Posts (page 2)

I wasn't aware of these social qualms that came along with my decisions.  If I had known making that decision would take away any hope I had for a normal fucking existence, it's unlikely, but I may have chosen otherwise. By leaving, I gained standby happiness. Standby everything, really. From the moment I left, I was on someone else's time. The life of a vagabond is not as free as one might think.  Money, food, housing, even friends are usually on a first come first serve basis and if you miss your chance, fuck you for being too slow. In a way I hate that system, though the unreliability is taunting with it's variety of eventual inconvenience. I always strive for impracticality, I owe everything to it. I live by feel, blind almost. If I didn't, I would waste an incredible amount of time planning absolutely nothing since I am fully aware of how my brain functions...Still, at times I even plan impracticality. I think that most people with mental illness do. That statement shouldn't be taken too seriously, most people these days have "mental illness" or have been told that they do therefore changing their course of actions based on the way that they think they should act. I myself, "suffer" from a number of things..which I would say cause me to at times, plan impracital activitites or events in my life. For example, eating disorders...such a planned inconvenience. This is not to demean anyone who is dealing or has dealt with an eating disorder, I've gone through it all, but the disease causes you rationalize every harmful thing that it puts you through. To me, this is clearly an example of unrealistic and inconvenient planning. It becomes ritualistic, something which is thoroughly thought out in order to obtain a stability which is indefinitely unnatainable.
Then we have bi polar disorder, manic depression..whatever. It's been debatable between doctors in multiple states as to what my connection to that one is...Regardless, I am quite familiar with the ins and outs of this disease.  Mania, is not planned, but certainly an inconvenience. In order to sustain a manic state, one might do anything to continue the euphoria that it might make you feel. Doing drugs, drinking alcohol, having sex, among other things are choices that someone experiencing mania may do so that they don't lose it all together. On the other end of the spectrum, depression may be a chemical imbalance that causes involuntary sadness and disdain for life itself, but because of those conditions one makes decisions that destroy practicality. Of course of top of that there is always ADD, anxiety and a plethora of other undesirable conditions that people suffer from.
My point to all of this is not to explain my mental illnesses or anyone elses, because I can't...I guess I am just caught in the cycle of my life and why and how I make the decisions that I do. The only way I know how to, is to begin this almost impersonal analysis. 
I am continuously struggling to find a way to make the past and present coexist. Right now, I am hurt by events that have occurred in the past, some recent and some not. I wonder how my ailments play into this and if I will ever feel like I am in control or satisfied with a healthy form of it.
Of course, I have gone on a tangent again and have failed at keeping my words superficial, I've gone further under the surface than I would have liked to. I just wonder where my life went these few months and if I deviated so far from a realm that simply HAS to work, that I will need to retrace my steps and hope that there are enough that remain in order to find the origin. NONSENSE, is what this is.

I need to revisit this later...I don't proofread, usually, so this whole rant is quite possibly incohesive and difficult to comprehend..
  

Black bruised lips

violent kisses

with wishes wasted

not yet washed up

silence had plagued the audience

distracted by vulgarity

you block

I block

your eyes

my eyes

they roll back into our heads

I'm thinking

if I can't see it

well..

you will

contortions carry this cabaret

questioning the swings I make

towards a face

I still cannot remember

I ingest habitual regret

forcing figments to form

those facts are irrelevant

when I can just lie

fuck me for everything that went wrong

I slipped

my shoulders

down to my ankles

confirmation of what

an accidental inhalation

made us do

90 degrees

long sleeves in August

a dress

80's shoulder pads removed

and the length now worthy of the word

whore

I wore red stiletto boots

imagining something other than the mess

I was

in the making

the hues poetic yet

reminiscent of one of those faithless and

juvenile mood rings and

like those pointless party favors

I would share the same

transient interest

choking on images

carry the price

and I'll tell you

*The memories, they blend.

Years blend too.

Losing sight now, the void of color that had lured and taunted, vanished leaving a fog so thick, her pupils had turned a light shade of grey. Her once tamed, red curls were no longer the image of perfection, her vanity mirror shattered by fits of jealously and shards of perfume bottles seemed decorate the floors. Scarves draped over each lamp, the room had an essence that combined Manhattan glamor in the 20's and the scum in the 70's. I was uneasy. The man lying on the bed laughed at my questions and she giggled at first. She paced back and forth, her feet crunching glass with each step. She was uneasy. The man sat up quickly and seized her nervous hand, pulling her quickly towards him. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders, lovingly I thought, but by her expression and stiffness I knew otherwise. Without hesitation he threw her against the vanity, the already splintered glass now showered her defenseless body. As she lifted her head I could see that she was smiling, as was he. She began to laugh hysterically while slinking to the floor. Disregarding the glass on the floor, she sat down. He stepped forward and kicked her, she laughed harder. At this point I didn't know if they even acknowledged my presence. I was fascinated by them, and their violence that seemed almost ritualistic. I then remembered why came. When I left the room I heard someone else in the apartment. She was a tall blond, and greeted me with poise and hospitality. I was about to ask her the question when the two lunatics lunged out of the bedroom. We ran for the door but they caught her before she could step out. The crazy woman held one of the broken perfume bottles and threatened to slit the blond womans wrists. I didn't understand why, and the blond woman looked at me as if I could do something. Ten flights of a spiral staircase were ahead of me and I couldn't remember how I had even reached the top. A muffled scream sent me racing down the stairs and when I reached the ground, blood had began to pour over the edge of the tenth floor down the center of the staircase. My question would never be answered.

*this was a really creepy dream I had yesterday at 10 AM. I couldn't sleep all night so in the 30 minutes that I napped that morning, this is what consumed my subconscious.

As much as I sometimes yearn for the past to present itself in a better way, it is never the right answer nor will it ever happen. I am disgusted that I let my subconscious drift back to that era... Two nights in a row, my dreams consisted of the same characters. These characters of course were people I know, but rarely speak to or interact with, anymore... A lightness in mood proved only to make me feel guilty upon realizing that the events which took place were long overdue and now not only harmful to me. I was dealing with secrecy and deception, mixed with cocktails of promise and redemption. You finally let me tell you the real story, your only interruption was a hand which you gently placed on my shoulder. I couldn't feel it, I turned away and you were gone. Inside the house, I walked towards you and a single tear rolled down my cheek. 

Questions I have about this cataclysmic chorus 

and you didn't seem to notice.

story of my life.

wasted whirls of such enthusiasm that she says are far too much.

It's an allusion of possible illusions that apparently everyone has been
searching.

not me.

I have been providing.

MISSED, are the days of stale back seats
in best friends' cars

the way that I didn't have to pay for any of this
and the medical bills were only as long as needed,
not continuous prospects.

I could act then, unlike now.

I can act now
but unlike before

you know nothing though
so why would it matter

I am anchored to sincerity 
a difficult road to mask

especially when your shoes are as clunky as
mine.

it's a guilt that goes beyond my conscious
beyond your
everything

sometimes I get overwhelmed. sometimes I write a lot of bullshit. sometimes I don't know what the hell I am even talking about. sometimes I wish I were still sleeping. sometimes you just have to take shit without any fucking salt, salt is gross.

for the sake of my stupidity.