Diary of a lost one

The problems of a madman are thick and split uneven.
The copses of the mind grow verily and part.
Hedgerows and cornrows, dapple sweated skin.
Nirvana nervosa, cuttlefish leaping untoward other pools.
Manic marmalade and jammy dodgers set for tea.
Drinketh the cup, saucer my world.
UFO sightings in crank eyes blinking away respect.
Luminous goldfish mouthing mockery at me, their cruel lipless mouths spitting jarhead alarming verbal violence. Curses abounding, see the vibrations in the water tank. Deep sea diver knows secrets whispered in the moonlit night. Black and yellow Bioshock suits reflecting shimmering light, sun’s beauty bending through the waters deep displaying refractions on the seabed. Shells and pearls spread coarse around pebble beach. Pinks aplenty, little clams hued with it, stipple effect daps the clam’s lined exterior, dark and light camouflage in the red, red ocean. So much blood seepeth forth. The bodies cramped in bulldozer mouths ejected out, splayed on sands and currents. Washed away to the great deep never to be seen again. Last breath stuck inside the chest leaving the mystery for the ages. With nary a care the blue waters embrace the forms with accepting arms. Riddled with corpses, hope floats eternal. Little Sebastian conducts the underwater showcase, jazzy Gillespie blowin that boogie.

And what do you have to show? Hmmm? Little man tate scrubbing dishes for mama’s approval. Never get it, critical critical, love love. Anxiety fire in me, OCD tappa tappa tappa, touch rub flick, lather rinse repeat, as needed.

I looked into your soul and saw a marked angel of death waiting for me. I heard the lies on your lips and betrayal on the tongue. Pierced and tattooed pink son of a undulating so slimy for me. It was a dragon, black and scaled to scare away the tots. Smaug breathing out the hellfire in your guts. I get burnt, burnt from the singeing flame of unbridled passion and malice. Can’t hide that evil, can’t tongue that bitter pill. Force feed Sodium Pentothal, get truth get it get it, gone girl.

No I haven’t seen it yet? No I don’t know the new star of the hour. You play your tastes and smother it on my bread like mustard and mayo offerings. I’ve forgotten so much, the sickness steals my brain images. Try to keep up, try to hold on another day in the festering human stain on the world’s sheets. Myopic misanthropic. Give the devil his due and pay back taxes on god’s expectations. You’re money’s no good here says the jocular meathead bouncer at the trough. I slop down to eat the meal with the rest of men and suddenly am forsaken and scorned by the stiffs. Not wanted, no habla simpatico,

The respite lies in the warmth of the sun. I twirl and tan in rays beaming so nicely. This is fair this is fine, not to pity the simple life. No Amish paradise but I’d settle for some monk robes to plain my simple heart. Carrying around little pouches of gold coins as I chat with Friar Tuck. All that glitters, all that currency that partakes in the human struggle and decimates our lives; rounded numbers on the head count, where’s your buddy? Are we alone, are we destined to float among the cosmos with a word naught? Radio signals sputtered out to a silent void, frequencies blasting our self-important message as the ellipticals make their moves. Time is matter, matter is meaning, search for meaning or a race for time? Why have we all given up on the big questions to settle for the tools of the new epoch? Nothing to be solved perchance, the dream of fools has had its ride and we the wise stride elegantly along the path of least resistance. Jauntily walking on the rainbow road with many a colour at our feet. Peer for peers.

And I travel down that way and traverse the multi colours. Looking there and yonder for the answers to this query. I’ve tried the apple but I still see no clue, still stuck inside my head with scribbles and faulty equations on my chalkboard. Curse it all, throw away the work, leave me to my thinking and my pensive hobby. Time is slipping and I care none. I am home here; the palace du Rodin, I rent the space monthly until my final curtain call. But the question begs and I with it. Snub nose to the floor sniffing after vestiges about face. Be the seeker dragged along the misty trails, so lost in it all I’ve found some other way. No proofs but a calmness settling over me. Wispy clouds rounding my head, wafting in and out orifices to deliver vapourous leavings. Left with sensing of an unknown that drops a laugh fluttering on the wind. A maiden’s handkerchief of smirks taking flight just there. See it, know it, forget it soon. Forget everything. Mind empty stroking no egos or sins…


Vacuum Services for the Mind

Why do you dark thoughts come at me and drill tiny bits of loathing into my skull? There was a fine, nice peaceful moment for like a second and then you traipse in all hully gully and without wiping your feet (what state manners has become) dirty and soil my mind. It does ruin the image I have that I’m somewhat good and angelic in a twisted way, fallen like Lucifer morning into the dawn of the dead. I immerse myself in media and hobbies of many stripes to lessen your impact, to drive away the unwanted thoughts syndrome. Curse this foul biochemical disorder and all its infernal machinations and trivial pursuits. Just bold shadow people come to take me over, blackness setting on my thighs, inching upwards, creepy fingers spider-walking up my gasping and convulsing body. Life you try to drain out of me, taking mental health and leaving me in a consumptive state. Inertia creeps.

And the bad thoughts. Sadistic, masochistic, perverted, deleterious horrors projecting in my inner theatre. Why must there be little girls in there? I do not want them, not them! You repeat the shame, the harm, the unforgivable actions over and over until I am spent, wrecked beyond all recognition. The body yields. I yield. I tire of fighting so many things and I cover myself in laziness. Hate purge afterwards; addicted to shame, welcome to the spiral. CTD, circling the drain, round river bends and arterial patterns aching for the blade. Other things come in too. Torture, the old friend from youth. See myself needing punishment, need to release the foul blood; detox sly fox. I’m not right in the head. See see I know, a thousand times I know. What do I do to rid the brain of cobwebs and filth? Are there vacuum services for the mind?

Oh, I am a slop in the soil. Debased, defaced, disgraced. Encumbered with a sick boy bomb lurking in the shadows. I am weak, scrawny fop inside, a real lascivious dandy. Decardia my security blanket. So warm.

The Bottle

How my predilection for Jameson taunted and haunted me in swoons of reverie and room shaking, quaking, evaporating, liquid lothario dreamscapes. I grasped at the bottle ever so nicely and quivered and smiled and I imbibed the smooth lass. The tantalizing gulp, the harsh and beautiful traveling down my inviting throat. I was dumbstruck and fancy free. I willed and wished for more degradation and more alcohol; more more more I say within me and about me! Drop your graces and bend to my embraces. Just a little more sup in the midnight hour. Had enough of talk not spirits, gulp it down, no, savour it nicely, swirl it around and sniff at treasured aromas, roll it about the tongue that embraces the habit, that makes passions and advances to the whisky lover. How I crave thee. How I drop dollar for dollar on that wretched beautiful lie. My twisted dark fantasy. Tolkien world of wasted nights calling for another. Fall down, fail down, stripped of all embarrassment from so many a drink. Hued with the stench and stink of a louse, coloured with the brush of uncontrolled vice. Viceroy of the bottle. King rulah Abdullah foola droola.

And I kept going back to it once and again. I did indeed did the deed, unmasked the fool and danced the drunken dance of happenstance. This was an idol, my muse, my devil, my escape from reality. I’m just a poor boy give me no sympathy. As I tried to break myself from it it tempted me daily, hounded my thoughts and inner impressions and willed its way to my festering heart. Stomach gurgling carnal lust and snivelling desires. Throat just parched without it; a weak simpering emanated from it. I slipped a snifter here and there, took a low road with so many turns and I ended up in the same place.

I chanced one day in my happy happy gay bar to look upon my old confidante and spouse. I stared at it as if my whole salvation was right there. All the memories of the big bad just flouncing and pouncing upon me. One after the other trains of thought trampled my spirit and flashed loudly and brightly of the old days, the old ways, the old haze. I completely zoned out and obsessed over this green temptress, just sitting there faintly calling my name, just so, making entreaties in my wandering ear. Every feeling, every vomitous moment revealed and clinked in as I gazed upon the former life. I snapped out of it with a staring duo at my side. Must I always looks crazy?

So many days past since my last drop. I should feel good but really I miss the feeling I got back then, the nice high, just so, the wonderful warmth that no human ever gave me. Just me and the glass, clinking friends amore ami. I always find it odd we have these people and things which garnered such fondness and mixed emotions, positive still, and then we abandon them, toss them aside as we age and move one. At one time it means so much then poof, it is another lifetime away, doomed to back-of-the-attic brainstuff. Cobwebs gather and we struggle forth and focus our minds and the present day, the milieu of modern transactions holding no place for the former. This is life. So it goes Vonnegut.

Frigid you say

Sexual Anorexia
Tempted to touch but never act
Inversion aversion
Loathe the body feed the mind
Trinkets of the body
Hush the physical
Hide in my shadow
Harm the self
Rip off skin
Cut away the sin
Stab away at sexual organs
Push lovers further now
Isolation cum inebriation
Cum obsession revulsion
Fluids so slimy
Images harp me
Sensations unseemly
Closeness phobia
Brick walls layering thick
Pillars and polar personas
Standing with edges and fragments
Picture me picture frame
Blanket me with white space
Folded paper dreams
Origami cranes on deathbed
My crafts are the children
Creations of doomed obscurity
Camera obscura flip my image
Selfie says many words
All by self after giving some
Not all
True image is kept within
No more sharing
Looking for osmosis

Me No Read Good

It’s no surprise that having a learning disability is a hindrance to progress and self-value. The issue is that you are blocked off in a way, pushed back by some force that makes it seem pointless to go on. Whenever I fail or have issues like with reading and comprehending even a sentence, every step of the way I feel dumb and that feeling is compounded and repeated over and over, this circumstance creates a loop of disappointment. “Why try?” The hammer of failing strikes forever and yonder and picking up your pieces and continuing is a horrible task with the light at the end out of sight; you have to keep going with that idea in mind that it gets better, progress is made, neuronal connections are happening because of your good work. But is that easy to see when bogged down in darkness and mists of ignorance? I keep stepping up to the plate and swinging to little avail. After much time invested there are fruits bared, the seeds sowed blossom for the betterment of me, my wholeness, my centre of self. The knowledge of that, the precedent set, does not help much though within those dumb dumb moments. Still, people with these problems are mostly conscious of the exact situation they are in and are wrapped up in the task at hand. The clouded mind shows no sun, we are stuck with our deficiencies glaring at us.

Touretty OCD Dance

Eyes so flitting, neck so twitching ticking beckoning belittling.
I turn askance once twice and another.
Looking over my shoulder at phantoms and specters.
Parcel delivery no shipping weight, freight, fraught fears and illusions hammering away.
Hide hide the scared wilting flower.
Haughty tawdry all naughty satyr playing peek-a-boo who.
Fear in me, devil in you.
Devil all around, shadow stranger around my way.
Sneak a peek throughout the day, haunting terrors grasping flecked nervous skin.
Darkly demons starkly hiding away.
They come for me at unfortunate moments.
Whispers and sin.
Anxiety within.
Neurotic quixotic tic tic hermit.
Crawl under covers to satisfy the quiverer.
Falling out of favor, the sanity deliverer.
Scratching imaginary itches, bleeding all over.
Bugs in the skin, spiders on the mind.
Arachnophobia, terror nova, scald and soap up, spasmodic euphoria.
Shake the head not shake it off.
Swift repulsions, revulsion.

Grabbing tight the leggings as fear qua man sets in.
Cold shiver upon the chestal area.
Holding fast the beefy arms to clasp at comfort.
I’m piddling in my mind.
Wailing and staring at the floor out of shame.
What else is new?
Debased and laying prostrate and nude for all viewers.
Gush forth all my shit for the readers if they will it.
Collecting digital hearts for analog nights.
Cold and dreary, weary, dreadfully teary.
Have another cuppa tea old chap!
Cozy warmth in my cozy shack.

No More

She says she wants a better man
A one that makes the equal bread
For her I’m not the higher choice
In reality I’m really dead

I don’t know if I love her madly
In truth I just pass affection
I cannot give her what she needs
The idea of her becomes obsession

I feel I am not up to snuff
Her sexual appetite is daunting
To beat her boyfriend is a task
A hollow man and she’s left wanting

I hurry home and stew in anguish
I cannot lift out of the stupor
I feel nothing for nobody
And feelings I do but neuter

Slowly do I make progression
Dull are the naughty urges
Paltry are the good deeds
Emotional dumps and purges

Fooled myself in game of love
Aroused the sleeping snake
Not a care is my peace
Solitude for the take