F*ck Sunshine

I’ve found playful meaning

in the sharpest strands of daylight

while they bleached my night tan

into a wholesome red and brown.

been stripped clean of the unwholesome.

The rasping, the choking, the decaying

scent of another moon laced night

spent chasing dragons down the streets.

In the silver kissed necklace of shadows

that roll menacingly beneath the stars

as a slipshod grasp on tenuous reality

falls away, fast as a bat, never to be caught.

Crawled out dusty and beaten by self

into the unwelcome openness of daytime

Where people have jobs and families

go do things and have fun of their choosing.

There’s always a sick, nasty bitterness

surrounding the way I’d look at the crowds.

In those moments when shame carries

the day and bitterness over the injustice,

of wounds septic and worsening, a brain

melting beneath the heat of inquisition.

A Cadillac of contempt would sit, shining

In the corneas of each purple smudged eye.

Letting the self-loathing and concern go awry,

masking envy as hate and desire as disgust,

riding panic and fear out as arrogance and disdain.

Patronizing seconds as the world creaks,

moans its way out of the decadence of night,

quickens into the tittering joy of form alive.

There’s no surface to touch and manipulate

no interface that allows for a connection across

to that other world imbued with shiny smiles

and unbroken teeth not doing unspeakable acts.

In those moments when the sickness begins,

wafting out of your skin to notify and alert

anyone caring to notice of your diseased being,

your lesser than status, your unworthiness.

Those are the defining moments that show

the defying strength and fortitude you want,

when you have the opportunity tell the world

“get fucked, piss off, I make the next choice.”

or reaffirm the skepticism pandering to your

apathetic acceptance of what life has become.

Those are the moments when the shear grit

required to simply gut out the next series

of bad decisions, knowing how much it will hurt

but owning it, owning that the deeper down

you crawl the higher it will feel at baseline.

When you finally disconnect from the grime

Long enough to breathe untainted air

Purified in the radiance of sunbeams

And the wealth of happiness that soaks

Summer days beneath the blue painted sky,

there is a startling awareness, an epiphany,

a closure to doubt and a recognition,

that sobering up is just getting high in a new way.

Barefoot Lottery Winner Injects Crack Cocaine

An ex-girlfriend stole my shoes once. By breaking in through the floor level hotel room window I was in while I was preoccupied with injecting another fifty units of liquefied crack and vinegar. I even came out when I heard the noise. All I was capable of doing however, was to stare blankly while trembling under the pressures of the locomotive that was my heart careening off the rails inside my head. Didn’t even say anything, just stared.

              It was a bizarre occurrence to be sure. I could only fuzzily sketch out how I had l had hefted her bodily not 30 minutes previously–out into the hallway following what was a reasonable argument taking on unreasonable levels. Now she was snaking out the window to my room dragging behind a pair of black and white Nikes that happened to be my only pair of shoes I had brought.

              Earlier that day I had seen my children for the first time in more than a year. At a supervision center I had ridden the buses and trains for eight hours to get to. Just one hour that I paid for out of pocket. They looked beautiful, he was handsome, she was angelic.

              Far more than I could take

              My ex-wife had structured things so as to ensure I would have to return to my old stomping grounds of New Bedford, MA and this dingy facility if I wanted any access to the kids at all. It was the same city I had desperately sought to get away from during my attempts to get sober. Aside from my children, there was nothing there but the grime and filth and needle strewn streets and shit memories and traumas and fuckups and locations and people I didn’t want or need anything to do with.

                 I had won $10,000 on a scratch it a few weeks before, something that I never thought would happen though I had kept gambling on them periodically for most of my adult life. I had started a new job a few months previously as well. I was living in a halfway house and had been there for nearly 6-months, longer than I had stayed anywhere in several years now. Things were upbeat with many reasons for optimism and putting nose to grindstone while enjoying some happiness for once.

                After seeing the kids I broke down. I knew how much of their absence in my life was my fault, both before and the recent inability to clean up my act.

                I checked into a hotel and managed to track down my ex-girlfriend.

                She was doing amazing, clean, signed up for school to become a certified drug and alcohol counselor—she was really putting the pieces of her life back together again.

                I don’t know if I showed up with the drugs to the hotel and met her, or ordered them after we got there. I do remember using the inside of a hardened blue glasses case as my mixing surface for the rocks. It was good stuff, probably should have just been smoking it, but once you progress to the needle it’s something of an end all be all.

                You mix crack with vinegar or another highly acidic agent to break it back down to water soluble form. I used Braggs Apple Cider with “The Mother” because it was rich in amino acids and somehow in my addled puddle of a brain that meant it was better to use for these particular purposes. That and it reminded me of making salad dressing at the home I had once owned.

                Shot after shot after shot, ringer after ringer after ringer. All she wanted to do was cuddle up and maybe read some of the book she was studying from with me.                

                Rock, vinegar, mix, pull-up, vein, red flash, push plunger, go lightheaded, gasp, nearly orgasm, fall slowly when short gulping air, wind up sitting on the edge of the bathtub shaking head to clear the spots from vision and WHUMWHUM from my ears, rubbing quickly inflating arms to try and minimize the swelling.

                Lost in and to a ritual, there was no mind being paid to anything else but the same rinse and repeat exercise as had just played.

                I realized things had escalated rather dramatically when the chocolate cake was flew past my head, She came at me with those sharpened nails of hers, tried to grab the drugs and throw them in the toilet. Failing that, my ears and face were a good enough post to thud into.. Holding her up against the wall so she would stop ripping at my face, getting spit in my eye before throwing her out into the hallway. I was callous and cruel and willfully ignoring the pointed reality of what I had been doing and how it must have felt to watch me self-destruct so viciously.

                Then she stole my shoes.

                I had smashed my cellphone earlier that evening in some bizarre fit of rage over something seemingly trivial. Thrown it so hard against the wall the mental housing of the iPhone had crumpled as the screen shattered.

                I used the hotel’s lobby phone to call a taxi who took me to get a pair of flip flops at a pharmacy and take me to the hospital for the cuts on my face. The idea of just grabbing some first aid for myself at the pharmacy never even crossed my mind. For quite some time I had become accustomed to just going to the hospital when things had gotten to be too much and I was dehydrated, or crazy from lack of sleep, or desperate for another rehab. It was second nature.

                They thought I was there for chest pains after taking my pulse rate. The EKG came back okay and they let it slide though.

                Eventually I made it back to the hotel.

                The wall in the bathroom was covered in chocolate cake, towels were laying all over the floor. I knew “it” was going to fall apart again with a twisting certainty in my gut born of seeing the same thing happen over and over. Different implosions, different actions at least—but the same result no matter what. Isolated, lonely, confused, ashamed and embarrassed, it never seemed to change.

                When I kept shooting coke for the next two days and had to resign my position I was barely even surprised.

Homeless Idols

House the Homeless - from Council to Homeless Persons
Truth.

Dystopian cartwheels in the caterwauling life we lead
staring constantly at the satisfaction all around.
Bitching occasionally to satisfy unmet desires
that we struggle to attain even at unreasonable cost.
The hunt for happiness overwhelms the basics
and sometimes its worth it whatever the price.
Disciples of a daily rut where we stay stuck and mired
deeply in the mud of a situation not planned for.
In the moments of joy where our desire for completion
coincides with our faithful love and devotion,
we find a peace despite the discord that is without compare.
In the moments where we falter under the weight
surviving as only survivors can and are willing to do,
we have to remember the strength we share to stumble on.
Nothing becomes the norm and requests for aid
cut as a degrading act that dehumanizes us further.
Outlasting the shame of each failure and the disgust it brings
resolutely waking each morning to the grim gray of sameness.
As upper class homeless we are on the outskirts,
enjoying luxuries like cold running water and a toilet,
that the rest of goddamn society imagines are god given.
Fear that the envy of our possessions will lead to thievery
leads us to close the door and have knives on hand.
Eating another can of soup in mid-summer heat
because the soup kitchens provide cans and bread regularly
and its too goddamn expensive to purchase a real meal.
Endlessly pretending that things will just fix themselves
because the reality of work necessary to get out of this situation
is beyond daunting, it’s easier to capitulate and get high.
Holding tight to special items because they are memories
encapsulated in the fur of a stuffed animal or favorite shirt.
When you’ve lost it all so many times before
the littlest things can have such an enormous significance
you might even indulge in a treasure box for safe keeping.
Solid week long stretches without bathing
because the $7 per person to shower at the truck stop can’t be found.
People look at you with mixed contempt and confusion
because if you dress nicely and present well
it defies logic that you should be in such a predicament.
Putting on makeup diligently just to feel pretty for a moment
scrape the grunge of sweat stained skin stickily from your body.
Oh yes, there is freedom to be found if you chose to indulge
and let the wash of illicit and irregular activities become your home.
A beer and some vodka to wash down the weather and heat
along with the anxious discord of stress over the unknown of tomorrow.
A shot or a bowl of glass to provide focused determination
the confidence to strive for success into the oncoming crush
or an opportunity to zone out and lose days at a time without emotion.
Some black tar to sleep peacefully and stay dazed
no thought and no fear, no nothing at all because you’ve gone dead inside.
Its a slide down into a pit of needles and loss
where the bottom can always fall out and take you lower,
lower than you ever imagined possible in such insidious ways.
Bravo to those that soldier their way out of the muck
find themselves a spot of sanity and personal identity
allow themselves the grace of overcoming through grit.
Fucking monsters of life having been torn through the gutter
when they stand proud and defiant despite their obstacles
applaud those hard mother fuckers that didn’t give in,
defied all the odds and managed to rejoin the world on their own terms.












Seeing with Aspie Eyes

Adult Female Asperger's Syndrome Traits
I have been falling far short of making the appropriate connection with my wife over a life defining realization that she has gone her life as an undiagnosed Aspie (high functioning autistic). There are odd layers of parallels to which there is a natural affinity, but there is something that I have been missing. This is my first attempt to look at the world through her eyes as I am best able to express and am hoping with guidance to be better able to straddle the world as she experiences it in contrast to my mental quirks like schizoaffective.

A screaming madhouse of trumpets blaring,
Drummers on speedballs layering the double bass,
Wavering certainty,
Confidence on the rise, but just barely,
The world is too bright,
The looks of strangers is just strange,
Maniacally plotting,
To a joke that you don’t know,
So tell them these interesting passion facts that they won’t know.
Smile while you cry,
Laugh at the wrong gasping sigh,
These rules and constraints are making breathing unfair.
Choke down and recite,
I’m okay and this is all right,
Till the next bad sound,
Bad brush of a fabric,
Discomfort from all around,
Can’t they see the connections?
Feel the motion of energy,
Don’t they understand this quality?
The world is askew,
Words like love and care,
Confused and tried over long rounds with intensity crackling the air.
There’s a kaleidoscopic cacophony of feels,
An incredible world beyond what we’re so painfully pound,
Just a look,
Just a taste,
“How can I be such a waste?”
So little understood,
All my earnest wishes are to call you now true friend,
This awkwardness leaves me bashful and confused,
They all leave anyways in the end.
How much do I accomplish just by opening a door,
Welcome in the miasma of fear that would leave a neurotypical floored,
Scent the wind,
Gather reserves,
By the time I’ve left my bed I’ve confronted an onslought of nerves,
Nevermind the staccato blasts of sanity on swerve.
If you listen and watch,
Appreciate the stimming and don’t consider this to be “my loss,”
You’ll know I am gloriously fragile,
Toweringly glassine,
A ravenous angel of knowledge and love,
Set to task and to pace,
Hurtled forward by God with a shove,
So be patient,
See that for what you may fear,
I’m sublimely sweet,
Easy to wound deep,
Each day the scars rip,
And for all of my toil and grit,
A reluctant soldier of survival all legit.
Penance is my smile for a crime that set me a glow,
Step into my world,
There is so much that I’ve been dying to show.

 

What does Schizoaffective Mean?

With an image blast and some optimistic love from Twain….this is uncharted water for me and I’m learning as I go.

 

Schizo After All

You thieving fucksticks awandering the world,

Prying eyes and solemn lies,

Whisper me that venom.

What a burn that illusion has,

God damn does it sting.

For all the moments pure and right,

I wish the voyeurs would choke on what they do at night.

I’ll sit and eat blister packs of revelation,

Fuming and screaming in pathetic consternation,

You missed the boat!

Sipping coffee in the wind,

dust kicking and battered spirit spitting,

You missed the boat!

Should have stood straight and waved goodbye,

In the end you’re a stepping stone and never mind the tears we cry,

Fucking crafting your soothing scrub to brush it all away –

Hit me with it baby, hit me with that love.

tell me when I should kneel on down,

Mercy and punish – hit me from above.

Prying eyes and solemn lies,

Whisper me that venom.

Fucking preachers of unrequested bedlam,

What does the truth cost?

All you never knew you had.

Just another animal needing tending at the publication zoo.

They say: “If you itch we’ll soothe it.”

I say: “Just don’t pretend you didn’t do it.”

For the fetal breakdowns and the mental throwdowns,

When the color was white and you said it was black,

Hold your truth son,

You might be crazy but you know you’re right.

I’ve got depths beyond what the echoes show,

Slip off to your shame and idolatry,

I’ve been a puppet before but I’ll find a way back to being me.

Ain’t no venom tastes as sweet as truth,

And in those darkest moments when you fear the something more,

You’ll find no rest,

No breath,

No smiles and no safety.

Just the shocked blue eyes of a beaten child whose heart was bent to hate.

Lovesick – BPD on Day 2

Purging of love by force

Lovesick

Why is it that my words echo with such deep longing and feel so true,

But my actions call to task each syllable, each letter, each sentence,

Make me a liar in my own eyes, and shame me to the one I love.

Why is it that I regret each moment of time that I connect to another,

When I know that it will end in tears, that it will end in sadness, in another broken heart,

Because inside I never seem to change from the disgusting thing I’ve always been.

Why is it that the outside which feels so pure and grasps for grace blessed with integrity is so sweet,

When foulness runs afoot on seconds of impulse, chased spots of purgatory, whims of fancy,

Forever haunting myself with the tastes of beauty that I want the world to see me for.

That I think I can be.

But I deceive myself worse than all the rest.

I can never change.

So it seems.

And only God can forgive me in the end.

For I can never forgive myself.

-S

Drugs

When your world is shattered and you’re in tatters – stand back up and keep going. NEVER give up.

last-mistake-of-drugs-jpg

 

Strange Waves – Spoken Word

Plummet describes in a word the dumb shit,

The result of a life lived from one hit –

-to the next and that second of fuck it.

As intense wash the waves,

Through your secret filled caves,

Telling memories back from where you sent them away,

Until the shores are a littler cascade of broken mirrors pelting your gaze,

Each reflection a question,

Each flash a suggestion,

Of what happened and why,

Where you broke the faith and started to cry.

Each lens is a how of what could have been,

Who you are without all the sin.

No more pills and bottles and rock,

Bags of dope, sacks of coke and the inevitable cops.

Living on streets and the pity of strangers,

Acting devil may care to numb out the danger.

When each shot you took put a pin in your son,

Blocked his love just as well as you holding a gun.

You got loaded and loaded,

Raised finger and goaded,

As your legs washed out at the thighs,

From a tide on the rise.

If not for the merciful care,

From those you punish unfair,

You’d be sunk,

Drifting drunk,

Out to a personal sea in a trunk.

Boxed up tight when you ran out of fight,

Away from the world and your right,

As a man to do your best to make it alright.

And as long as it took,

For you to confess as a crook,

Thief of dreams, hopes and beliefs you forsook.

You can’t change the past,

It’s gone while the onrushing future hits fast.

So you accept the regret,

Live learn love and refuse to forget.

Keep strong in surrender,

Committed to change,

Because in the end you’re not alone,

And are any of us really so strange?

Becoming a Literary Exhibitionist

Exhibitionism at it’s finest calls for a complete strip down – but like most nudity, sometimes those watching would prefer the clothes stayed on. Authors must dangle and hope the meat on display attracts the eye. Easier perhaps when your life is wrenched from the most vivid hallucinations of Jack Kerouac and Hunter S. Thompson then run through the Douglas Adams’ improbability drive. Prodded with LSD and electrified glow-sticks into the Minotaur’s lair to play. Surely that would entertain?

This is a lifelong dream, a Purpose or a calling that I’ve never been able to just put ahead of everything else. Please share, and thank you for taking the time to browse. Thank you.

IndieGoGo – Crowd Funding Effort

empath-imagery