Forensic Analysis –

“If suffering like hers had any use, she reasoned, it was not to the sufferer. The only way that an individual’s pain gained meaning was through its communication to others.”  ― Diane Wood Middlebrook, Anne Sexton: A Biography 

floweerheaad

 

I reach through the fodder of my mental plane wreck, grasping, trying to make sense of it. Like a forensic crash analyst, I picked up pieces of my shattered self and held them up to the light, turning them over and over looking for reasons of the devastation. Is it operator error? Did the machine break? Was it an act of God? Did someone fail to address issues that led to this? These questions are valid even when looking at my human psyche, and to that end I believe that all apply. I made mistakes, very big mistakes, and even if I were normal and my mind healthy, mistakes would still happen. Yes, the machine is broken, it’s totally fucking obvious to anyone who knows me for any length of time that I’m fucked up in the head, that shit ain’t right with this guy. People contributed to this trashing of my soul: abuse, neglect, rape, bullied, rejected, abandoned, violent brutal attacks on my body and mind, yep, all done by others. The sad thing’s not that these happened, ’cause shit happens to everyone, but that, like in movies when they dunk the guy underwater then before he can take a breath he is shoved underwater again, it’s the frequency of the shit that keeps hitting my fan. I’ll barely have a hold on my PTSD and I’ll be attacked violently, or someone will violate my space by stealing from me, betraying me, or whatever. It happens over and over again. What in the hell is God trying to show me? What fucking possible good can there come of my constant devastation? I’ve held on this long because I’m so concerned about taking the next breath that I can barely see beyond right now, in fact, dreams of the future are gone, if they ever were there. I only remember one dream, that of being a veterinarian. It was shot to hell very quickly as I got bullied and fucked with, even by teachers and adults. So that’s it, I was given one dream, it’s gone, so fuck me, all I have to look forward to is catching my breath the next time life pulls my head out from under the water. OK, wait, some self righteous asshole from the back says, “You carry yourself like a victim, that’s why you keep getting attacked.” Oh, fuck me, is that the answer? It’s my fault? Hell, well now I’m all better, thanks. This is not a whining rant where I want people to feel sorry for me, its mainly a way of examining the evidence and helping me toward recovery from all this shit. I don’t want advice, I just want to fucking yell at the trees and mountains ’til I’ve exhausted all my homicidal and suicidal screams, ’til I’ve cried all my tears and I can’t cry anymore, scream and scream until I break down and stop fighting against life. I’ve survived what would have killed most people, I’m still holding on to shreds of sanity and empathy that many would have lost by now. I’ll be OK, and perhaps somehow, I’ll find out how to piece this shit back together, but I seriously doubt it will ever fly again.
Also published in Broowaha
Also published in Opinionsofeye.com

 

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Second Hand

“Of course there had been clues. A bite of the lip. An indrawn breath. Wrinkled brows and shrugged shoulders. A few false starts at conversations about work and balance, but the real alarms should have gone off when all of that faded.”
Zoe York, Between Then and Now 

helenduplicate
With the wind she tickled the grass

conducting music in the sand

She came, she went, with all she did,

she did in the second hand

Just another throw away, moved from

trash can to trash can

Coming to pick me, broken, used, always

holding the second hand

Lines of age with gray that casts away

at once I understand

There’s always a way for love to free

me from the second hand

Taking those clocks and finding a way

to trash the limited man

Time is the victim she said to me,

it’s killed by the second hand

Hours in the great divide, no worries,

content with just a stand,

In the present we all can feel the touch

of the second hand

Point of No Return

“In everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive.” – Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

 

schwarzesonne

There are moments in my life of wandering, moments when I‘m breaking through the brush of mystery and intrigue in the nurture of existence, to find myself on the very edge of a cliff. A cliff of choice, the point of no return. Many choices, once made, offer no u-turns. My fate is sealed, the dice are rolled, the trigger is pulled. The air is thick with mist, the mist of unknowing. The wind blows up from the chasm of destiny, pulling my hair, pushing me back, forcing me to make a decision. I feel the ground giving way, circumstance will force my hand if I hesitate. Forward progress, by necessity, is a very definite and purposeful choice.  These moments come without warning, catching me in their frenzy and pressure. It’s almost to late. Be prepared my friends, fate comes quickly to demand of you, to smack you with reality, to dazzle you with fantasy, to ask you, what will you do? Choose carefully, once you leap, the ground comes to greet you with a startling quickness.

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Victim of love?

 “…and so will the world end, I think, a victim of love rather than hate. For love’s ever been the more destructive weapon, sure.” – Stephen King, The Dark Tower

deppography

Speak to me of love’s glories and I’ll show you the teeth of this wild thing. Love is used as a lever to control people and deliver them to the slaughter. I think of the lonely woman, in love with her man. He beats her, cusses her, rapes her, and demeans her at every turn, yet, because of love, she stays with him. I think of mean and nefarious men who hold a woman captive and force her compliance by threatening her family. Her love for her family is the means by which they control her. Men are not exempt from this cruel trick of nature. I’ve seen a man destroy his family, his career, and ultimately his life because he fell in “love” with another woman. I’ve seen the drug addicted lead many down the road to ruin by courting their love and then using them till they are reduced to only a crust of bread for dinner. I’ve seen children, holding their parents hostage by the same love shown them. When will it end? When will I see that love is evil in this way. It constrains me to act in harmful and completely unreasonable courses of action. It forces me to make choices that are in the end, all the worse things that could be done.


Here is the mistake Love is not the holy stamp of approval on my dealings with humanity. Love does not guarantee the success or validity of a relationship. I see the reality and necessity of love, but only as a by-product of a healthy relationship, not as the final goal. The relationship should not be ruled by this love, but give birth to it, then raise it in subjection. How should I act when faced with my “love”? Love needs a system of checks and balances. A spiritual check can help control my direction, whether this is a good choice or bad. A logic check is important as well. Seriously, can my love for an abuser, child molester, or addict be expressed best by exposing myself and my family to his/her aberrations? Love will choose the death of the loved one for the best of the whole. If I am held hostage, my wife being raped, my belongings pilfered, all under the threat of killing my children, I say, “Be damned! I’ll not let them ravage my life using that lever of love. If I give in and allow the pillaging of my life, what will be left for the children, or woman, or whoever is the object used to force my compliance? What is left is a broken and shattered form, unable to provide for the family in any way. This is what is left for love when it is used to violate: brokenness, shattered dreams, and an inability to provide. Let us, my friends, be careful to not let love lead us down these treacherous paths and check ourselves lest we be found as victims of love.

Victim of love?

 “…and so will the world end, I think, a victim of love rather than hate. For love’s ever been the more destructive weapon, sure.” – Stephen King, The Dark Tower

deppography

Speak to me of love’s glories and I’ll show you the teeth of this wild thing. Love is used as a lever to control people and deliver them to the slaughter. I think of the lonely woman, in love with her man. He beats her, cusses her, rapes her, and demeans her at every turn, yet, because of love, she stays with him. I think of mean and nefarious men who hold a woman captive and force her compliance by threatening her family. Her love for her family is the means by which they control her. Men are not exempt from this cruel trick of nature. I’ve seen a man destroy his family, his career, and ultimately his life because he fell in “love” with another woman. I’ve seen the drug addicted lead many down the road to ruin by courting their love and then using them till they are reduced to only a crust of bread for dinner. I’ve seen children, holding their parents hostage by the same love shown them. When will it end? When will I see that love is evil in this way. It constrains me to act in harmful and completely unreasonable courses of action. It forces me to make choices that are in the end, all the worse things that could be done.


Here is the mistake Love is not the holy stamp of approval on my dealings with humanity. Love does not guarantee the success or validity of a relationship. I see the reality and necessity of love, but only as a by-product of a healthy relationship, not as the final goal. The relationship should not be ruled by this love, but give birth to it, then raise it in subjection. How should I act when faced with my “love”? Love needs a system of checks and balances. A spiritual check can help control my direction, whether this is a good choice or bad. A logic check is important as well. Seriously, can my love for an abuser, child molester, or addict be expressed best by exposing myself and my family to his/her aberrations? Love will choose the death of the loved one for the best of the whole. If I am held hostage, my wife being raped, my belongings pilfered, all under the threat of killing my children, I say, “Be damned! I’ll not let them ravage my life using that lever of love. If I give in and allow the pillaging of my life, what will be left for the children, or woman, or whoever is the object used to force my compliance? What is left is a broken and shattered form, unable to provide for the family in any way. This is what is left for love when it is used to violate: brokenness, shattered dreams, and an inability to provide. Let us, my friends, be careful to not let love lead us down these treacherous paths and check ourselves lest we be found as victims of love.

Gentleness of Strength

“Silk is a fine, delicate, soft, illuminating, beautiful substance. But you can never rip it! If a man takes this tender silk and attempts to tear it, and cannot tear it, is he in his right mind to say “This silk is fake! I thought it was soft, I thought it was delicate, but look, I cannot even tear it” ? Surely, this man is not in his right mind! The silk is not fake! This silk is 100% real. It’s the man who is stupid!” ― C. JoyBell C.

“Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way round or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves.” – Bruce Lee
dewdropzgarden
 Gentle, striving to be easy with the hardness life brings. Being gentle when the attack is not against me is easy, but let my lover betray me, let a random act of violence occur, let my child be molested in spite of my best efforts, then it proves supremely difficult to resist hardness. When gentleness is discerned by the predators of man and beast, it signifies vulnerability, a sign that brings pursuit and attack. There is however, a side of gentleness that is contrary to weakness. Warriors learned long ago that deftness, a soft touch, is as deadly as brute force. The less effort, the faster and more powerful you will be. Gentleness learned is self control gained. To deny the victim demeanor and become a survivor, a warrior, requires a necessary application of gentle traits. Hold the knife easy. Squeeze the trigger softly. Bend not break, as a willow in the breeze. Bruce Lee taught the principle: be like water. Water is soft, yielding, and enjoyable to be around, but still maintains a fearful power. Gentleness is not weakness, it is power under perfect control. I’m this gentle soul, the water that gives way, and still I possess a force to overcome the most difficult opponent, whether it be in the form of man or circumstance.

Bar Time – The way it is

“When I go to a bar, I don’t go looking for a girl who knows the capital of Maine.”  
David Brenner
olavstubberud

11 pm – And the pressure is on


Feeling no pain, inhibition gone


12 am – The game is in full swing

All the preparation for this thing


1 am – Soon the last call is made

This spot beside me is up for trade


2 am – A challenge there she stands

One more drink in her hands


3 am – We share the passion bed

Our love we switch for pain instead


4 am – I lay awake with open eyes

Without the high theres no disguise


5 am – I’m stirring and flipping still

She awakes and tries to feel


6 am – I’m the victim of my crime

Following hard in bar time