Dirty Boy

You can’t stop ruminating on your past devil deeds. Grind gears steadily in whirlybird emotional wreckage cum twisted metal carpocalypse. Run run run around inside my little head, little big planet full of illusions, delusions, confusion. Go back to those moments you couldn’t stop yourself, dream again about the hunger, the obsession, the sick twisted fantasies making you yank and squeal with lust. Diversions, aversions, lessons of perversion, sink deeply deeper into self-hate seas, reach the bottom can’t you stop it? Desperate, angry, whip self beat self curse self. Hate me me me, hate the fetish hate the addiction. Why feel this way, why feel anything? Shut down, shut off, emotions numb, dumb full of cum. Dick’s not my friend maybe a frenemy, tempting me to commit horrible acts I regret so rightly; bathe in shame, burn myself I deserve it, let me be Freddy dead corpse bride. Oh I deserve it, wicked man, weak man, sick fool sick of foolishness. Whip self beat self curse self. Punish me love me rip me asunder. Can’t stop, won’t stop, burn me eternally.

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I forgot my meds yesterday morning, should it have made such a difference?  Went out drinking to cure the boredom and restless feeling in my chest. Drown in libations for the Bacchanal of fortuitous noon times.  My tics have been getting worse, more frequent it seems or maybe I’m just more aggravated by them. Every twitch and head snap is a rusty pike in my being thrusted by the hard Kimahri hands, a traitor to myself. Yesterday was the worst of it, bad dog day and night biting its own collar. Everyone saw, again, no control yet I sort of tried. Jerking head, hard blinks, turn turn turn repeat and shake the lily. No screaming this time, doesn’t happen much thankfully,  but the alcohol can make it worse but not having it sucks too. Being empty and coated with emotional bandages that prevent you from feeling and loving is not a life to be cherised, it is not happy joy joy time, it is a rift needing to be walked past and you can’t help but look in. You throw a light in the dark void hoping it will catch but other times you just wanna stumble in the dark and fuck the consequences.  Had enough of those risky business days though, reckless recluse hurting every moment of kindness or open ear. Self-medicating yes, but having none does not yield good times it makes for filthy neutrality and a creeping despondency that threatens to linger till your gray days.

Maybe the atheist agnostic AA group will assist in some detox and restraint but what to fill myself with? What uppers do I have now, I’ve grown past the other stuff and what’s left is mostly books and occasional drawing and that has its strains and anxieties of course. I don’t know how to live without anxiety.  I thought I had done so much questioning and soul searching to come to a point of acceptance and calm but more to learn I guess, more fear to mold into strength, more.

Cakeless

It’s like this. Let’s say you have a piece of chocolate cake, you like chocolate, chocolate cake is pleasing, you can enjoy it well enough. But when you eat it the taste is there but it’s not the same amount of taste that other people get. It’s not as sweet, not as chocolatey, not as creamy as it would normally would be. You try to indulge in it and make an effort but the feeling isn’t there, the pleasure is lessened, neutral. Sure, you can have a cake that looks really nice, you get nice dessert plates and dessert forks, but that does not change the overall event. When you finish you do not feel that satisfied or content, maybe it was good to get it done and have that piece, satisfy some primal craving, everything was fine. What could happen is you take it for what it was and move on not seeing all the fuss, another scenario is you feel more empty than you did before because you cannot get the same level of enjoyment that others get, that cake was just mild sensations in your mouth. So you just have to accept that cake is not for you, no matter how you dress it up or add to it the cake is a lie. You are cake less and fine with it.

Missing link
Feel in chest
Try entertainment, masturbate
Read books loose pressure
Hole there, stuff with food
Emptiness, feels like hunger
Sophie Hunger sofa hunger
Addictions, gorge and binge
Wanna drink but so many calories
Wanna run naked, be animal again
Eat fuck idle wild
Down, should see friends
Feel antisocial anti outside
Bury in blanket
Hollow point heart
Jam pentium chip in
Be cyborg
Artificial emotion better than none
40% charge, feel low
Something taken
Missing link

I law awake thinking how I like my repetitions, some of them, the repeating and drilling and going over sameness. This is an OCD thing and makes me comfortable but I’m thinking maybe it also has to do with a sense of stability, familiarity, consistent patterns and events. I never felt I had stability. Mood swings, depressions, moving to different schools, introvert/extrovert switching. It was not flat and boring but not grounded either. It’s possible that this need for stability or sameness is a counterbalance to chaotic experiences and a way of comforting the aftermath of erratic maturing. I repeat to make up for the collage of youth.

Grey Eyes

I saw solace in them pretty grey eyes. I saw the house and the kidlets playing in the big backyard she had to have, the husky I always wanted, damn the upkeep. Planning fantastic futures because I was so sure, so right is everything, my god I’m actually happy. Tra la la. I would languish in bliss and thoughts for a while, no reality bites stepping in for just a moment, just being okay and good to myself, having hope for the later life and goals for once.

I’d tingle before she walked into the room, would almost swoon from the scent of her when driving her home, those bright eyes hurt my heart I wanted to keep them close to me. Never felt like this before, never felt too much anyway. So much emotions and pangs of the heart I couldn’t take it, it was likely to gush out of me and scream primal yells in those late nights whimpering like a hound of the basking chills.

I kept doing the math. She was that much older, her kids’ ages and when she had them, when she decided or fell into having a family with that guy. Oh that inglorious basterd! So fortunate to have met so young. Three years old and already kissing, maybe fate is a thing, maybe my stone of destiny was meant to be cast on another pond. But that anger is gone, mostly, I feel good without the baggage and hang ups of a bitter youth. I caught the bug early, it informed my perspective, made me appreciate life, love, humility. I was wise to the cosmic joke, wise to the Sisyphian struggle that builds us. Loss is necessary.

The Act and Feeling of Brown

“When I began working at the institute, I recalled my adolescent dream of becoming a medical research worker. Daily I saw young…[white] boys and girls receiving instruction in chemistry and medicine that the average black boy or girl could never receive. When I was alone, I wandered and poked my fingers into strange chemicals, watched intricate machines trace red and black lines upon ruled paper. At times I paused and stared at the walls of the rooms, at the floors, at the wide desks at which the white doctors sat; and I realized—with a feeling that I could never quite get used to—that I was looking at the world of another race.” —RICHARD WRIGHT, 1944

Maybe because I was always more occupied with questions of life and the universe and the hanging weight of existentialism, but I feel as if I didn’t understand the weight of racism and bigotry in the wide world. I had enough experience with hate and racism in Canada as a kid and it did make me introspective and think about society and the ideas people have, adults supposedly so wise. My brown skin and my majority black and brown friends fostered my identity as an “other” and made me see myself as a concrete individual.

I didn’t get along that well with traditional Indians, I had no truck with the mother land and didn’t have some spiritual connection to ancestors or the culture and identity politics of Indianness. I liked some of it but it was just a series of things to me, variations that people enjoyed and attached to themselves and I was into whatever, still am, I do not park in one lane I dabble and taste everything as I feel like it. Nor did I see any thing in white society as unobtainable or not for me. I was conditioned to see certain jobs and institutions as white which can’t be helped, I felt the superiority coming off whites, this need and placement of authority. They were always in the right and I wasn’t. But I ventured on my own path and did what I felt like, I rebelled a bit, I pushed back and confronted authority plenty of times. I saw the ludicrously and hypocrisy of it all, the lack of reason and the gasp for rationality. Everything seemed stupid.

Has much changed since those days? Am I just an evolved form of an angsty teen and an inquisitive child? Isn’t everyone? In my adulthood I ration and filter cynicism and despair; light pessimism on toast. I see a positive for the slow regurgitation of change and social justice, I am thankful for the perspective my experience gave me. It was painful but we dealt with it, racism, homophobia all this fluff was just more rocks being thrown and we all shovel on, my generation, the previous ones, we become like tanks and just battle hoping the ground will hold…