ADHD Adieu

I feel like I want the drugs, the extra pre scripts that dull and conjecture me, juxtapose my posie me with poised poses that work on the city. Big cities, we all freaky people-span of attention quizzical and busy. Don’t want to be like those Ridilin kids, that predays when chest felt empty, hollow feels and dull mouth mumbling stubbles. Want the focus though. Craving it, insane with the turbulence of concentration flummox just hazy day/night pulling eyes towards bookies and epubs; texts perused aloof for half minutes then abandoned for miles as I run lapse to other projects. Poor bookies, old and new and digital too, looking for touch with silent folds and bookmarks saving forgotten trysts. 

Want focus but it must be earned by me. Natural work my butt off training without the montages.  Spend some hours for several pages or sparse ink lines.

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Sicky sicky sicky full sick
Big enuff stuff enuff
Gorge quick
Gullet full o refuse
Bodily bully abuse
Tense past memoirs
Stuff face craw full o comfort
Porcelain visits on the downlow
Hope they don’t hear me outside
Nobody see me no lookie at them
Choco fountain drip in me
Run back to toiletry
Visits to the sweets and meat
Expel the trail but not the demons

Crumbs scattered down for the dark ones to follow
Trip me beat me obsequious doublespeak
Duck mouth eat but no speak
Gobble gobble a butterbird of me
Balls of fat and rolls upon me
Rolly Polly feel awful
Chickadee chick pea live off a morsel
Starve the sinner and the tummies

C’est la vie via me

It’s not as if you’re the first person to do that to me. You don’t want this crazy weird person in your life so you separate, stop communicating, ignore, draw that big invisible Lucy line down the complex of our world. You have other things going on, things to do careers to pursue like everyone, time waits for no one and no one has time for the weary and waiting. Clocks move, people grow, better more stable relationships present themselves so why not take advantage? Whatever I did for you in the past is not relevant at some point, there is no blood brother loyalty like lifelong latino familia. You can help a lot of people all the time or some of the time and you can give of yourself as best you can but the harsh reality is you’re not supposed to expect much back, not with these issues in the fold; mental illness and Ridgemont times makes fairweathers flee.

Life is short, says every person who goes home to relax and binge watch Netflix or stand in long lines for marked up food and drinks. People can hold you down, make things more complicated. Who really wants that drama except martyrs and fallen angels? Spent a number of years being an ear and a shoulder, wet with the sorrow of dire birds cutting their wings; piqued and pecked and left on the side road for some avian avenger to swoop in and support and feel better about their life cycle. We go round each other blabbing and spewing guts and sentiment, emotions and painful exhortations. Laughing lachrymose loitering in low point alley, loosing lambasts and ll.. who the fuck cares.

We are drug culture, excess, highs and highs and losing lows, letting go of drag and soulful anchors. Speed demons racing towards notions and goals and needing the nitro and dumping weight. Drama, baggage, neediness refined into avant garde dada arthouse plays acting the superior but begging approval and applause. Say the right words to me. Come when I need the body close; human heat is still better than the smack. Afflictions breed addictions and the candy crutch saga begins the beguine. I dance alone and try to laugh with the world. You laugh, we laugh, they laugh and I’m turned cheek riding into burning desert sun towards vague horizons like Desperado on a Lone Ranger trip taunting Tonto to travel along. But lone rides, no linger. Cursory hand holding and inner strength refurbishing, pushing myself cause I’m the personal trainer. I need no accolades or forceful back shadow, I’m the pusher, the penis mightier. Heisenberg knocks and I skip doors and perceive the vision of peace of mind.

Ahimsa buddha baby rolling 20s like vaude villain lovin ladies. For the ego uplift and spiritual updrift. Burning in the sun with that is what it is spliff.

Speed Demon

I wanted that young corpse bride to Valhalla Rising exit, zooming every which way with half-assed whims and random direction. Alcohol buzzed weed fuelled adrenaline rush to burnout the crazy and let out the leathery poison curling and corroding my insides. Brain on fire with melting daydreams and haunters pricking nightmare pins into my skin sac as I dashed and stomped and went stir crazy while moving erratic. Settled on nothing, always trying to change me, rotate me, Tony Hawk 900 on life lines and hash pipes for that rock and rolla life and death; James Dean subconscious, Cobain jealous, Hunter S. light on the exploits and inebriation.

Late nights from college wrecking ball that was my fortune and disaster. Running away from lovesick blues and wah pathetic me in borrowed car on borrowed time in fast lanes all alone on the highway. Dark nights fit me so rightly and I breathed and sucked in that crisp, cool air into cigarette stuffed lungs like man am I cool, no more weird nerd, just hedonist life sucker pushing the throttle to leave a carmageddon twisted metal fantasy on the black road. Reckless driving and speeding nightly wandering towns and cities looking for adventure, too late for the party, too careful for the hard edge. Like a straight edge kid doing anal and strutting tuff. I piecemealed some semblance of dangerous living within my practical mild mannered self. Wild and crazy with touch of sanity. Fear no death but afraid to live, fear of taking plunge and ending the dream.

Loose-lipped lily livered lazy Lothario loser priding himself on thrills and spills in a mad mad world dash to rock bottom and thirst; thirst for life, energy, powerful feelings to wake me from coasting and giving up.

Race away, chaser after shot.
Downing courage and blindly shooting out for some hurrah.
Womanize without the sex.
Suicide without the blood.
Deathrace minus the stakes.

Out of control carousel with the blinding colors. Puking guts out side rail from yeast poison, self-disgust and bulimia obscura. Jettison the garbage, grouchy but me no Oscar, seek death seek shelter seek peace from wrong side. Are you the Gatekeeper? Lockslave. Securitize me, prisonize me, lock me from myself no harmful. I hurt you hurt, you hurt me hurt self punish self, hospital staycation with rage and drug-addled haze pulling me closer to the tide with the rest of the surfers. Push them all, run away again and again, always seeking never stopping.

More four wheel mayhem.

Street racing minor interludes and liquor shot burning tires on roads to freedom with the last chance unfinished in Smartre sardonic soliloquies sleeping with thoughts of sliced neck and tongue sandwiches. Gone late night loopy and dark poet Hicks melody tappa tappa on the eardrum. Am I fearsome? some fear; fears, jeers, tears.

Scare the psychs charm the nurses, losing control like Missy twerk it. Wasting youth in hospital gowns and strip clubs, looking for affection and wit’s end.
Chained up verses cranking internally, freedom to roam in a locked in state, anger rising break sunken chest, lower the poor posture position. Bipolar position excuses for remission and drug addictions.

Just lost and depressed and sick of fighting, constant betterment but still failing, evolve the self but backwards again. Troglodyte troll swiping at friendly bridge crossers.
Eat dem bones and play with self.
Play fool cry foul.
Eat sleep gorge puke.
Stuff craw shit bricks.
Be the jerk and solo dick.
Friendly gestures make me fester.
Fake polite and condescension.
Censors and censure.
Disapproving wide eyes goggle at my absurd.
Farcical farscape and remarkably disturbed.

And what was it all? Putrid lucid hard knocks and melancholia. Necessary beats and rhymes for the rhythm blues rap song informing my conscious, conscience, dreary needy speedy art fix. Paint me a horrorshow that plims and plucks inside me, bending for the daises and growing on the ivy. Gilded weeds and rusted roses. Coward lion roars back simpering fools cum bullies, tinman arrival I’m 40 percent iron. Back to Oz or the chocolate factory which tale to tell and bury my face in? Make a new one for the kiddies, create don’t waste. Pain and vice is the bread and water. Stale baguettes and rhyming couplets hit me over the head so fresh. Push out words, edit later.

So I walk into a bar…

Stares, jeers, lips of mockery and chattering laughter. Faces dash in my head amid the darkness. Blank memories skimmed and retrieve the badness, held up visions sparkling silver in the light of gnarled thoughts.

Breakdowns and halting, hurting, unending noise and confusion, the swirling mass of past beats the doors and hammers away at sense and sensitivities as the high comes. Can’t get high. You only get so much joy, so much peace before the crashing waves, turbulence and torrents; massive information overload and transfers. I download gigs of before, passionless recognition in the spotty turmoil. Beatings and laughter like thrown rocks at my spirit. It’s leaving me, maybe left. No spirit, none such joy, emotions wave goodbye from the freighter leaving off, going to harbour with the hopeful immigrants.

I parse through the muck and mud. Try to find traces of love, my love, affection for others. Glimmers in the daylight, shadows in the moonlight. Indian pale and confused with what I have done, wrought, afflicted myself with. Always turning other cheek but the memories stain me, harsh times reanimated.

Get drunk and solve a minor conflict with a temporary fix. But I need the fix, need it now for now, you live with it and expect sobriety, you bear down on the beast of burden that raps so at your decrepit temple and stay sane in the cacophony of madness ramping up its swan song. Black Swan. Takeover dark side making and willing bad things, hurting people and fetishizing suffering, pain, sin and vice, get more more more, hit rock bottom with a kiss of the fist. People hate me. Leper and crazy dead head need med head. Running away from myself with no direction. No way out.

Hurt self, damage self, wreck life and bathe in the waters of downward spirals. Laughing at myself, the comedian, last joke laughs last into the empty echo of the theatre. Velvet curtains drop and close on the ridiculous man’s tale. Wreck self, kill self, atone.

Awaken as a partier, drunken zombie trying to feel something, someone. That good feeling just out of reach. Stubby fingers lose it and it drifts away from me leaving me in the cold grey wasteland of purgatory. Hate self, damage self. Curse the face and spite the nose. Fuck you! Fuck your sorrow little sparrow. Make company of my misery and throw around jokes to hide in. Laugh with the world. What a joke, heard it before. Man walks into a bar…

As It Stands

Everyone is conditioned to their problems, they learn to adapt and handle their bidness. Whether we receive what we can handle or strain under the weight to slowly cross some unsighted finish line is a matter for spiritualists, I don’t particularly take to destiny and fate and that sort of thing. I think anyone that has a smidgen of giving a shit takes steps to circumvent their horrorshows and tip toe around the emotional and mental baggage that accumulates on us like plaque to a sugar addict. I’ve got my plaque, been with me many a years now, some four score ought seven I’d say.

It takes some getting used to, it needs breathing space and discipline of a sort I fumbled with for a decade or so, jittery keys in hand searching for the ignition as if I was in a horror movie of low budget means. Things come in different cycles, waves and particles choose their time, I deal with the Tourette’s then the moonfaced hulk of OCD comes trotting down and grips the mind, spending days lost in compulsions and crazed fear. It happened, happens, the self deals and grows callouses to fight the kill me motions. Sure there was plenty of coping mechanisms and so many addictions and hiding in softness, curled up kid clutching blankets and courting eating disorders. Stuck with this enveloping need to touch touch everything over and over, click click twitch attention split. Can’t focus, read, pay attention, can’t think, too much think, blink blink. Fuck.

You often hear there are people worse off, as if this should make you feel better or grateful. Though it is true nothing gets taken away or alleviated, I didn’t get solace from the thought of other poor unfortunates but I felt there was kinship out there. I grew up in a time when more was known about mental health and even if the medication and application was a bit wanting I was in a better position to get help. Many people took time to help me and listen to my shit, work in programs to manage our follies and struggles, professionals doing what they can to ease us into compliance with the wider world. But we’re not configured that way really. We exist different from whatever is regular, whatever can be said to be the status quo, perceptions and feelings interplay in an other kind of way, a nonessentialism way. Most things seem like there is no purpose, doing weird things with no end in mind, just desire and compulsion, forces acting upon you with no visibility or understanding. Plenty of what I do and think makes no sense yet I cannot stop, won’t stop, bundled with a mixed bag always on my shoulder. There’s no use complaining anymore just keep riding and moving forward.

Cold Cuts

I craved warm shoulders. I wanted to dig deep and root myself in her body; the touch, kindness, arms open and receptive to my melancholy dog days. I brushed with seriousness and sappiness, stroked pent up anger and whiny bitch extensions braided deep within my head. Guffaw and laughter scented my arrival but I hid deep the bruises of life, shame, discontent, contempt, attempting normal. I lost myself in Joker reveries with the killing joke as my epitaph on a lonely desolate gravestone wet and mossy for the finishing touch. All about appearances.

I like to think of myself as so deep and abundant in wisdom and clarity but the image-heavy imagination breaks those delusions. I am partial to the pretty. Superficial layer on top of the kind soul slowly scrubbing its edges, this constant battle to be greater than, more open-minded and less shallow. I swim here and there leapfrogging over tadpole growth deliberately debating the merits of being image-conscious and curtailing the aesthetically pleasing angle. Just a scalene looking for the right.

I felt the need to grow, develop, deliver no quitter lily liver critter with a bitter pill swallower. Jagged edges. Chips on my shoulder can’t have just one. Eric Estrada the line between here and hereafter, sane and insane, life’s a joke and a riddle, Crumplestilskin. I gain heavy nd bog down in the mire of self-abuse and loathing. Ungulating, beating, throbbing membrane lush with the devil’s influence. Down down a black hole fearing the bottom but crashing towards it all the same. I relish that beef, that humiliation hunger game tossed around with minced and mottled meat. Sh sh shame spirals agony replete, addictions to tension and low levels; I look upon my wearied form down on knees and lost, lost to a warm world I spit at and turn away from. But that is past is it not? Past self, past reprisals, past the post electing for some positive. Change self, quit the self-destruction for some grassroots blooming. This onion has layers like ogres with their asses. Parfait perfect person.

And I longed for the kiss, sweet lips, winced at the touch, the crowd around me suffocating me, drowning in people sea. See see sissy, spacek space case, martian child thingling.
Thing one without a thing two. Judgy fish myself til the fun dies down, the fucked up party down, good thing I didn’t get the coca. Runaway train on deserted perverted rails sketchy and off kilter tracks trackmarks me. And I try and steel myself for the final key. Notes from underground left after me.

Cracked up basket case fooling for a picnic. End it all accomplice embellish. Stand in tracks awaiting the bend, putting misery to an end. Knife in gut, blade in the shade, darkly Dexter chump fillet. Chemicals down the gullet, poisons down the spirit. Alcoholic sputters with pain pills shoved down a doused soused throat, screaming in my head and silence on my lips. Eyes scanning, run run death wish. Wake in a bright hospital hospitable, watched over by scrubs and baby docs locked in purgatory my usual story. Mingling with the crazies, life blurb hazy maybe I’m dumb and lazy and I need a sound playbook. Silver linings came to me, break the old habits, spending money money hungry for the honeys so sunny playboy bunnies say they love me suddenly. Can’t get enough of me, sick of me literally, narcissism pessimism altruism on the spectrum. Ill and fated, scared and hated, nice guy to jerk conversion. Curses and mockery on the ready repeat.
Vinyl vile vitriol verily.

Stuck in a rut sinking in quicksand, body enwrapped from the waistband. Screaming in my head, silence on my lips. Mad bad cad auto breakdown mentally; fair-weather friends talk me awkwardly, stop calling me, avoid the real me. Or really? Is it me or the sad sack of eternity? Which is the scarcity that pops it head from under. Chickenshit chicken hawk ostrich emu fly don’t walk. Looney Toons after effect animating my biography through dark worded poetry. E-read my disaster capitalism moody magazine.