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.

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.

act two: so plain to see, so easy to ignore

we have become conditioned to ignore

ignorance is bliss

a blissful existence is addictive

addiction is hell to break

hell is to vomit shiver convulse yourself back to reality

act three: lacrimous eyes, internal distress

i do not judge towering from a bench, or preach, lofty, from a pulpit.

i spew my mind onto salt-cracked asphalt,

retch thoughts on sidewalk-concrete,

heave feelings into binary waste.

my mind: runoff, traversing Internet sewers.

wild green onions

again, i had to. run. madly. impulsively. got to park. change. pee (not, tmi (1) there is a reason why i tell). ipod on. dj mazi: appropriate. trail head, smell of wild green onions. pungent, evoking, fresh, grassy. begin. slow. energy low. may have over trained last two weeks. maybe its soy milk+decaf+pumpkin seeds+pear+grapefruit (500 kcal (2))…maybe its 3.5 hours of sleep…maybe both? but, speed i do, post-warm-up.

mouth parched, gum notwithstanding. breath…could it be that my extra-long taste is…wild green onions? run, now downhill. pick up speed (why not?). no need to pace. mud desiccated. unfortunate. some wet; not enough in quantity/quality. must do cross-check: hr (3) 178 bpm (4), steady. slight pain: cramp onset. endurable. persevere. sore. will wild green onion liniment help?

run 60% complete. "urge." "urge," without basis: i peed already (i did say this was not tmi). what in hell?! not first time this happens. cringe. again? imaginary, interesting, prognosis: early onset incontinence. “well, txandi, there is nothing i can do for you. your symptoms are temporal, causal. they do not warrant medication. furthermore, do you want to add imipramine (if you can believe this, a tricyclic antidepressant to stop you from peeing?) to your daily non-rda (5) supplements, do you?" "you should look into something less….medical: wild green onion incontinence protective undergarments…"the brand that never stops...absorbing (tm).""

wild green onions. interesting fixation. permanent olfactory imprint, akin a pup to its bitch? am i destined to associate the smell of wild green onions to…the "urge?"

stats (6): 2 miles. 14 minutes, 45 seconds. heart rate: 178 bpm average, 185 maximum (generic rule of thumb: 220-age=maximum bpm).

(1) too much information

(2) kilocalories

(3) heart rate

(4) beats per minute

(5) recommended daily allowance

(6) statistics

souls broken

¿are we broken? browning petals off budding roses.

¿are we souls? mindless folly, bound to lore.

¿are we broken souls? retched lives, destined to hope.

Psychomachia; the contrary virtues

the origin of the contrary virtues can be traced to a poem by Latin poet Prudentius.

contrary virtues allegedly stave off the Seven Deadly Sins:

humility counters pride

kindness counters envy

abstinence counters gluttony

chastity counters lust

patience counters anger

liberality counters greed

diligence counters sloth

synaesthesia

¿do you experience sensations normally sensed separately, coupled together?

¿colors when you hear or read words?
¿tastes, smells, shapes or touches in almost any combination?
¿numbers, days, months as personalities?
¿numbers, months, days as locations in space?

mirror-worthy?

... i just h a d to mirror my comment to rabbit's de.fec.tive ...

"gospels," DSM-IV, people flawed

women: assimilate these "gospels." society, learn mental illness.

generation.

rosie the riveter demise; june cleaver arise. mental illness, whispered.

generations.

the suffragist movement. mental asylums.

generationss.

chastity belts. mental illness=demonic possession.

generationsss.

women, breeders; mental illness cure? "natural selection."

generationssss.

forward

...women, unburdened, ungospeled, equal; society caring, unquestioning--after all, "most people are flawed in some way," indeed.

we hurts, yes. defective, we are not.

Charlotte and Jane

i cannot recall the last time i derived such pleasure from sensory input as of recent. hearing. Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre narrated by Josephine Bailey. the name fell into my lap somewhere, and it stayed with me for a while. i was not aware of her bibliography or biography.

tragic life her and her sisters lived--mine pales in comparison. i do not take solace in this fact. i cannot comprehend how a woman can endure such pain and create such splendor, yet i have always known there is beauty in darkness.

i am grateful to her for giving comfort, meaning, for i thirst for more as the day wanes languidly...

Requiem

Time numbs the memory, a loss of fidelity of synaptic analog recordings: the essence of the memory is there, but its intensity, clarity, range blend with the hiss of the tape passing over the read/write head. Add to this the surges-in-electrical-current-on-an-unprotected-IC-spiking-pops-onto-the-magnetic-media-through-the-write-circuit the bipolar brain causes, and...

"No Future" by the Sex Pistols

As she was listening attentively, she realized that her future was in the hands of others. Alea jacta est. Outcomes of discussions above her level would decide the future course of everything around her. Though unprepared, she did not panic. "Meds providing some of the intended results," she thought. "Es Viernes, after all." What else could she ask for.