(Without You)

I'm Sorry

Hey, remember that time we were fighting and I said all those things that were how I felt ahora mismo? I don't really feel that way and I really wish you would stop quoting me in conversation. It makes for bad feelings in between. Like that taste in your mouth after chewing Original Juicy Fruit© for too long, or waking up in the night when you've been drinking beer all night while out camping and forgot your toothbrush. It stinks. The fighting I mean. . . and the breath too, but that's beside the point. It's rubbish. This posting I mean, It doesn't really need to be read at all, nor does It need to be capitalized, but it is because It has taken on a life of Its own.

What is with the apostrophe in "it's" does it meant that possessive is less important than a contraction? I think that's what this is really all about when we boil it down. Who made that decision? Was it an act of God? (who decided that word get's capitalized and why cant I d'ecide' wh're i wan't to add and Subtr'act a'p'o's't'ro'PhEs and Put cApitAl leTTers?) Was there a panel that was selected by the government to make decisions on this sort of thing? If so who selected this panel, and why wasn't I informed of this selection? These are the sorts of thinks that we need to know the answers to.

nothing more than feelings

You know that feeling you get

D
E
E
P

down in the pit of your stomach where you kno
w something is wrong but you can't quite plac
e it or put a name to it. It's right on the tip of
your tongue, just begging to be spoken but it
won't come out. Like a time lapse in your mem
ory that skips over the second that you need t
o remember what it is that you are thinking? T
he more you think about it the more it eludes
you, slipping through your fingers; dirt in a gar
den of thoughts, all labels for your dreams and
fantasies and thoughts but the handful that yo
u are grasping for is falling out between the cr
acks. The word, if you could just think of it wo
uld set you free, put your mind at ease but ins
tead feels like sleep-matted hair being brushe
d the wrong way. You know that feeling?

That's me.

Arthritic Commune of Hermaphroditic Incestuality

Reformatted deformation, defamation of a mind
Propaganda designated, alienated from its kind
Disallowed by seismic hands to disembark alone
Walls of flesh restraining seed from exiting its home

Aflush with anger, rage or pain of which we'll never know
Retaliation, hard and fast, breeds revenge so slow
Spawned by hatred, raised by lust and taught to live by life
Realizing their own dream without ever thinking twice

What ill has been wrought upon the people now
Deserved as it may be,
Who rules over a barren land
Which destruction has now set free?

A Reflection I Once Saw

I was looking foolish(ly) in the mirror(to the animals) and saw my past in my peripheral vision. It amazed me how appearances had changed so drastically, but environ-ment(alities) had remained the same. I have always been destined to repeat my history, it seems, because the only thing I ever "learn" from it is how to endure the pain for a lengthier period of time before finally succumbing to it. I don't think(it's what I want) I don't feel(entirely the same about it all) I don't want to live(my mistakes over and over again) yet here I sit like a broken sampler, looping "Da Funk" by Daft Punk. Everyone that's been here for a while is starting to get really annoyed, but passers by can't help bouncing their head to the beat. I'm the twenty- something guy at the back of the class looking like Billy Madison, head down in an attempt to avoid the teacher's call.

"You there, the dumb guy at the back with your head down." I crumple further down in my seat.

"Yes, you. Stand up then and lets see if you've been paying attention in class." I stand up, much to the amusement of the rest of the kids who can't help but giggle that I've been called out again.

"No sir, I haven't, this is my first day here."

"Again? Wasn't that your excuse last time, son?"

"No sir, couldn't have been it's my first day"

"Well I can see I have you down here on Roll Call every day of this year and last year and the year before that and before that ad nauseam. You see what I'm saying son? You were here, the seat was filled maybe you have a learning disability! Which bus do you take to school?"

The kids all start to laugh which delights the teacher. "Another failing grade and another repeated year for you, son. Shall I reserve your seat for you now?"

Unlike Billy Madison though, I don't get a happy ending. There's no Danny McGrath to put on lipstick and shoot my ill-wishers. I would break the mirror, but my luck is bad enough as it is.

Reconceptualization

Maybe I can only describe it in writing because it's an easier mode of communication for me.

I feel like I need to reclaim my "territory" (not literally but in a metaphorical sense, hence the quotation marks) and I still have yet to. The last time it took such a long time to get back and every day felt like a black hole had centered itself inside of me and was slowly taking my self worth and compressing it into a little tiny speck because I couldn't repossess what was "mine". Picture when you were a kid and someone grabbed your ball from you. Once you finally got back your ball what did you do? You bounced it around in front of the thief to show it off and make sure they understood it was yours. Cats are the same way in their impudence. Rolling around like they don't have a care in the world right in front of a defeated intruder once they have shown their dominance over them and evicted them from their territory.

The hardest thing to understand for me is how I am supposed to feel good about myself when outside sources seem to be the only thing stimulating and I am never there to participate when they are around. On top of that, if I ever utilise outside sources it's the opposite effect that one would expect after looking at past history. Also discouraging is the fact that anything I seem to do (which used to get greatly positive feedback) gets only negative feedback, if any, and I feel further and further out of reach, touch, bounds, ideas and patience. Currently this is the most disturbing aspect of my life and I don't expect anyone to understand, well maybe one person, but at this rate, it probably reads like Japanese. Matte kudasai?

Getting over myself

I have never found myself so much in someone else as to see my own flaws
But seeing them is not believing