act of futility. I spin, float, and turn. Why? When I see her, my soul feels the wind of my descent. Is this free fall into love supposed to be a good thing? I stood on solid ground once, I don’t recall being happy there. Spinning out of control, I find contentment in that I’ll hit bottom one day; this hole will kill me. Does it wish me to be slain at its feet? Still I fall. I watch the faces of companions, wishing I fell for them like this. They are blurs, rushing by, in years that are seconds in the fall. The fall is only a moment, a blink, and yet, an eternal life is born and dies in that moment. Still I fall. It’s peaceful when my body supersedes reality, except for when the touch of my lover crashes through the dream. If she had hope that secured her, then she could rescue me. Still I fall. What’s left as the light grows smaller in my eyes? I smile, warmly feeling the embrace of the fall. It’s a leap that I’ll take again, given a second chance. Or would I? The Abyss waits for us all, will you take the plunge?

Also published in Broowaha Magazine

Also published in Life As A Human Magazine

02252012

White Noise

“It was the time of year, the time of day, for a small insistent sadness to pass into the texture of things. Dusk, silence, iron chill. Something lonely in the bone.”
― Don DeLillo, White Noise

killedtheinnocentpeople

Always company to the old scenes,

a noise it follows,

a voice alone in the streets.

Blankets of sound wrap me tight,
with no comfort noise,

in the blackness of night.

Garbled whispers nothings clear,
except the noise

of failure and then fear

My blurry mind is all full of snow,
white washed noise,

an emery pain makes it glow.

Flipping the channels all in vain,
the hissing noise,

Will come back again.

MMA – Wounds of the Mind

“Even in times of trauma, we try to maintain a sense of normality until we no longer can. That, my friends, is called surviving. Not healing. We never become whole again … we are survivors. If you are here today… you are a survivor. But those of us who have made it through hell and are still standing? We bare a different name: warriors.”
― Lori Goodwin

“What if I lose what little control I have left? I may live in a prison now, but at least I know my way around it.”
― Nicole Deese, All for Anna

My friend, deeply involved in MMA, had a twist break in his knee. He went through many months of painful rehab. Exercises that strengthened not only the knee but the surrounding muscles that supported the knee, possessed every waking hour. All he could think about was being back to normal and doing what he loved, with the same proficiency. He recovered and won several more titles in welter weight MMA. But, what happens when I have a break in my brain? When I can’t do what I used to because of an injury? If it’s not seen, I’ll have no sympathy. My healing process, as I engage life with my mental limp, should warrant the same compassion. Yeah, I appear crazy, and you can’t understand because you can’t see. What if I wore a bandage around my head? Put blood on gauze and covered one eye and bruised my face? Would you then understand mental injury? Ask my vets, my service brothers and sisters…they will tell you of injuries never seen, but agonized over. Take mental wounds seriously friends, acquaintances, and family. If my mental wounds were to be seen, you would be shocked and cry, while I try to gather my spilled insides and make sense of the exploded mess in me.

The Greatest Question

“Don’t you know that I’ll be around to guide you
Through your weakest moments to leave them behind you
Returning nightmares only shadows
We’ll cast some light and you’ll be alright
We’ll cast some light and you’ll be alright for now” – Zero7

Behind all the crazy things men do, in all the tears cried by women, even the thing that Jesus cried out, is this question:

“Daddddddy whereeeeee arrrrreeeee youuuuuuu?”

My Girl Manny Quinn

“Art and love are the same thing: It’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.” – Chuck Klosterman, Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story

thestuffispoison

Pressing my lips to yours…the coolness soon gone with hardened kisses. Inanimate style, making me hard. My hands trace over your glossy skin, swollen to meet my design. My fingers skip across your seams, more oil makes it easy. I carry you to the room, your long hair falling across cheeks blushed with my paint. I fall on you with unrestrained fervor, wild horses in my blood. Turning the music up loud, and dimming the lights enough to cover your dead eyes, I leave you there, lying still in my bed. Taking enough time to adjust the amount of blood in my alcohol, I come back to you. It never matters how long, still you hold that position for me. Never being able to scream means you can’t moan your pleasure over my illegal intrusions. I love you my sweet. I think tonight I’ll make you a blonde, and tomorrow a brunette. Then, I’ll tie your stiff arms behind you and in my final thrust, I’ll feel your soul drain and you’ll lie limp in my arms. My tears wet your flattened breasts, your misshapenhead makes your eyes point in crazy directions. You are my everything, you never leave, you never complain, you never reject me, your are mine and I love you, Manny Quinn.

(’tis all in jest my faithful readers)

05052013

Crash – Their choices, your demise

“Men may change their climate, but they cannot change their nature. A man that goes out a fool cannot ride or sail himself into common sense.” – Joseph Addison

Expecting a crumpling low buckling sound of screaming metal as the car slid sideways, the world spun by, lights flashing on every revolution. With a sudden jolt and crunch, I wrapped my world around the telephone pole of wantonness. The crash owned me, the unexpected result of decisions made without knowledge of the wreckage about to be imposed on my world.

I shut the door of my travels with a solid thud, and adjusted my mirrors. Putting the seat belt of my expectations securely in place with a snap, not knowing this same preparation may kill me as well as help me, I took off into the darkness. Acceleration comes easy, this way’s familiar to me. Comfortable with my situation, I stop without thinking to pick her up, after all, I’m in charge of this ride, what do I have to fear? Rain blew in when I opened the door, the few drops drawing attention to changing times. The speed felt good, my instincts guiding me through a thousands of choices as I reached speeds exceeding the limits imposed by order and wisdom. My life is able to handle this, I’ve built my engines of purpose and survival to last and persevere under the stress of the journey. With the wind in our hair I, with startled revelation, spun around with her, seeing the whole thing coming to a massive and heart wrenching conclusion. In all my confidence, I forgot that other drivers make choices too and those choices were causing my demise in this crazy, wild, no holds barred finality. How did this happen to me? Reasons are left unanswered as I breath my last through gargled gasps and see our bodies mangled in the aftermath. It happens to us all, soon the vehicle of our life will, with or without our choice, end up in an ugly crash. Be wise young soul, no matter how fast your car or skilled your operation, people that drive around can wreck you, without your thought or choice, in a most exquisite crash.

Also Published in Wingposse Magazine, February 2013

Crash – Their choices, your demise

“Men may change their climate, but they cannot change their nature. A man that goes out a fool cannot ride or sail himself into common sense.” – Joseph Addison

Also Published in Wingposse Magazine, February 2013

Diary of a Mad Man – Living with mental illness

“No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.” ― Aristotle

sagennext

They said to me, “Walk!”. My feet wouldn’t move, frozen by the accident. Appendages that are normally useful, mobile, and independent, I drag them along, taking care that I don’t injure them. The accident, as I call it, was not an accident, but a purposeful intended act, inspired by lust and hate. What they did to me I cannot tell, the acts so horrific. Regardless of the details of their brutal incursion, what I was left with is a handicap, one of the mind, not the body. Having to make do with a shredded normality, crawling through my life, instead of walking, never able to run. What was taken for granted, now became a challenge for me. While others run, leap, climb, and move about with impunity to mental mobility. I must develop new ways, ways that hurt, ways that require intense concentration, intense discipline. Still they taunt me, “get up and walk”, “why can’t you just be like the rest of us”. They can’t see I’m disabled, bound by forces that were neither chosen, nor desired, but forced on me in a cruel and harsh manner.

My injury cannot be seen, my useless legs are a shattered self-esteem, a mind crippled from ever thinking in a sane manner again. Insanity, psychosis, visions, voices, nightmares, self-deprecating thoughts, and accusations invade my every waking moment. Perceptions of reality and fantasy mix together, making the deciphering of fact and fiction a huge effort in itself. All day, every day, I roll around in a mental wheelchair, like one with paralyzed legs, committed to implements of bothersome necessity. I watch the heads wag, “Tsk, tsk. Quit being a pansy, just get up and walk”. Damn it! Can’t you see I can’t freaking walk? Can’t you see that it takes me longer to do normal things? I must make preparations for the ordinary, that which you do without an effort takes me great pains to produce, to perform, to succeed.

I’m not feeling sorry for myself, I’m a success and exceedingly happy, and in these I’ll continue, but the insensitivity of others upsets me. Refusing patience with, or acceptance of the fact, that I’m not like them. I cannot get up in the morning and be without fear, I cannot go into a crowd and relax, I cannot be in the dark. Paranoia haunts me, I sense conspiracies coming from everyone, from everything. Shame burns in me, flushing my cheeks at the least exposure of my faults or idiosyncrasies. My mind races with thousands of thoughts a minute, deep thoughts, all of them.

I ask for no special treatment, just for a bit of patience with me as you accompany me on my journey through this world. Please, not only with me, but with the many others afflicted in a like manner, be sure you understand that although the pain of mental illness is not visible, it does handicap us from doing things in a normal manner. Be patient with crazy people, we really are cool, even if it takes us awhile to work our way through the battlefields of life.

Also published in Broowaha

12282011

All In – Reasons why I bet it all

“The value of a man resides in what he gives and not in what he is capable of receiving.” – Albert Einstein

pewpewlazerz

You mock me when I place my whole being on a relationship you believe is a total loss. Let me tell you why I place all my chips on this roll of the dice…

I see the beauty overlooked by hasty and careless lovers

I see the hope in her intelligence, which she hid because she was told to be seen and not heard

I see the potential in her crazy wild rebellion, it chases the common fools away

I see the wonder in mischievous eyes, her wildness never tamed

I see the strength born from the violent men she has endured and survived

I see the determination to never give up, though the world laughs at her struggle

I see the passion that only a woman of character and spiritual vitality can bring

I see the scars that others gave her, trying to mar the beauty she wouldn’t give

I see the ravages that nature gave trying to lash her to the grave

I see the marvel of a woman, a companion, and a warrior by my side.

A woman, pure and undefiled, strong and wise, passionate and tender deserving of my gamble for the privilege to stand by her.

Also published in Broowaha Magazine

My Worst Enemy – Self deprecation

“All the shitty stuff people do to themselves… it can all be the same thing, you know? Just a way to drown out your own voice.

To kill your memories without having to kill yourself.” – Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies

Giggling, you see me. I was hiding and you found me, again. I ran but you took a short cut and found me. I yelled but you hid and wouldn’t let anyone see you. They say I’m crazy now. You always hide when I tell someone about you. You tormented me most of my life. At every turn you‘re there to talk your crap about me. Your sure to tell me what negative thing someone else is thinking about me, you won’t even give them a chance to say it first. You hurt me more than anyone I know. I finally gave up running and you found other ways to torment me. You love the chase. I partied so hard trying to get rid of you, I nearly died. I lost everything, all trying to hide from you. The times you beat me, I just cant count them. I relied on you to help me many, many times. You always let me down, and left me to my own escapes: drugs, parties, sex, and music. Damn if I could just live without you I‘d be better off. Quit talking to me, quit stealing my dreams, quit trying to make me feel guilty. Just quit it! I’m tired of you, get out of my life. But you won‘t listen, you just hide, waiting for the chance to shoot me in the foot again, then laugh as you see me trying to pick myself up. I know you well, my enemy. I know you well because you are me.