Crutch –

“And so, irritants, it is with this that I leave you. You are spared so that you can think of what it really is to live in a world that engenders a pain for which there is no comfort. Here is your product! You have the rest of your lives to think of this. And I suggest you think quickly, for a long life is never a guarantee.”
Jhonen Vasquez, Johnny the Homicidal Maniac: Director’s Cut 
il-gusto-dell-orrido
No way out, that’s plain to see,
No breaks here, at least not for me
Created someone, by choices of peers
People pleasing, bad choices in years
Time is here, for the ugly plans
Another choice, to take a stand
In the mind, I thought I’d be
Options present, from a Divine We
Way is clear, two roads to home
My destiny, no guilt to own
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During the course of a man’s life there are certain actions which to him are inevitable. His nurture of violence, rejection, torment, and pain makes a repetition of this lineage probable in many areas. When the professionals look at his past and problems, they commit him to a destiny with their prognostications. Cursed with the Homicidal Triad, he carries the weight that his life is over and many others will end by his hand. Perversions visited on him time and again long to be reborn in a vain attempt at control and vengeance. He’s for all intents and purposes, a dangerous time bomb that, not a matter of “if” but “when”, will explode. He carries himself in a way that attracts the vermin and vultures of the dark life who, smelling blood, come and circle him in an ancient dance of death. They smell blood and think it a sign of weakness not knowing the he cut himself to draw them in. He does this so the ones he takes with him will be deserving of the death he brings. This way is clear and this way he will follow by virtue of having no other choice. No choice until one is taught to him by a God unseen, but heard and felt. His father told him that faith is a crutch for the weak, he now learns faith will save not only him but those he set his cross-hairs on and if not for the crutch, then the kill. Look for the choices you misfitted rejected ones, there’s a way that leads out of the darkness.
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First published in Opinionsofeye.com
03302014

The Hermit Chronicles: Unbelonging

 

“After all, in private we’re all misfits.” – Lily Tomlin

tempt–ations

A Misfit of society. The Unbelonging. Set apart from commonality and associations, not by a better standing but by a challenge inside that’s only fulfilled alone. No one can accompany me where I go, no heart can understand my sorrow or joy. Alone, as I find it, is good. Being unable to attach to a group, club, assembly, or clique brought some concern, which I soon resolved. For a good part of my life I joined others, in love, in need, in desperation to avoid the pain of being alone, trying to fit in. I’m content to realize now that if alone is what I am, then alone I’ll be and not fight it. It’s not bad at all, once I accepted that my aloneness will allow me the full realization of who I am. As I learn to be alone, to be my best friend, I resist compromising myself with the false security of a strange opinion or use my life in service to a foreign will.  When I feel the need to engage the throng, I’ll do so with renewed vigor, untouched by opinions and pressures that many feel obliged to conform to. Breathe, freedom is mine as I look with contented peace out on the sunrise of my potential. Striving for success isn’t my lot, I’m a success. My aloneness brings the challenges. Even now, with my tattered coat and stained cup, with my hounds and fallen trees as companions, even now, I smile.


The Hermit Chronicles: Unbelonging

“After all, in private we’re all misfits.” – Lily Tomlin

tempt–ations

A Misfit of society. The “Unbelonging”. Set apart from commonality and associations, not by a better standing but by a challenge inside that’s only fulfilled alone. No one can accompany me where I go, no heart can understand my sorrow or joy. Alone, as I find it, is good. Being unable to attach to a group, club, assembly, or clique brought some concern, which I soon resolved. For a good part of my life I joined others, in love, in need, in desperation to avoid the pain of being alone, trying to fit in. I’m content to realize now that if alone is what I am, then alone I’ll be and not fight it. It’s not bad at all, once I accepted that, it allows me the full realization of who I am. As I learn to be alone, to be my best friend, I resist compromising myself with the false security of a strange opinion or use my life in service to a foreign will.  When I feel the need to engage the throng, I’ll do so with renewed vigor, untouched by opinions and pressures that many feel obliged to conform to. Breathe, freedom is mine as I look with contented peace out on the sunrise of my potential. Striving for success isn’t my lot, I’m a success. My solitary living brings the challenges but, even now, with my tattered coat and stained cup, my hounds and fallen trees as companions, even now, I smile.

 

Misfits – Solitude of I

“…misfits. We do not fit into this world without amputations.”
– Marge Piercy
 “All the colors of they are not the color of I

In mimicry I taint the skin of me

All the sounds of they are not the sound of I

In mimicry I change the voice of me

All the dances of they are not the moves of I

In mimicry I perform awkward ways

All the hopes of they are not the future of I

In mimicry I pretend a winning destiny” 
– DMW



Waking in an unseemly state, I look around at my world of unbelonging. The crazy thing is that in my head is where my world is. It’s where the torments of mockers echo for years, where the pain of violence stings long past the healing of the body. I stay alone in my room, dark is how I like it there. My cave is where solitude commands my death of a thousand cuts. Each cut a remark, an injury, a symptom, a mental deficiency that demands my obedience to awkward and unusual ways. When I open my door and come out to play with society, my mimicry is perfected. Hidden beneath my smiling ways are necrotic tendencies that mortify normalcy. I reach out in the dark, on my bed, reaching out to an invisible God who seems to answer but in the most subtle and barely noticeable ways. What I want is a touch, a physical touch. It is not HE that answers physically but when another misfit finds me, then we both realize that we are not alone, but we belong to a group that will never stay together by virtue of our mental disabilities. Like magnets we are, spinning off the negatives of each other…no hold for my anchor, sending my vessel into dire straights.