I never knew you but for a few photos
And the vague memories told to me of how you were in life
Before you died at age 8.
I often think of you
Filling in a life you never had
Imagining that big brother life for you
My not being born because you would have lived
Your continued life
A sacrifice of my never being born.
I feel you with me at times
Watching as I write this
Looking over my shoulder
Crying with me as I cry,
Thinking about a brother I never knew
A brother I imagine
Tries to touch my shoulder
As we cry a duet
One so real
One in a spiritual realm
But joined with me now
In this flow of tears
Feeling you some how…
As I feel you have felt me
All my life.
I thank you for HAVING lived even 8 years
And inspired me
To continue on so many times.
I never knew you
But through these tears
Perhaps you can feel how much I love you.
They yell at me.
I whisper back,
“I did not jump
I was pushed
Along time ago,
And it’s taken me this long
Depression for me is falling down a hole
Without the energy to even scream
Without the desire to live anymore
So that I CAN scream.
It is hearing the voices of people distantly calling to me
Stupid things I try to ignore
Oh stop feeling sad
Don’t be that way
But it’s like prayer for them:
They don’t know what to do
Or what to say
So they say SOMETHING
THEY FEEL will help
But all it is…
Is talking down a hole
To someone disappearing
Because I cannot enter into altered states of consciousness to escape unpleasant realities
I’d love to create altered states of consciousness
For those realities I find so unpleasant.
To make politicians bad trip out
To come back
Begging to come back to a Reality
THEY so horribly abused
Then fearing The Trip,
Strive in the real to make the real a better place…
For the bad states of consciousness THEY projected on a public they were trusted
To so sanely
Because I cannot drink or use drugs
I’d like to remove the intoxication of power
From the powered Elites
And humble them
To find joy in service
The only drug they need.
In a room
At my desk
There is a feeling,
The end of drowning where you cannot struggle anymore
you twitch instinctively trying to live
But you cannot
You let go,
Exhaling with nothing left to exhale
But I am here
In my normal spaces
In the end of my air drowning
Twitching a little
Instinctively trying to live
But I cannot
I cannot continue
And I let go…
Drowning in the air of my life
The Being of my life
Like a drowned person…
Falling to the floor
As I would slowly fall after drowning
The loud music of Others
Is to my ears,
What the smell of a decaying animal,
Is to my nose.
We see through the blur of our own tears
Or that of Others,
A CLEARER vision of our Selves
We are moved to tears
By something we hear
Something we see
A piece of art for a moment
A piece of reality in a moment
In a moment we witness
CLEARER vision of our Selves
Through the blur of our own tears
Or that of others.
The tears of others
We feel those tears inside us
A rain of pain
Through the burred veil of tears
We see our humanity
And that of Others,
Than anything we or another can do
It humbles us
And in the humbling joy pain of that rain of tears inside,
We are better
People for it.
This afternoon as it was about to rain, I got this brilliant idea to get a STICK for my bird. I had cut a limb off of a tree a few weeks ago and that limb was like an animal carcass ready for the feast! Cut off a bit here and there and use it for… THE BIRD!
I did some rough measurements of about a half body length and got A STICK. I a nice rough with bark STICK with a few short branches on it. I placed it over the bird cage on top of some other sticks. I watched as the bird stood off swinging in a window. I moved away and the bird bobbed and craned it’s neck. Big new thing for it! A BIG STICK! Sure enough the bird flew up on the cage, hopped over some other sticks and investigated the new big stick. Part of it as thick as half my wrist. Ahhhh true joy! A stick to play with. Chew on and run around on! I sweetened the deal by putting a smear of peanut butter on the thick part it seemed to fear. Ahhhhh true love! PEANUT BUTTER TO DIG OUT OF BARK POCKETS!
I was thinking about that stick and bird tonight. I have spent probably near $200 on various toys and things for that bird. Bird stuff. Fancy ropes and ladders. Toys with bells and bangles. Of all that expensive stuff that I got for the bird, what does it like the most?
Sticks I cut and use as perches. Bird loves to play and chew on them. Good for toenails and beak. NATURAL stuff. Did not cost a thing!
It reminds me of how when I was a kid… the best toys were….
Nothing store bought.
Nothing as advertised.
STICKS that the IMAGINATION can turn into magical things. Guns. Swords! Anything held by an actor in a science fiction or fantasy film! A STICK could be formed with the imagination to be something great! Something like nobody else could see but once you told them what it was and made the right noises… it was real to you!
I have it I see it but nobody else can see the worth and wonder of it but I got this… STICK! Didn’t cost a thing except a cut with a jack knife making it personalized. Like a bird chewing on a stick 😉
Birds are eternal children playing with sticks. Outside, living in a stick world of play and survival.
I wonder… so selfishly… did trees evolve for birds… and kids?
Those who wish to start wars
Before they start them from their desks
need to listen to the inglorious horror stories of the veterans
Those doctors in military psych wards that treat people with PTSD.
They need to go to morgue and smell the dead
They need to be immersed in images of those shattered
Tortured to death.
They need to experience all this
And know a small fraction of what war is…
And then they need to be taken to some barren place bereft of all life comforts
And beaten for days
Then brought back to life
Then maybe … feeling their scars for life
They can sit painfully
Horrified at a desk
And decide if men and women should be sent to be crippled
If they have an ounce of humanity and empathy left in them,
They will weep as never before
As they make that horrible decision.
If they do not and cannot,
THEY should be the one’s to die in that moment.
I just read that Rick Ocasek, the one-time leader of The Cars, a rock group of my youth, has died, age 75. There is often a chill that runs through me reading about such deaths as his. I remember him only as a young man just as I remember so MANY entertainers, rock musicians of my youth as young men and women. In their prime and then…I read of their deaths. So many it seems. It makes me feel MY age. A reminder of MY mortality of how they were the big kids living the wild dream when I was a wild kid. Now they are old and dying out but still young in my mind and their music I sometimes listen to. I sometimes wonder, while listening to song from my youth, “Is that singer still alive? What of the others that were in that band?” THEIR dying is a chilling reminder of, “your next!” Just as there were warnings when I was young, when rockers died from their excesses and hedonistic life styles. Warnings I often ignored but warnings that scared me. “Don’t stay on THIS path. Quit that shit you been doing or you will end-up like them but without the glory.
At times, seeing yet another rocker death or some actor or actress’s notice of death, I feel I am getting closer to that fate. The Reaper is reminding me in headlines and obituaries of my time is getting closer. It is a selfish taunting
I recall my parents noting people THEY grew up being entertained by, dying out. There became fewer and fewer of THEM as they got older and a morbid fascination reading the obituaries of THEIR gods.
My gods are often fat, grey haired or bald now. Some still trying to be rock and pop stars. The actors finding less work or not work for A list celebrities. Then they too are found dead. Cancer today took the life of…
I look around and see the life I am living. Shake my head and keep pushing to live clean and despite the cynicism of some in that I will die of something some time, I am TRYING to live longer than so many of the gods of my youth. At the same time I wonder if the old gods are lonely. Almost forgotten but hanging on.
Like me like WE.
We all hanging on and watching the Idols go from Billboard magazine front page to… back page obituaries in the main stream news.