Drowning in drowsiness, my eyes try to wander.
Escaping these rose bushes,
leaving with more cuts than memories.
Alone and exhausted, disassociating and crossfaded.
My second heart starts beating.
As the blood courses through my veins,
a second voice calls out to me.
Become one with it, I say.
Heartbeats, rapid drumbeats,
a melody unable to make me sway.
All I can focus on is the mysterious girl in shrouded mist.
I can hear myself dying.
If hate’s all you want, that's what you’ll get.
Dark streets with dim corner lights pave my way.
One stop sign is too many.
Lust, jealousy, envious, resentful.
Feelings lie awake, wanting to die.
My shadow speaks in whispers.
Smashing a mirror with cracked knuckles,
I must suffer to salvage the victim.
I must save myself.
Misunderstood misrepresented misery
Spent my youth being told all the ways I am wrong
One day expected to get it all
Disconnected disassociated disgusted
A head attached to a body with warm holes for his pleasure
Smile moan shut up and open wide
These are my twenties
Lost longing lonely
These are my thirties
Rewired rejected resilient
This is late-thirties
Isolation desolation masturbation
Filling my own voids
Patching up my soul
Embracing myself
Sad scared sage
Separate
Settle no more
Seek
Self fulfillment
Safety
Security
Stars lighting up the nights sky
Start over
Somewhere new
Hopeful
Holding space
Heilung & Hecate
The yellow neon sign casted a glow upon his chiselled cheekbones as the bustling sounds of a city that never slept droned on.
He carried his troubles with him, like a worn out cloak, weighing him down in his every step. His mind was entwined in a thorny thicket.
He has been haunted and bewildered since his introduction to her in a smoky speakeasy.
She was a siren shadow amongst strangers of the night, whispering his name in the breeze, intoxicating his psyche with a tempestuous flame.
She entangled him in a perilous dance, playing a game of chance.
Their encounters were like unbridled wildfires. She captivated him, consuming his soul with her potent allure. He felt engulfed, delicate as a feather in a storm, swept away by her force.
However he was a moth enticed by a relentless flame, she incinerated his dreams and made him feel hopeless. In the end, he succumbed to the hounds of disassociated reality.
His story concluded in tragedy, leaving his loved ones cries to echo through the empty streets of a heartless city.
As for the Silence of Clouds
By David J Walker
How random the trek of thoughts
Floating through the grey ether of imagination
In connected but disassociated ways
Like stray clouds
Passing by with
Nothing to say
Each a form of its own meaning
Needing to be painted on a canvas
of thick paper and plain words
A descriptive colloquy pray
Prayed and then captured
Before it disbands and
disappears forever
Before threatening storms
I have USA raised
and LeftBrain Dominant branded
and capitalized
AfricanAmerican sons
disassociated from Earth
as a healthy,
caring,
inviting habitat for well-being,
Instead too narrowly focused on what Straight White Western Men think,
notice,
value,
monetize,
reductively compete to achieve
Too EgoCentric
AnthroCentric
XenoPhobic
EarthAlienated
to indigenously
timelessly cherish
what unwhite
unpatriarchal
unWestern
unviolent
uncolonizing
uncapitalizing
unhomophobic
Species of healthy wealth regeneration
cooperatively remember
and perhaps even 20-20 re-imagine
sensually
deductively
inductively
thought and felt,
yanged and yinned
ComPassion
Love
Solidarity
Integrity
Resonance
Resilience
Robust Regenerativity
So much more
than life-as-slow-dying objectives like
Avoid prison
Avoid police
Avoid criminalized economic behavior
Avoid shamed and blamed political misbehavior
Avoid Xenophobically Colonizing
Incorporating White Western Male
Capital MonoTheistic Ownership
Yet also
Avoid CoOperative CoInvestment
Avoid SacredEarth Communion
Avoid EcoFeminist Persuasions
Avoid Healthy WealthCare Giving and Receiving...
It's a dirty world,
and the longer you live,
the dirtier you get.
(Paraphrase of Stephen King, Blaze)
It's a violent Earth,
and the longer we live,
the more automated violence we beget.
We're a suffering EarthTribe
and the longer we live
naturally and spiritually disassociated,
the more painfully Earth degenerates.
It was a forested world
with wealthy oceans,
and the longer we potentially lived,
the more healthy reforested Earth would get.
Discombobulated and Disassociated
the Identity in Feeling Real.
Fragmented and Piecing
Together Craziness
Helps Cope with
Misconstrued Beginnings
The endings in
Personalities Emerging
A Frenzied Madness
What is?
Really Really?
Who is ?
Really Real?
Time lapsed Laziness
Haze filled Gazing
An Identifiying Marker
Around life's Corner
Living inside Multitutes
Breaking born Freedom
Surviving amid Atrocities
Living the Abusive
Dazed into Raging
Feeling Behind
Humanities Cruelities
Discombobulated and Disassociated
the Identity in Feeling Real.
The night turns into day
Here I am once again, gay
Confused
Disassociated and abused.
Though, I was born this way
It was a life to choose
Mentally I faltered talking on an image
Lacking self-respect for who I was
Of who I chose to be
Consider it an open invitation for humiliation and discrimination
Or consider it a conversation between the right and wrong in you
The weak and strong in you
Still the night turns into day
As the month’s fade to years
But who am I to shed a tear
Who am I to not be okay
With being gay
She was frozen out in the cold
Blocked out by the blaring calls of sanity
She couldn't move,she couldn't think straight
She was on her own. Alone
Her silence amplified by her inner most emotions
Disassociated from her conscience,she groped in the darkness for some answer,a key
To any way out.
But everything she held onto crumbled under her fingertips
There was no leverage nor any compensation for the fall that followed
She hit the floor hard. Caught in the slipstream of rhetoric questions
Momentum carried her over the edge
Her defences,she put so much faith in, disappeared.
The silence was deafening.
She was Alone!
The revelation was a blow to her ashen mindset
The realisation took what little strength she had left
The fight was over. She let go.
The air left her lungs.
She took the punch. Held onto the hand of death
Her life meant nothing now.
She was finally free of all the convoluted lies
Her life was o'er . She could finally let go.
Geniuskin
Professor Gorey
always had a story
filled wit guts and grim
til most folks around these parts
those with their full share of smarts
asked her where she grows her monolithic glory.
Grim Reaper
is not my heart's keeper
and I thank you so for asking
just what I see as our life tasking,
to face our fears as monotheistic sleepers.
Professor Gorey
how could your story
of climatic strangulations
and cataclysmic slaughter of multiple reiterations
do other than make us monotonously snorey?
Earth's story can wake you up
if you drink Her with half-full inducting cup
rather than gulping with competition
while choking for want of cooperation
between what's contracting down
why's polytheistic up.
What is this mystery
we cannot see?
of breathing ego down while eco-up,
soothing prickly cats by playing gooey pups,
confusing what might become communion
with how we choose to competitively be?
You've asked me well
so I must tell,
my deep gory fertile mystery
of permaculture ecosystemic history
is what makes our regenerating health
co-evolve so cooperatively swell,
overcoming LeftBrain v RightBraun
disassociated hell.
My hearts beats
heavy in my chest,
As steady as
the tapping of your foot
on the linoleum.
The dripping faucet,
the ticking clock,
the bubbling coffee maker.
Only in silence
does noise grow loudest to the ears.
My very own movements
feel foreign and unnatural,
As disassociated as you in my kitchen.
rebecca cloward
Restless is my mind that wanders and gathers no moss but memories,
and restless is my hampered heart with its manic metronome.
Restless are my legs that move their own magic daring to be disassociated from
the rest of me, involuntarily involving me in incessant energetic episodes
My random attention remains as it has no rest,
no regularity
no recourse
no remedy
no refrain
to resolve
these redundant motions and movement that maintain
me.
Restless is my rage that remains, electric energy emanating internally and
evolving into pure restless empty endless
emotions
Really really restless
I was afraid from early on to act on my passions,
because the price was too high,
life too fragile.
Instead, paying the high price of developing a fragile life
because of its been afraid to toughen.
Afraid,
believing that I did not have the right to forge a place of my own liking and compatibility in the world.
Still believing.
Still facing the unbelievably entrenched fears:
How little I can let myself, my passion, ME be me.
Someone deeply believed that my nature as a human being must be disassociated at all costs,
and I learned it.
I know it is not only me.
Others face the agony,
the excruciating pain of traveling from disassociation to identity.
And my life must not now be over.
I can still have the things I want, but I don't know how.
I have not had a family,
I have not kept faith and traveled with friends.
I have not pursued making the world need my skills and contributions
as part of the machinery of life.
I have not made my identity with myself and with humankind.
Orig 1983
Revised 2011
I watched you cry today, as they laid her to rest.
I couldn't tell what you were thinking but I knew that you were hurting.
A piece of me died as we stood there at her grave.
Torn apart from the world with no where to go.
Thought that the drugs would never get the best of her but in the end it did.
She layed there looking so helpless, and disassociated from us all.
I couldn't tell you the things that were going through my head.
My mind, was spinning and I couldn't even stand up on my own.
Spread her ashes through the ocean thats where she wants them to be.
There goes the funeral procession and I can't bring myself to move.
I wish that I could have told her so many things.
I can't help but shed tears for she didn't even know that I had forgiven her.
She left without even telling me that she cared.
Sometimes I wonder what you are trying to say standing there on the other side of me.
Today has been a hard day, and yet neither one of us will talk to each other.
We should set our differences aside and lets mourn the death of our loved one together
today.
con't
The damn memories
are still so clear.
And now I am alone,
the only one left
because my brother
sliced his neck
in what has become
a family tradition,
that is, to leave
of your own volition.
If I could only get
the reruns to quit
maybe my goddamned
head wouldn't split
and I wouldn't feel so
fragmented
broken into a million
disassociated pieces
in a fugue
until it ceases.
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