Through me is the way to the sorrowful city.
Through me is the way to join the lost people.
-Inscription at the entrance to Hell-
Something woke me up at 4am this morning..a loud popping noise, like firecrackers or gun shots.all I know is that is spooked the hell out of , thus began my fall into a surreal oblivionI just laid in bed till it got lighter and lighter outI guess I was still thinking about things that I had seen earlier that night..I began to wonder how many things.ugly, sick, necessary things were being done in my name, for my comfortfor my peace of mindsometimes I think about the violence of peace..the violence of peaceit was boggling my mind..the isolated hate, violence, pain I keep with me in my almost intimate center pales in comparison I think to others, it is exists in the personal context of my mother being abused, the verbal abuse suffered at the hands of a man constantly broken in many pieces..this is the context that I examine my life under when I need to make peace with my demons- but never have I seen a burning body, a child with half of its body blown off.these are the things I have been protected from and it pisses me off to no endbecause I pay for it everyday and I demand to see my contributionwhat counts as an atrocity? One life, 10 lives, a million livesa few hundred?.........my mind is numb trying to figure this one outI am beckoned to leaf through the book I asked for as a birthday gift..I saidI need to see thisbecause we need to be reminded of what humans, you, me, us are capable of doing.the heavy cloth black beast that is it, on purpose to heavy the soula full 9 pounds.gets me every timewhat was going through Nachtweys mindwhen he clicked the shutter..the smiles are the worst I think.they give an illusion of something cruel..they speak to our narratives of a hope for a happy ending.and in a wayironic as those smiles are.they have to illicit that emotion in usotherwise.all things are lostI leaf through it and stop at the familiar place I always stop atnot even getting through to the most atrocious images.I always pause in Bosnia..back to the main title page.with the familiar quote of whose author I always envy.for the beauty of his words and the horror of his words: There sighs, lamentations and loud wailings resounded through the starless air, so that from the beginning it made me weep. DANTE- The Devine Comedy: Inferno I can never get through this bookbut as with the screen last nightI refused to shut my eyes.I made myself watch.because it was my duty.I lie awake some more and I keep my mind buzzing with things that I can not look at anymore- ..will we loose our way?......when all the elements, the familiar smells, sighs, looks, words, images of what it means to be human succumbs to the slow erasure of the plugged age, will we have the sufficient memory to extract it from the familiar ancient map..from the RNA, from the DNA..even if the will is there, will we be able to rememberI feel sometimes that I am the last of the Old School..the last of the unplugged.the last to see and have a memory of the landscape of my beautiful home without the familiar structures of an all too familiar corporate culture, sterilization, - the erasure of the DIY- when is the last time you did it yourself? make a cake from scratchnot from the box, cake mix.- oh I go off on tangentsand I slowly drift back to sleep.dreaming of waiting at an airportwaiting to be taken somewhere.familiar and comfortingand you are there with me.
Through me is the way to join the lost people.
-Inscription at the entrance to Hell-
Something woke me up at 4am this morning..a loud popping noise, like firecrackers or gun shots.all I know is that is spooked the hell out of , thus began my fall into a surreal oblivionI just laid in bed till it got lighter and lighter outI guess I was still thinking about things that I had seen earlier that night..I began to wonder how many things.ugly, sick, necessary things were being done in my name, for my comfortfor my peace of mindsometimes I think about the violence of peace..the violence of peaceit was boggling my mind..the isolated hate, violence, pain I keep with me in my almost intimate center pales in comparison I think to others, it is exists in the personal context of my mother being abused, the verbal abuse suffered at the hands of a man constantly broken in many pieces..this is the context that I examine my life under when I need to make peace with my demons- but never have I seen a burning body, a child with half of its body blown off.these are the things I have been protected from and it pisses me off to no endbecause I pay for it everyday and I demand to see my contributionwhat counts as an atrocity? One life, 10 lives, a million livesa few hundred?.........my mind is numb trying to figure this one outI am beckoned to leaf through the book I asked for as a birthday gift..I saidI need to see thisbecause we need to be reminded of what humans, you, me, us are capable of doing.the heavy cloth black beast that is it, on purpose to heavy the soula full 9 pounds.gets me every timewhat was going through Nachtweys mindwhen he clicked the shutter..the smiles are the worst I think.they give an illusion of something cruel..they speak to our narratives of a hope for a happy ending.and in a wayironic as those smiles are.they have to illicit that emotion in usotherwise.all things are lostI leaf through it and stop at the familiar place I always stop atnot even getting through to the most atrocious images.I always pause in Bosnia..back to the main title page.with the familiar quote of whose author I always envy.for the beauty of his words and the horror of his words: There sighs, lamentations and loud wailings resounded through the starless air, so that from the beginning it made me weep. DANTE- The Devine Comedy: Inferno I can never get through this bookbut as with the screen last nightI refused to shut my eyes.I made myself watch.because it was my duty.I lie awake some more and I keep my mind buzzing with things that I can not look at anymore- ..will we loose our way?......when all the elements, the familiar smells, sighs, looks, words, images of what it means to be human succumbs to the slow erasure of the plugged age, will we have the sufficient memory to extract it from the familiar ancient map..from the RNA, from the DNA..even if the will is there, will we be able to rememberI feel sometimes that I am the last of the Old School..the last of the unplugged.the last to see and have a memory of the landscape of my beautiful home without the familiar structures of an all too familiar corporate culture, sterilization, - the erasure of the DIY- when is the last time you did it yourself? make a cake from scratchnot from the box, cake mix.- oh I go off on tangentsand I slowly drift back to sleep.dreaming of waiting at an airportwaiting to be taken somewhere.familiar and comfortingand you are there with me.
VIEW 12 of 12 COMMENTS
fortysix_and_two:
You're not the last. There's so many similarities between you and I, it scares me.
karalynn:
Good points on the piercing thread on PSW thanks for the imput and sharing the picture. I think them showing through a shirt would be sexy too but not all the time, just when I'm feeling sexy myself.