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MOVING FORWARD
REHAB
Record 2025/01/25 09:57:23.webm


Moving forward, my time at rehab. 

One door and corner at a time.
On time here at the door.
There, at the table. Eat or play. Group it.
Bracelets hold us together and drag us to the schedule.
In and out. The nurse is so nice.
Pill. Cups lined up just for me.
Smoke them if you've got them.
Techs keep the lighters. And watch us flame up our fears.
Called in for vitals. BP going up.
Meds are coming.
Never took so many drugs I do not need, and that I can’t enjoy.
Nice to have my supplements, but NO fiber D3, niacin, CoQ10?
Whatever.
Meetings. Groups. Every story from every life:
Age, sex, character, or religion. All the same.
Death is so boring, and I can't help myself.
Why are you sober? Is this the only question?
Life is so delicious and fascinating.
Addiction tastes so sweet, but …
the poison kills slowly.

There. As always here. Here.
In my childhood, not knowing my mind, the mind of a monster.
There, in one’s eye fears of the unknown dance across hungry smiles.
The icky touch sparks an alarm, but there is no concept or imagination of a real monster. Ungrounded fear consumes the unknowing.
For knowing pours fuel on the embers glowing hot in the back of the darting eye.
Fear has a name and it lives in a precise place in my mind.
Glowing through in red rays and orange fogs that blind and bind my mind in a paralysis of aloneness.

Saturday, 22 September, 2022,
Charlene
Bay 6, and I'm very lonely and brokenhearted.
I think of Char all day. Wherever I look and whatever I hear brings me to her. I can't bear not sharing every day with my love.

Her ability to give kindness, affection, and selfless care have been devastated by me. Her precious heart and frail trust is once more shattered.
My behavior is not who I am.
I have betrayed myself and let my ego run rampant.
Without seeking help, 
I got lost in my disease of bi-polar insanity, and let it attempt to justify my actions to satisfy “its” ungodly appetites.
Love, trust, honesty, and loyalty are all values I cherish. Yet, my insanity hijacked my judgment, and I went from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde.
Mr. Hyde, who arises with no values except self-gratification and violence.
I commit violence and wreak havoc, all this coming forth from a man who is a lover, who cares for, and loves others.
A man who serves others, a man who would never hurt anyone.
I feel like I have blood on my hands. 
To continue, I have blood on my hands that belongs to someone inside me who murdered everyone and everything I truly love. I can't imagine a more cruel disease. I must somehow die a little bit every time it overcomes me. No wonder so many bipolar people commit suicide.
They're sick and exhausted from murdering themselves, their true identity mercilessly slaughtered by unbridled impulse.
The only resistance to the irresistible is death.
Every lie I tell cuts into my soul and bleeds me into pale guilt.
Every betrayal goores my liver and bile soils my love.
Every sneaky, deceitful plan to sate this beast stomps any self-respect I hope to hold into the dust and ruin I leave my loved ones to see of my life.

The Dualities
More poetry, of the dualities. 
Multiplicities of counterbalanced pendulums swinging ‘round, countering resonating cores, chaotic fluids oppositely charged, and consciousnesses’ universes.
Tiny incremental pushes, magnitudes, and frequencies magnify momentum.
Swirling counter mass through axes of thought, colliding and sparking fiery explosions. Rippling resistance and motive force through my mind stretch out over unimaginable space, infinity, no longer a mystery.
Within machinations mechanisms seek stasis, mightily pulling and pushing to extremes, threatening catastrophic failures. Every particle of thought an impulse. Every infinitesimal motion. A charge stored inside a mass balanced around an undulating axis. Thoughts swinging tightly around ultrasonic chords. Disharmonic cacophony.
Unheard coherent frequencies slide into cords, into motive force, pushing out into the void. Creatures of chaos and vivid dreams.
More poetry. Gossip. 
Glass houses filled half-full.
Whispers echoed through to kill.
Empty cups thrown through at you.
Venom-dewed panes askew.
Shards of crystal fear scar the feet of passing, faded mirrors.
Mirror, mirror on the floor
Let me out of the invisible door.
Ignorance. 
Fear.
Anger.
Violence.
War.
As long as I'm being honest, 
The less I have to tell the truth.
Honesty. Truth to action.
Be yourself.
Be your own best friend.
Honesty. Honesty. Loyalty. Understanding. Forgiveness. Acceptance. Patience.
Listen. I need time in the process to reach myself again. Grasp my truth and stay centered.




Artificial Stupidity Squared (ASS) Outtakes

“He's on the affected mind communicate to me many details of love-of him was just more smelling for me. Wait one second, Holmespit; we're close right now devastated“
“I am not a man who loves. I am not a man who loves. I am not a man who loves.”
EDITORIAL COMMENT:
I am a man who loves. So deeply that empathy for others is physically painful.
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