So I think it's gonna be okay. We'll see each other sometime, someday. It's inevitable, we'll pass through each other like ghosts. Our hands will touch, but really, they'll just be smushing together not clasping or crashing. Because we've become ghosts. It's happened.
I don't know how or why, but everything gets a little easier, every day. The idea of facing reality is a little less nerve wracking lately.
I hate feeling so down that every word is a threat, a threat of a trigger, a trigger leading into a downward spiral. You keep yourself in check until you let your guard down. Then, if you're anything like me, you rise up for a minute, and watch yourself sink somehow you manage to see it only in the abstract, as someone who has nothing to do with you. You find that your emotions seem to have a mind of their own, they demand attention so greedily.
You're so addicted to human interaction that you can't stop getting hurt by well-meaning or self-absorbed friends. You can't deal with people so you shut down and pretend to. You shut down and use yourself to network and promote ideas even if they are not of interest.
Who cares if a progressive book I ordered was backordered? No one it's just good to remind people that the grassroots progressive movements needs to be researched, everyone should be active, we must commit to ourselves and each other. We must find convictions, no matter what they may be and champion these beliefs as philosophy, not idealist bullshit.
Anyway after the shut down, you wake up eventually. Usually you're kind of groggy then humiliated.
Then you throw it all back up and smoke too much, and think too much, and consider it all too much. You look for lyrics in every word, you look for poems pulling on the leash, raspy, coughing, pathetically barking and choking on the collar.
And you write and you cry, you sing on the streets You are haunted by your dreams, and confused by those increasingly frequent nightmare sequences. You're no one and everyone.
The world exploded, but the pieces that are lying in chunks beside you are workable. Recycle this into a reality you can handle. Make the choice to be art. There is no other way.
Shine your light.
There's plenty of fuel, and it's easier to see the art all around you.
I don't know how or why, but everything gets a little easier, every day. The idea of facing reality is a little less nerve wracking lately.
I hate feeling so down that every word is a threat, a threat of a trigger, a trigger leading into a downward spiral. You keep yourself in check until you let your guard down. Then, if you're anything like me, you rise up for a minute, and watch yourself sink somehow you manage to see it only in the abstract, as someone who has nothing to do with you. You find that your emotions seem to have a mind of their own, they demand attention so greedily.
You're so addicted to human interaction that you can't stop getting hurt by well-meaning or self-absorbed friends. You can't deal with people so you shut down and pretend to. You shut down and use yourself to network and promote ideas even if they are not of interest.
Who cares if a progressive book I ordered was backordered? No one it's just good to remind people that the grassroots progressive movements needs to be researched, everyone should be active, we must commit to ourselves and each other. We must find convictions, no matter what they may be and champion these beliefs as philosophy, not idealist bullshit.
Anyway after the shut down, you wake up eventually. Usually you're kind of groggy then humiliated.
Then you throw it all back up and smoke too much, and think too much, and consider it all too much. You look for lyrics in every word, you look for poems pulling on the leash, raspy, coughing, pathetically barking and choking on the collar.
And you write and you cry, you sing on the streets You are haunted by your dreams, and confused by those increasingly frequent nightmare sequences. You're no one and everyone.
The world exploded, but the pieces that are lying in chunks beside you are workable. Recycle this into a reality you can handle. Make the choice to be art. There is no other way.
Shine your light.
There's plenty of fuel, and it's easier to see the art all around you.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
you rise up for a minute, and watch yourself sink
- it's like when you're setting yourself up for a fall, but you can't stop the course. It's as if it's inevitable and the whole time you can see it all playing out before you, like some morose play. You can't turn away your gaze, it's like watching a train wreck.
You are a very gifted writer. Thanks for the stimulating read.