the stitch of a crick leaves more felled to the back
The more I come back, err, the more that comes out seems to be bringing some of my floated poetry back into motion. So many years, so many poems scribed on dinner and cocktail napkins–a friend of mine had so many, collecting them behind a bar we were working behind. There were men, sure, they got them that I fancied, thinking myself more of a poetress seductress than I probably really ever was. One person who I’ve lost touch with over the years–I wonder if he’s still around as we are all getting to the age when friends die of things that people die of, fuck this, this is a novelty thing that seems to happen to a select few.
I think sometimes to move forward you have to un-stick yourself from the cement of broken dreams and things that just passed you by–things you may have actively watched, or maybe there were horses you wish you rode in on–though I realize my metaphor might be used for like a tangle concrete thing like a man. or maybe…maybe opportunities that flew freely by why you stood idly by and watched. I have realized I got to a point of literally giving up–giving up in total on really fucking anything. You can see it in spurts here over the years…because you know what–one thing the world and really even all religions neglect to recognize is there is no comfort in being in a society ill-equipped to recognize or help its most vulnerable–sure, you can pray for me, but what does that do, ultimately? It assuages a helplessness we all feel because we just aren’t even taught how to deal with illness to any great degree. Religion? Their answer is to “pray for you.” Oh, and the load of shit about “god not giving you more than you can handle,” which is again, something meant to quell the spiritual nagging of the person even ballsy enough to utter such garbage to you in the midst of a crisis. But as I am reading this book…trying to help gauge my writing, swing it into a more relevant direction… well, a few things I guess are getting unearthed. Things I really feel I need to untangle from my memory before the tsunami stroke gets me–or maybe leaves me even more artistically talented or hey…if I was able to sing, that would be something–especially since I am guessing seeing might not be as easy.
But in my seeing me giving up at points I see something else…clearly even in my suicidal using biofeedback to murder me possibility–I always hung on, even if sometimes very reluctantly. Now I am hanging on because I can’t have children and would like to leave something concrete worth recognizing–and because I am stubborn and clearly it’s been really really hard to kill me. I feel life has almost done it several times…but I keep coming out of it..plus I want to see the Galapagos, Peru, Africa, Australia and Fiji plus some other things before I feel I am done….
Oh, and on those clever sayings people pull out of their asses lazily during a crisis. Here’s one for you:
You know what I have discovered about life, world? What doesn’t kill you doesn’t kill you…until one day, it does.
