May 3 by The Running Son
I could barely come to the keyboard so as I don’t make people wory.
It was this morning pacific time that 1writeway told me I might crash and it’s just hard to know what to say. Just got off a business email with Jennifer writingsofamrs braggin g about how much energy I had and then, just gone.
how ever high I got, I swung low. The poem “eye poem” was strange territory for me. I felt I had been offering sacrifices on every alter I could steal in to. I felt like I saw something new and it scares me, I can hardly write.
Bi-Polar is everywhere. In two people missing each other. In a bleached gravatar, like the distance two people really are. Like a blog with a sensible library and a hot-house lush red district secret encrypted bunch of poems, that fall together then mean nothing.
I’ts there in a Boy Scout stoned at his Eagle award ceremony, and it’s there when you write articles like a scholar but with no school. It’s there by acting like the shit, in your head at least, then finding out how much it hurts you. Your pride. My ego acting like it don’t care if poems that hold such delicate parts of me fall into oblivion, into queue until I forget I feel, or felt.
Yes it feels like a dream. I have enough of a time pinching and wielding language for the simple things, like “this is how I feel” not to mention how I really feel. Like I don’t know if I can do this. This blog gone bi-polar again and for the moment doesn’t make any sense, except it’s a more limited language than language is. That doesn’t help.
One side of me is screaming out to my dad not to go before he sees me, or talks to me, but then I can’t handle enough to pick up the phone and call. Blame it on bi-polar ptsd depression god dammit all. Blame it on life and blind human separation from levity and tolerance and looking for beauty even when the world seems like an empty set, a no-meaning, non-sense and incomprehensible like some causal set of silences got together to keep each other cold for the bestial end of the world.
Oh jesus. I want to say Thanks for all HH and I will get to read your posts on Icarus.
The SymbolReaders, carrie, you’re inspirational. I need to rest. I don’t know how to do this. But I have to day don’t worry. I just have a raging headache and unfamiliar sadness and existential pain. A bi-polar identity puzzle that I can’t work into a crafted relic.
2 cats. An ex with her life I wish I could help, my dog, no job or career or success or friends that I can talk to then the ground opens and there is nothing to protect you from the immensity of it.
I am Ok. Gonna sleep. And eat. Not worry about fathers, or loneliness or the shortness of life or C, who was in the psychiatric hospital last week? damn I love you baby.
It’s too fucking hard when you can’t hold it all in. I was going to explode 2 hours ago and now 3 letter questions make sense like why?
I hope I’m forgiven for this rant. It came out like lumpy milk. but noo better reality than a rant. if capturing reality, and seeing it is what it’s all about.
PS: See you soon.