your name, my pain

***

and if i said, would you believe me? so, why should I say? just believe me.

***

in pain i lay, calling your name. in pain i laid; you called not my name.

***

was it mordant anguish? uncaring prying? for anguished i was, praying and crying.

***

yours

Don't forget pain,
nor leave it behind.
Trust it again,
for it is kind.

Let comfort convey.
Has led you thus far.
Shows you the way.
Tells who you are.

act one: because i know, i see

images, neutral at worst, my mind transform: bucolic setting, small family-owned farm, shiny white Holsteins, spotted childlike in tempera-black, ruminating graciously in the pasture, turn industrial feedlot, abattoir close enough for other soylent Herefords to hear the wails of the slaughter. brooks springing in their prairie, becomes retention pond, biological toxic waste stew, seasoned with antibiotics, simmering in the sun.

numbers that pass/the passing of numbers (incomplete)

atone for a day's deed?
not on three hours of sleep.

upon my wrist a new scar;
I laugh as I think I've made it this far.

I planned, I thought my death,
A troubled life, one last breath.

virtually on the verge of vomiting

virtually on the verge of vomiting, i push myself yet again, DJ's Sisma and Vekta driving me hard atop the range of the sliding decibel control, spinning their seduction, averting hallucination, inducing hallucination--for how else can i still be on this endlessly-moving carpet of vulcanized rubber passing under my beaten you-know-whats, at an indicated 8 miles-per-hour.


this, after having subjected myself to implements of torture painted an airy, aseptic white, corners coronated by stainless steel to prevent the corrosion-inducing sweat and tears shed during these BDSM sessions, while tied to ligatures of 1/4 inch 7 x 19 MIL-DTL-83420M cables terminated by 10-pound chunks of recycled slag, shaped ingot-like, potential energy tortuously converted to kinetic--energy is neither destroyed nor created (or is it mass?--although i feel as if my mass has been destroyed, mutilated...)


stop i do not. i keep control, avert nausea, meet and greet Limit, my old camarada, who like i has changed, become more inscrutable, prone to abrupt shifts in presence, mind, disposition.


"adios, tia. me voy, dejo tu abu-grhahib, tu house of pain, tu facility of torture, tu medieval dungeon, el discretely-mail-ordered-from-back-page-advert-in-almanac-format-photo-journal-of-alternative-sexually-arousing-practices-implement-of-pleasure-equipped suburban basement you habitate; i am in desperate need of a carbohydrate bolus."


as i make my way up the stairs, i turn, look down, weakly smile. i know, Limit knows, i will return. and i so wish she has her friend Enlightenment over for an as-as-always-too-brief visit.




virtva llyin the verg aknabac firnate ogiti hiyrbak if akterbauve

it's about life, and the push to death...

it's about reverence to the clawing of high priestess energy, as she demands tribute for her life-imbuing presence.

it's about acceptance of the loving chokehold of sorceress pain, search for respite from her merciless abandon.

it's about total devotion to reverend sister exhaustion, complete submission to the lashings of her breathless whip.

it's about humility, begging at the feet of reverend mother hunger, as she teasingly toys with my famished consciousness.

it's about discipline, enduring enchantress delirium's gentle wrath as she withdraws my fix of H, O, Na, K with a series of strokes to the delete key of life.

it's about my search for the elusive light that guides and inflames, frustrates, and dismays…for she toys with me, knows i will never reach her--i am no Buddha, Bodhisattva, or otherwise…i am not worthy despite the hopeless righteousness of my quest.

releasing the genie

back from the dead.
back from the land of the dead.
back from a land of death.
Back from death...

if not to life.

suns and moons took me away.
suns and moons imprisoned me.
suns and moons brought me back in the end.
if not by you given, i welcome myself...

or do i?

and thus

and thus, i further deviate from the purpose of this bipolar ring, a
fact hopefully overlooked by this embracing community. these words,
those verses, which reflect my state of mind sometimes implicitly, at
times explicitly, my humble return. you gave me a start, your
attention, my first readership, and for that, i will be ever so
grateful.

a sincere non-self-deprecating post, this one; a realistic perspective
that considers your time sacrifice as a reader.

deviate

60 seconds you dedicate to reading these esoteric word constructs,
attempts at expressing unordinary emotions in atypical ways.

60 seconds you share generously for nothing in return--a passing
pleasure, a thought triggered, the extent of this nothingness?

60 seconds of your time in direct proportion to an average of 440
seconds of my time writing these words.

60 seconds of your time before your attention is diverted voluntarily
or not, elsewhere.

60 seconds, the reason why I have focused on the poetic form as of
late, as it seemingly aligns with the 60 seconds of your undivided
attention.

60 seconds I strive to make worthwhile, for you will not recoup this
lost time, and further, i will not have the opportunity to take in the
future: you will simply not return.

60 seconds of delusion, thinking you read through my last post.

60 seconds that rule my reality.

elation

mirror loyal, white crystals?
heart sultry, displaced emotions?
energy dancing, open pupils?

leather elegant, blistered limbs?
razor tranquil, fresh wounds?
flesh beguiling, night ends?

graphite stoic, paper endless?
copy gleeful, manuscript fills?
life atoning, elusive visions?

40 proof distorsion

i
  recall spinning lavender sounds, midsummer's lucid parody.

feel
      heartbeats tasting dark white, explosive moon rise.

pain
      conspiring gentle shrill visions, fire chilled thoughts.

within
      my mind's contriving touch, acrid silent crash.

me,
    distrusting death's deafening smell, alluring memory numbness.

state

caffeine-induced deterministic clairvoyancy; semi-darkness where images appear pixelated, blurred by white noise, sign of analog media's life-expectancy exceeded.

breath slow, as if deep, obligated; yet subtly shallow. relative calm acting as subtext; feel pulse, each beat, increasing by 1dB awareness of surroundings.

hyper-awareness overloading the senses, shielding out spurious signals not intended for the cerebral mass consumption. profound depth of perception, agitated calmness.

experimental #0001

these thoughts impure,
i must endure.
escape from me.
depart.

your love impart,
for being apart,
torture for me.
pain.

my sorrow contain,
try in vain.
inflict upon me,
abuse.

your fire use,
forgive me muse.
desire tear me.
sufrir.

no quiero vivir.
me quiero morir.
¿quieres a mí,
dejar?

¿me quieres matar?
me quiero vengar.
deshazte de mí.
vivir.

sólo quiero vivir,
but staying here,
life in me,
loose.

my love refuse,
death pallor induce.
blood in me,
constrain.

say it again
truth don’t restrain.
tenderly, hold me.
heart.

your words hurt,
requiem, tragic art.
life for me,
unsure.

wallow in loathe; bask in dread; thrive on disdain

loathe and dread,
i cannot contain.
my daily bread.
should i refrain?

life's common thread.
always the same.
is it inbred?
pleasure of pain.

fearful edge tread.
this feeling disdain.
a maddening threat.
fight in vain?

easy

'hate myself for the damage, but don't think twice about causing it.

it feels so good at the time, yet turns so regretable later.

always, so eager to inflict. when done, so easy to sulk over.

so difficult to say "won't" so easy to renege on the word.

how easy it is to loathe self; troubling this love with self-hate.

are we quick to fall down? why so diffident to embrace joy?

how different do you think it would be, if turned 180 around?

Gone

pain unforced,
effect profound,
impact, true.

pain desired,
effect sought
impact, gone.

drunk

we all know, but we shall not give a crap. it is the way. it has worked before, and it will work now: we shall tell all, but ignore as well.

it has worked. it will work now…who the blast cares? do you think it is pity i seek? you have to be wrong; i hope you are wrong. pity? how about giving a crap? pathetic. i do not. nor should you, for that is not it, in the least.

¡¡¡¡¡ for piss’ sake, abre los putos ojos, coño!!!!! ¡¡¡¡qué parida, hostia!!!! ¡¡¡piensa!!! ¡¡la verdad, es lo que es!! ¡ignorancia no es la solución, hostia!

pero, si a ti no te importa, a mí tampoco. la ignorancia es reciproca. y si no te gusta esta situación, apáñatelas como quieras, porque ya me las apaño yo. y si os creéis que esto es sobre algo específico, que ignorantes sois.

you do not care; i wonder if you even care about appearances, you just do not care.

gatorade it is not. gatorade you could care less if it was or not.

sympathy. sympathy. you could care less. you could not care less. you could not understand any less. you could not ignore any less. if quiet i would have remained, quiet would you have stayed? ignorant, you would have remained.

it is acceptable to have problems it is acceptable to ignore, even if it will not go away, even if it will just linger.

hey everybody has problems, why shouldn't you?

v1.0 filaments of keratin

one

happily, consciousness loosing.
externally, mind buzzing.
distantly, sound, retreating.
deeply, brainwaves affecting.

gently, tugging beginning.
fleetingly, weight retreating.
physically, down rolling.
soundlessly, slough falling.

regretfully, prattle encouraging.
unpleasantly, words flowing.
quietly, silence wishing.
unfortunately, you denying.

forcefully, time joining.
passively, peace demanding.
mechanically, you, performing,
biologically, i, needing.


two

respite.
a day in perspective.

brain waves—alpha,
on the rise, theta.

again you attempt to deny,
gregariousness, misplaced, i decry.

the stupor, the drone, the purple-blue lights.
lights that burn, disinfect, and detect if you lie.

stops abrupt, as a word you put,
i return, not of want but, of choice that you took.


three

finally i must

depart all this dust

the unlikely sounds

that relaxed my frown

to the point that my smile

misunderstood for a while

made you no longer shy

and my feelings die

like Buddha i was

enlightenment my task

like iron i wrought

trouble all that it brought

v2.0 like, hair, you know?

"…so, like, you know, Mrs.-stylist-or-whatever, I pay you to do my hair, and not, like, to bore me." so, like, I did not, like, really tell her, as-if! but she, like, kept going on and on, like she could not stop, like she had taken an oral laxative or something? And, like, my day to-ta-lly sucked, and all, and all I want to do is, like, relax, and like have her do me? …oh-my-gosh, did I, like, just say that? Do me? Eeewww! No, no, no…she is "doing my "do," doing my "do!"" oh-my-gosh: gross! Whatever…
So, like, my eyes, like, close, and it feels like I'm totally floating or something, and the hair just, like, falls, and all, and its weird 'cos, like, I feel it falling, and, like, I'm thinking, like, "if I was standing on one of those scale thingies, would I, like, weigh less, or something?" Whatever…
Anywho, she just keeps going on and on and, like, keeps totally talking my ear off, like when you call my cell, and, like, we talk, but, like, that is, like, totally different, and I swear, I'm, like, oh-my-gosh, like, "you don't get the clue?" "Hel-lo-o-o; is there anyone, like, in there?"
So, like, the tanning-booth-fan-thingies, or whatever, the ones that keep you cool and all, but you, like, sweat like the football team practicing, like, they are sooo to-ta-lly hot anyway, but, like, they are to-ta-lly gross later...anywho...and don't the lights, like, burn you with..."you-be," "ultera-v," "ulter-vio"...whatever, and, like, don't they, like, kill cooties or something, and, like, my nerd brother says they, like, show your drool on your pillow, and, like, totally—eeewww—stuff, like, oh-my-gosh, so-gross...
Well, like, they turn the fan-thingies off, 'cos some chick is, like, done, and, I swear, I'm relaxing, 'cos the noise they make is, like, dreamy, or something, so, like, I'm, like, "this is tooo much," and fi-na-lly, I'm, like, done, but a total bitch, 'cos I could not snooze and all… and, I'm, like, 'if she just shut-UP"...what-ever...

i live in the place you live

i hide it, well enough, i think. others have told me that i am “cranky” lately. i tell them this is not the case (i honestly do not feel hypomanic…). internalized, it all builds up however, and these words become the pressure-release valve that prevents my boiler-brain from bursting.

the boiler though, subjected to constant cycling, is starting to deteriorate, metal-fatigue, stress-crack. i am afraid it is time to decide whether to:

a. overhaul this major assembly, closely following the (hopefully) non-destructive inspection procedures, and installing additional pressure-release valves to comply with emergency safety directives.

b. continue to operate the boiler to terminal failure.