Archive for December 11th, 2010
Breaking Down the Idealism
Posted by Carl in Essays, Finding Purpose on December 11, 2010
This is new content from the Who I Want to Be effort:
It has been a long week. By Wednesday, I did not think I would make it through. On Thursday morning, a distinct feeling welled up in my heart, one that told me that I wished more than anything to run away and hide in a cave and die quickly. I needed to be alone because people were bringing me to the slaughter fest. Of course this is my perception, deepened by my depression and incessant and obsessive sensitivity. (I told my wife that I am no more mature than a first-grader when it comes to sensitivity because I continue to feel the same feeling when people hurt me now as I did when I was in first grade. I have gained no skin from my progression through life.) The only one who seemed to be okay with who I am was my sponsor and best friend. Today, my wife told me she thought that it was odd that he stuck by me. The implication is that good friends are loyal only to a point, but then they should ditch you. Humans all over the place are ditching other humans and other humans are making other humans ditch humans and it is solid badness wherever I look.
I won’t confess here. I much prefer to confess in my poems. Confession is good for the soul, but my soul needs reinforcement more than anything. On Friday, my father joined the crowd Read the rest of this entry »
Heading for Terror
As I shifted in the darkness of the morning
Under the pebbles
Making a consistently uneven rhythm,
I finally became convinced
That we are headed for the depth of winter,
And Christmas lights will not deter us.
It is ‘cool’ to like winter,
But I am not enamored of the terrible death.
There is slight hope for serenity
Long after the bottom.
I know spring may only
Come after this barren landscape,
A landscape with no love left,
But I might not live to see spring.
No Release
It is so weak to say,
“All I want is to be loved.”
There are funny corners
Built for hiding this weakness.
Work hard enough to hide it,
The weakness becomes a ghost.
It is unknown and its calling card
Is anger. It is fear. It is loneliness.
There is a tight grip working
To uncover the weakness.
There is a large hole and
The weakness rips away energy.
Look at these external things,
These things seem to fill the hole.
No release from the grip but it
Is buried and sucks away energy.
Lack of love, receipt of anger,
Target of meanness, felled by manipulation.
Black holes that take away energy.
Energy that will never return.
Missing the New Drug
I ask the fiery gold snake with deep, warm, brown eyes,
What are you selling?
She slides gently around my waist and responds:
I have everything you need!
I need something for the pain.
I can give you happiness.
How much does that cost?
Just a few pieces of your heart.
I want happiness. What else?
The pieces were not slimy, red or dark purple
As you might expect, knowing the heart,
But were brittle and delicate
Pink shards like fine china.
I can give you serenity.
How much does that cost?
Just a few more pieces.
Yes, I need that. What else?
A wonderful path for artistic pursuits.
The snake directs the mammoth fangs to the left.
The path was wide. My mind could see heaven.
I could not imagine such beauty. This, the only path.
Yes, yes, yes. Can you sell me a lover?
A lover?
A lover who adores the art?
Of course, but that is quite a few pieces of your heart.
Give it to me! Can you sell me love?
Surely, but you cannot afford it.
How much does it cost?
Several more pieces, but you have run out of heart.
The snake slides away into a thick gray.
I collapse into nothingness.
I should have bought a new drug instead.
stillfugue 