Monday, May 26, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
the other day i read to a class room the first hand account essay of my suicide attempt.
i was nervous as the kids in my school are there for various behavioral issues.
the whole time i read and gave commentary where i felt it was needed there was nary a peep. not a sound. i saw a deep understanding in the eyes of these children whose lives have been drug through the dirt and whose have just begun to unfortunately to echo my own. there were some children in the class with tears welling up in the eyes, a few girls and boys. and when i finished reading, i received a warm round of applause and a few words of gratitude and compliments. those compliments came trickling through the day with warm honest handshakes and thanks. It felt good having reached those kids again... then this last Friday the reality if what my job is and what i have to do hit as i had to forcibly put a young lady on her bus as she sobbed and resisted, knowing there is a possibility that she is physically abused at home. even worse knowing at that moment that there was no other possibility other than what i had to do and what was told to do. it broke my heart, and started my weekend out shitty proper.
i have been working on a long detailed account of our California trip to Fangoria/Disneyland/SeaWorld so expect that someday...
Oh yeah the following in Italics and in the lovely color green was written on May 15th when I was very tired and pissed but never published to blogger but here ya go for Fun's sake...
I just wanted to start off by saying thank you to you all for the over whelming amount of e-mail I have received since yesterdays post! A whole slew of.... not one fucking e-mail! If I felt much more love I would die by choking on the gun oil before the bullet ever reached the brain.
Fuck certain married bitches in my life for attacking me on the most deepest and most personal possible issues to make me feel like shit... nice low blow... I hope hell has a nice comfy seat for your miserable ass some shiny happy day.
I miss the old "her", the one I knew and fell deep in love with "once upon a time", not this puppet master tyrant, no love to give, venomous vampire.
I am so fucking tired I keep passing out and having conversations out loud with the people I am hallucinating / dreaming of.
oh, on a very fucking positive note... nine inch nails has released their new album at www.nin.com called "The Slip" absolutely fucking FREE Baby! Go there now and Download that shit. Amazing album with multiple high end format's and album artwork as a "Thank You" to the fans... says the ol' Reznor.
I have been slowly working on a detailed blog chock full of pictures and witty banter all about the infamous "California" Trip that should be uploaded within a few days at best. So here is some writing you fucking fuckd,,,,,,,,,
i hope all is well with the world.
i am still a pissed of rotten bastard but i just keep trying to either smile or cry through all that crazy pain.
as the Joker would say...
"Why so serious?"
The blank expression on my face is the best I can do with your knife in my guts
I just got tired of sneaking into your window at night and taking pictures of your sleeping face and lack of smiles.
Of getting lost in the thoughts of you while trying to find a decent book on World War Two at the public library.
I got bored waiting in dirty bathwater that went from comfortable warm to chilly cold with the phone 2 feet away waiting for the call that would never come.
I gave all those mix Cd's I made for you away to strangers.
I got mixed reactions and mixed looks from each person I handed one off too.
I miss you but I am finding it's not nearly as hard as I thought it was going to be.
So when it hurts the most and I have to pretend it doesn't,
when you see me I can give you that indifferent look on my face...
I just find a late night swing set and swing as high as I can kicking my legs towards the stars.
I do this and I laugh.
I do this and I laugh and I cry and I do this until the cops tell me to go home.
I hope you have a perfect life without me.
Because in the end it really doesn't matter anyways does it?
And I repeat that last sentence as I fall asleep every night swallowing that lump in my throat I call heartache and pride.
Sweet dreams kiddo.
I will keep kicking at those stars for you.
That sad little fat boy in the skeleton Pajama's was I.
The walls have held up with pictures of the dead longer than the lives in the pictures had lived.
Now the walls hold the pictures of ghosts.
Now the walls tell the stories of families that have given birth, lived and died.
And the pictures someday will fall and break.
Be pulled away.
And there ghostly clean spots will still remain.
Phantom pictures frames.
Until they are smeared over with the exorcism of a fresh coat of paint...
or knocked down.
Becoming phantom walls.
Phantom Walls with phantom picture frames of the dead.
Love lost in a Judas Kiss.
She looks at me with heavy blame in her eyes,
as if to say:
"You have eaten my heart".
I cant say I even know this panicked woman staring into my eyes.
Her lips quivering as she chants some kind of incantation that she "thinks"
centers her universe.
I look at those tragic eyes and know that I must soon flee...
You see I know it will not be long before I fall madly in love with this
delicate wreck still shaking like a leaf.
I walk slowly away praying to any listening higher power that she will not follow.
When she stays put I smile to myself guessing "something" must have listened.
As she fades from my sight I can't help but become awash in sadness.
I can almost see her remove a syringe from her collapsed veins filled with junk.
I just can't seem to wrap my head around it anymore.
My Spectacular City!
There is a wheelchair.
Rusted and Worn out, sitting by a city bus stop waiting for the arrival
of a break from the one hundred plus degree heat.
And in this wheelchair sits a bag of diseased skin barely hanging on to a meat
filled skeleton that once had a name.
That once had dreams.
Hopes and Fears...
Now it is just waiting to die.
Slouched in it's chair.
A slave to pain and sadness and not much more again.
Stupid guy thinks he's a human
Learning to walk the path of the beat down man.
Smiling through the bruises and limping through my pain.
Grin and bear it.
As the old show tune would say:
"Why look so awfully tragic?
Put on a happy face!"
But the song left out the suffering.
But, forget all that nonsense and shuffle yer feet into oblivion
as we put on our happiest masks we can find.
So, we can fuck our way to Heaven or Hell grinning like the God Damned fools
we have always been.
Where did it go?
Little notes sent off back and forth.
Small delicate words written by small delicate hands.
There is only love and sadness in this precisely folded paper.
And this is as pure as love will ever be.
scratched out poems mean too many failures unbearable to read again.
embarrassing deformed offspring birthed to the page.
brought on by the prick of my pen to fertile white paper.
raped of it's virgin clarity.
everyday the words become heavier and harder to write, like tearing away
little pieces of me...
In the parting words of a mostly unread poem.
Slowly forgetting the youth.
The times of Content.
How can you save me when you can't save yourself?
"nothing can save
it keeps the walls
— Charles Bukowski
it keeps the walls
— Charles Bukowski