Swallowed Greetings

Over a short period of time, Richard has taken control of the stage... growing stronger inside in both voice and influence. He has silenced the agenda of the choir and now leads them with one voice, one direction... the finale that shall either be my end or rebirth. My will is subject to his authority... often making me do things I have no desire to do. I've become the puppet, and he, my Master... pulling my veins, the bloody strings of delight, moving me into position for the dance of a lifetime. I now have a decision to make... continue the dance or silent Richard with medication. The decision seems easy... silent Richard and continue living my life. You should know by now, life isn't easy and the simple path often ends in destruction. I know Richard is out of control, but he does have some valid points... opinions and theories on how to change the rules and end the enslavement I suffered for so long. Our ideas differ, I'm sure... Richard often talks of storm clouds that shall rain down it's red, thick vengeance. But he also takes of escape... tearing down the walls and feeling the sun on our frigid back. If Richard goes away, then so shall the choir, and the few lingering visits of Diana shall been ceased entirely. I could lose my passion and the creative force behind my torment... for certain, I will be alone. That in itself is terrifying... finding the strength on my own to build a new life. I know things need to change, I need to step outside of the past and present, so that I may reach the future... one that I know could be if I had but the chance. I've seen the future and what hides behind the curtain... something wonderful and beautiful, things I remember from lives in the past and the pages of literature. The question however remains... swallow the pill and make my destiny, or refrain and let Richard take me there? The bottle is sitting, sealed, on my desk, just but a few inches away... what should I do? Please...

My Shoes For Silhouettes

If I could choose one point on the wall... it would be to stare through it and become free once and for all. Life is quickly becoming complicated in various avenues, but the distance that has been covered is staggering... there may be a destination to this cruel and bitter footrace. Something inside has stirred, something unlike before... this part has no worms, ash, or debris. It is pure and innocent... something that was long forgotten and undeserved. The gears that meshed and the eyes that bleed, now serve a purpose in this grand design of flesh and torment... though the journey has been treacherous and filed with the constant urging of suicide, I feel some hope returning. Unexpected and welcome, this has made every shredded ribbon and screaming, dry thrust worth the pain and sorrow. Trading nightmares for pillow kisses and fresh linens beneath my quivering skin. It shall be a moment to last a lifetime... the moments together, finally.

An Empty Table

I can't find the words... the will and strength have been sapped out of my entire being. I've feasted on myself for so long, dinner plates for scavengers and violators, that I've lost the urge to pull away when they come for me... the willing victim, a predator's delight. I stalk, torture, and murder myself every night... in the name of progress and redemption. The other day, I held something precious in my hands, something real and sincere... unknown before to me, and it altered every fiber of my being. I thought perhaps I had final earned a piece of redemption... I had eaten enough, split enough blood, snot and semen to deserve what other people so easily take for granted. It was there, I know it was... growing inside my chest, like a newborn twisting in it's mother's womb. It was warm and inviting, pure and delicate... it was the most beautiful experience in my life. For a moment, I felt human... I felt real and of value. The spoil returns to turn all goodness in my life to rot... the worms and the dead have no tolerance for forgiveness. I lost it... crushed before my very eyes as the strawberry viscera spewed violently on my new summer dress. It was the most delightful green, like the grasses I would tuck and roll across in the parks of childhood. I felt my back break under the weight of sorrow and loss, my wings were clipped and I returned to the ash. Now all that remains is a pit of despair, a hollow cavity unfit for anything new. It has gone away... retreating into the night to recover from the hands that knew no better. Despite the loss, despite the sorrow... it was a revelation. Although I find myself among the shit, ashes, and ruins... I know it is still out there, and I must find it once more. I know what I have to do now... I just need the feet to stand upon, for mine were eaten long ago.

Nothing Left

  I find myself to be not the puzzle, but just one piece. Swollen with blood and drool, snagged in the throats of children far too long... to be spat out as unwanted waste and debris. Nubby fingers stumble along the edges, trying to grasp and place the missing dialogue... my sides are cramped and disfigured, never to fit smoothly into place. Now withered and worn, I've been placed aside as the final piece... the one that has no place or companion, it's sits alone to be forced into it's final resting place. I stepped outside the box, and ran for freedom... only to find other puzzles already completed or sealed. Without direction, we rested our weary edges on the callous, cold pavement... waiting to be swept away.

I know now without a shadow of a doubt that I have a heart and can indeed feel something... because it's fucking breaking into a million pieces.

Crossroads

No matter how far we come in life, there is always another turning point... a crisis, a reckoning, an awakening. It's those pivotal moments that define us... our character, our resolve, our will and determination. Some of those times, the choices, although clear, are neither without consequences... sometimes a little blood must be shed, and sometimes, just sometimes, it gushes forth uncontrollably. Those moments, more than others, really define who and what we are... a martyr or savior, make your choice. The lines have been drawn and I find myself standing in the middle of the road... crippled by which is the better "right" and lesser "wrong". Clearly there isn't a "better" to be chosen... this time, the street will turn red. I can turn around and remain standing on the side of the road... looking into the road, yearning for something unseen and imagining my face plastered on the heavy traffic that separates the living from the dead. Or I can decide to run, grab the little that remains inside and run... never to look back or doubt the decisions I've made. More than ever I know who and what I am, the problem lies in what I want to do about it and continue living. Do I answer the call or listen to Richard? Do I finish what I once started or bury the past and begin anew? I'm faced with truth and honesty and trying to determine the fine line of destruction they both have to offer... we over-share, over-confess and those eyes never quite shined in the same fashion. At this point, I'm willing to leave everything behind... all the sorrow and torment, all the memories and collections, never turning an eye to what would be lost. I can choose to live or continue to rot... to where someone told me and from where I was led. Time is a funny thing... there is never enough it seems, to complete the tasks or live in the moment. But one thing that remains the same, is the gut piercing cry when the clock strikes... a time to move on, ready or not. It always cuts deep... and sometimes, it cuts twice.

T.O.D. - What Once Was, May Be Again

Tonight, despite the many things churning inside, I decided to share another piece of T.O.D. . This selection is from a long time ago, perhaps 20 years or more... a time when I was hopeful but already wounded by the sting of rejection. I smile a crooked grin when I look through these old writings... wishing life could still be so simple. Sit back, prop up your feet, and witness another fine example of failure... fucking pathetic, really.


One More Day Will Pass”


    One more day has passed, and yet my lips are still sealed. A silence- a peace? Yea, it’s but a shattering in my soul. This silence, my pain, is longing to be broken; only if my words are spoken. Words of love, words of passion, and the words of my emotions. Words on how I long to hold you- a gentle embrace. Words that would turn my wounds into fallen petal kisses.
   
    One more day has passed, and yet my eyes are still closed. A blindness- the dark… keeping me a child. My blindness, keeping me from seeing that you do not care for me. For once before, I tried to speak, and lowly was I brushed away. Not seeing that there is no love in your eyes for me- only for others. Once again, I stand here alone.

    One more day has passed, and soon I’ll be dead. Not resting, but weary- from the sadness within my head. All I ever needed was love, all I ever wanted. Without love, a man shall die. In my blindness, I see that I am not worthy of any ones love. For so… on and on it goes- and one more day shall pass.

Again, It Turns

Here I am again... sitting here in the early morning hours, dying inside. So much has happened so quickly... things I never planned on happening. One became two, and the two divided the group... birthing new pools of ripples and sensations, the agony of confusion and unknowns. As terrified as I am  right now, as lost as I've ever been before... I want this. I need it. The possibility of seeing the dawn that was never promised but always dreamed for... to feel the sun on my flesh and have all of the filth washed away. Richard says it can't happen and he won't allow such a tragedy... but what about what I want? What I need. I found something almost two weeks ago, something unique and precious... the moss covering the earth in delicate fabrics. The things I've always longed for, the possibility of redemption and closure without a brutal sacrifice. The bells are ringing and the platforms are set... the end will give birth and the sins shall be shed. It's a matter of time now... I cower in terror at the thought of air. It is crisp and fresh and the most beautiful torment I've ever witnessed. Wash over my face, over my aching body... release me from this prison and welcome me into the things unknown. Forever.

Resident Fear

Today, I lay here broken... torn to ribbons from the inside out by my captors, both old and new. I am bruised and beaten... I feel terrified and alone. Richard demands retribution... his previous attempts to unwind the fabric failed. This is somehow my fault. I am the reason and his betrayer... yet nothing was done by my hand. Leaving me to clean his soiled linens. When I close my eyes, all I can see are the images flooding my mind of me killing myself... Richard taunting me, assuring me it's the only way out. My death is the only form of redemption and closure. He's grown stronger, and now I'm the weakest one in here... captive, it's my turn now. I fear not the thought of death or the act itself... I've died twice before. What terrifies me is something new... an itching in my chest, unfamiliar feelings and sensations. They cause me brief moments of happiness, and that scares the ever living fuck out of me... happiness is something only found in books and movies. Richard claims it will be the final blow and will surely lead to my undoing... yet he warns me of it? One moment pushing the blade closer and the other running from it entirely... I grow weary with confusion. Diana hasn't been around... not in quite a long time has she whispered words of strength into my ear. I need her to come back and help me determine what is real and deceit. If I stab myself in the chest, I could remove all of the pain... Richard would be pleased and the itching would cease. I've tried to understand this... placed all of the pieces in a row and called them by name. Roll call every hour till noon, then we go inside and play. I just can't do this anymore... something is breaking down. Is it the walls... who's walls? Where's my fucking lullaby?

Father's Feast & Pickled Beast

It's been sometime since my last post... not for an immediate purpose, just the continual suffocation that is life. Today is no exception, Father's Day... oh how I loathe this day in particular. Not so much for the thoughts of my own father, I've come to terms with that. Yes, the relationship is rocky at best, but I do love him to the best of my abilities. True, I still see his teeth gnashing in dreams, with foamy spittle flying through the gaps... screaming how he'll give me something to cry about. It was brutal. I got the every living shit kicked out of me on a regular basis... either for my sins and transgressions, or simply because my mother thought Satan needed to be knocked out of me. We live, we grow, we break, we mend. No, my hate comes for a special little place in my life... the parenting aspect, or the abusive motherfucker I was to innocent children in my life. We learn what we are taught. I'm not making excuses, there are none... not a single thing could ever be uttered to convince me that I did my best in those moments or that it was ever okay. They saw the very same monster I saw as a child, and I see him still every night in the mirror. Thankfully, I'm no longer in a position to raise children. I was too young to have that kind of responsibility. A child raising children is what the scenario actually involved. They are all grown now, some better adjusted than others... and perhaps they made peace long ago as well, forgiving me for my actions. I haven't forgiven myself, and I don't think I actually ever will... I don't deserve to be let off the hook so easily. Maybe if I ever create a child of my own, and see them growing inside a woman crazy enough to spend their life with me, perhaps then I can be a decent father. Maybe I would even bond with them and develop true feelings of untainted love and compassion. Maybe that will be the pivotal point in my diseased understanding of human emotions. There is also the risk that I just continue with the cancerous mindset and pervert another generation of youth. Either way, it's not on today's dinner plate... there is only ash and severed shit. So for now, we will continue hating this day... ignoring any gestures of forgiveness those children try to express. I know who I am, and so do they... somethings should never be forgotten.

Photographs & Psilocybin

I spent some time today looking through old family photographs... pictures of my brother, sister, mother, father, and various family members. Some that I knew well and others that escape me entirely. You see, several years ago, my sent me all of the family photos... I was given the task of holding on to them and preserving their memory. I suppose no one else would take them, or wanted them... to be reminded of all of sick, fucked up things from our childhood. I can look at them and remain calm... actually, almost completely without any emotion whatsoever. During this screening, I stumbled upon some photos of my sister... a crooked grin flashed across my mouth as I was taken back to a time of memorial and closure. It was a memory of me going into the mountains one afternoon. When I had reached the appropriate spot, I constructed a fire mound and ate a fist full of psilocybin mushroom. I settled into the earth, waiting, as I starred into the fire and the accumulating ash and embers. Several hours into my journey, I stood up and began dancing around the fire... channeling some part of my Native American ancestry. I remember seeing my mother and sister before me, tied up like beasts ready to be sacrificed. I slit their throats quickly and laid them on the ground. The ritual was far from over, over the next hour I danced around and through the pile of burning embers, chanting in some foreign tongue as I placed them inside the earth... returning them to a place of balance. In there, they could no longer hurt me... I was finally free from the wrath and wickedness. There was no Jesus standing over this day, it was just me... a God of my own self. The sun had settled beyond the mountain range and my body became weary from the chanting, crying ,and dancing. I placed some more wood upon the embers and rekindled the fire, laid down beside the flames, and rested my body as I awaited the return of my spirit.At the time, I guess I didn't realize how healing this experience was... how much hurt had been carried around for all of those years. When I look back at it now, I realize it was one of the most profound spiritual experiences in my entire life. It was a turning point in my healing and mental illness... I had ridden the snake, and there I found the end.

Dancing With Him

Monday is upon us, the day of shedding and appearing closer to human. After hours of laying in the tub, listening to Richard preach, I feel completely lost. What if he is right... what if his plan is the only needed avenue? Should I abandon all hope and desire to feel something, just so Richard can raise his arms in conquest? His joy, purchased with the flesh and sorrow of myself and others, above all, is motive... Lambs to the slaughter, the unrecognizable stalker watching it's prey... removing my will and eating it whole, only to retch it forth unto the masses. Innocence be damned... his appetite is far deeper, it will consume everything without prejudice.His dominance and strength are alarming... how did he claim the seat of power and direction? Whom did he overthrow? Was it Diana... was she sent to me as a savior? If so, where has she gone... for I've not heard from her in so long. Only Richard and The Choir, and he has bent the will of many of them as well. The drums are beating, and the imps are scampering into place... the dance is beginning, and I've lost my face.At night, when he demands we speak in tongues, I have no choice but to pray along... to whom and for what purpose are futile concerns. It's like a trance, my will stripped away like the restrictive undergarments of innocence, lasting for hours... each passing moment removes my desire further. I haven't cried in months, and I've tried all manners of release... cutting, starving, and drugging have no effect. I'm beginning to realize it was Richard that took that sliver of humanity away from me... as I desperately cling to the scraps I have left. I can't allow him to take everything away from me... becoming the victim and hunter, serving my flesh on silver platters night after night.I want to feel, it's what we've always wanted more than anything... but Richard demand we cut it out. I don't know what to do... I've become powerless, a drone to the overlord that cracks his flowered whip. If I lack the strength and courage to save myself, who will come to my aid? Will it be Diana or the rivers of green... finding something worthy, something unseen.

Gone To Seed

The last few days have been difficult, fading between fantasy and reality, two worlds colliding together like rotten melons... the stability is fading equally from both, as the cancerous thoughts pull us back and forth. I don't image things getting an easier for quite some time... my therapist is on vacation this next week, therefore I have nowhere safe to collect and ground myself. It's times like this, that I wish I could really understand emotions... how they swell and fade in nothingness as the needed information and stimulus are supplied. It's just a mass of vibrations swirling inside, ripping at my chest with deceitful unfamiliarity... I can feel something growing inside, and in fear I strangle it and grind it's fragile skull into the callous, cold concrete. Must. Rip. It. Out. I could set it aside, delete the images, and turn the other way... Richard would be pleased and the games could continue on schedule. What pleases one, infuriates the other, as the Choir sings in divided unison... every time I look in there, the swells of green, part of me screams in terror and the other swims in delight. There's life and death in those eyes, and for once it's not a mirror... but which price affords the prize, the summer embrace, the childlike cries.

The Back & Neck

Nothing is right... my body and spirit are shifted two feet apart. The mind hinges on stability, arguing reason with timetables... the impact was far more severe than we originally thought. How did this happen... what caused the flux of space and distance? The ripples formed and the edges melted, washing dry the remnants of routine... all because I saw the light. That beautiful, distant light. How quickly it enveloped me, making my heart ache to be bathed in it's wonder... beyond understanding and experience, this change was necessary. The walls, my captor, shook in anticipation... without bending, time was known to be limited. The charred seams of tapestry unwind with desire... the fabric that held this rag-doll existence,  molding a heart, mind, and soul. The thought consumes me, the absence withers new hopes and dreams...how quickly we become addicted to breathing. The feast unending, was threatened with bloated bellies and soiled napkins...satiated to the last, it's will had started to come undone. I'm at a loss, one steeper than all the sums totaled... in the dark, crawling, waiting, weeping. Not for today, not this time... it's not coming. I must remember tomorrow, and the things that grew... unexpected, true, but now vital. Wait for it... it's only a matter of time now.

Walk Of Thought

Why does it have to be this way... isn't there another avenue or format? Waking to the stale air birthed by nightmares, unmoved and undesired... crawling on the floor like a driven beast of burden. I yearn for the taste, the essence, a desire once known. The cutting eyes and razor tongues of man... forcing the survivor to pry flesh from the bone. I can see it, it's there... one foot be 10,000 miles of thought. It's in her eyes, the delicate touch, a fire burning... the heart is yearning, as the fears are turning. Awake. Rise. Step forward... the masks are withered and crusted of salt. What will it be, when the hands touch the sky... another moment of lapsing or perhaps misery of what would come. It doesn't matter, not really... there's no one home to answer the door. But I watched her... as if I was never there.

Debbie's Little Lamb

It has become a constant struggle to remind myself that I am human, someone in the world that has valid thoughts and feelings... the obnoxious daily mantra, "I am real, I am real...". It's an awkward situation, thick and dripping with irony... absence from the world causes disassociation, yet mingling with the people induces reticule and shame resulting in, you guessed it, disassociation.I've become the town's walking freak show... "there's that guy again, fucking nut bag!". Though the worlds may differ, the sentiment is the same... the shifting glances, children pointing and starring, the egotistical, wealthy and righteous teenagers laughing. One of the downsides to living in a small town... not to mention a stuck-up, wealthy town. My economic worth is already a symbol branded in my flesh... the lowly and indigent, the cesspool of filth and muck not fitting for such delicate features. Bitter? Me? No, I'm just tired of fighting myself and society to find a wee bit of self-worth... just a fucking scrap man, let me have that at least. The few people in town that know me by name and have taken the time to look upon me with non-judging eyes, see me as a good man... this is equally disturbing I suppose. How fucked up is that? They've seen me opening doors for the elderly and for the women in general, helping people with their packages and satchels, and always using please and thank you during any exchange... always followed by "Have a nice day", in closing. What kind of person doesn't say "please" and "thank you", let alone open a door for a woman? That qualifies me as a good man? I don't get it... people confuse me. Truth be told, there is just no winning situation. If I'm shamed or shunned, I lose... if I'm looked upon as a good person, I lose. "You're a special piece of fucking shit, and God has mighty plans for your ugly, worthless ass!"... I get it, I do.

Embrace & Become One

While I was on vacation from reality, I spent some time thinking about an embrace... during the cascade of captivation, we imagined fingertips and bodies pressed near. What would it be like, to experience the intimate moments of romance novels? Those fairytale moments people spend their lives searching for and some have obtained... regardless, nearly everyone has felt the tingling sensations of passion and love. I have written of those feelings, emotions, and culmination of events a thousand times over... but my actual experience is less than zero. The trust involved to feel as such is beyond my recognition... the needed platform of passion in it's highest form. I speak of passion in an intimate element... passion is not always a loving, sexual emotion, it can be hurtful and reckless, insincere and seeded in impure intentions. Passion is the unseen force that moves the figures in place and initiates the dance... fueled by irrational desire, only the avenues change, not the momentum and drive. The divine embrace of heart and mind, piercing the skin to the depths of our very souls... the vibrations shifting as two bodies melt into one. I'm talking about an embrace so intense that it surpasses orgasms, ego, ecstasy, and selfish motivations... something only true love could birth in climatic moment of expression. The warm breath on your neck, the blurred vision from being pressed too closely to focus your sight clearly, fingers weaved lightly into loose tangles of hair, the salty sweetness of desire secreting from your skin, and the dancing fingertips as their burning caress tingles your core through your spine. In that moment, true love and an intimate embrace... those are the moments taken for granted. Something I've never experienced, but rather longed for endlessly in this life... what a beautiful moment, bitter sweet in the corner of my mind.

Bathed In Grass & Downy Feathers

It wasn't long, but had been long coming... for a moment there, I was actually almost what would be considered happy. The choir had quieted themselves, the memories and guilt faded, and I forgot about the prison I dwell in... no mortal or moral chains, no illnesses, no what if's. I was there. It ended suddenly, I remembered who I was at first, then the limitations... Richard began laughing and I felt a disconnection. Perhaps it was an error in judgement, some foolish lapse of reason, or perhaps a weakness developed from years of running scared... the reflection came into full view and the little future I have to look forward to. It may have been stupid on my part, letting my feet leave the ground... but for that moment, I saw something, I felt something. Now it's gone and I can vaguely remember the sensations. The sorrow and reality consumes me now... but for just a moment, I was free. Free indeed... it was worth the price and the moment I felt it leave.