-
Catharsis
I’m not reaching out. I’m not playing the victim. I’m not drowning in self-pity (though my knees are definitely wet). I’m reaching inward. I am fighting. I may be drowning in tears of frustration, sadness, hope, joy. I am suffering, but I am not only suffering. I am healing. Slowly, methodically, not always patiently, always…
-
An old soul
I am an old soul. I weep at the beauty of woodland paths, of slanted sunbeams breaking through autumn canopies, and falling, twirling, dancing leaves of red, orange, yellow and brown. I love this world. And my existence. The animals in the forest, I know they are there. And that suffices. The trees, the streams,…
-
4 am
I apologize in advance; I don’t want to bore you with these things. I know sooner than later I will be speaking alone to the abyss; my voice a fading echo traveling through stale air, reaching no ears. Nobody will hear. The pain, the fear. I want to run. Faster than the wind outside these…
-
The fasting soul
There are words to capture how I feel, I have lowered my caloric intake to zero To discover what they are. My mind and body are one, Starving for nourishment, Twisting into hungry knots. What matters in this state? This life is all I get, And I fill it with emptiness; Cardboard cutouts of complex…
-
Conversations with myself – #2
Stop feeding off my pain. I cannot take it any longer. The burden, the weight, is far too great. I am no longer your scapegoat, your bearer of misfortune. My pain cannot heal you. I am not your savior. Though I love you, I need my strength for me. For me and for them. (When…
-
I only move if you push me
It is slowing down. The letters, the words, only now a trickle. A sign of change. Healing, optimism? Or the opposite: resignation? This….this is my life. This is my life? Resignation. Someone, oh someone pick me up! Bathe and clothe and nurture me. Point the way, or better yet, take me there. Oh, someone please…
-
Lyrics #5 – Dear Coach’s Corner – Propagandhi
Check song and lyrics out here. Dear Ron MacLean. Dear Coach’s Corner. I’m writing in order for someone to explain to my niece the distinction between these mandatory pre-game group rites of submission and the rallies at Nuremburg. Specifically the function the ritual serves in conjunction with what everybody knows is in the end a…
-
Fallen Poseidon
At the Bahnhof I headed toward my favourite salad bar. Located in a renovated wing of the station, one must first walk through a small corridor and a foyer, and as I did so, the smell struck a blow like an invisible acidic wave assaulting my sinuses: sour piss and stale sweat. A moment later…
-
Conversations with myself – #1
I can’t force the parts of me to emerge, to come out from hiding. That is one of the paradoxes here: set the mind to let go of control, make that a goal, and the mind automatically elects an executor, gives it the label ‘I’, and sets to work. But by that very act, the…
-
Fatherhood – a poem
Originally posted on The Abyss Post: Silence reason and there, within A fruit of consciousness and reflection, Pushes like a force against the walls of the mind, Like the beauty of a cloudless morn, Something indescribable. On another plane, When you were young, paddling A warcraft canoe with your dad – captain, On Frog Lake…
-
Dissociation
Stop that grasping, and just let it go. I don’t exist, and never have. This body, this mind, these cells of bone, muscle, nerves and skin. I am an illusion, emerging from a neural network, unifying through gross abstraction, these multiple, interacting, embedded parts. I am and I am not. I am here, but I…
-
Bus station ecology
Outside a café by the central bus station. Wasps. A gentle breeze stalling their forward propulsion. They hover, drawn to the foamed milk and cocoa powder topping my cappuccino. Enlightening places: central transportation hubs. A congregation of humanity’s diversity: addicts; homeless; drunkards clasping and gulping bottles of warm beer; schoolkids travelling home from school; workers…
-
Twenty-four fountains
Twenty-four fountains. Spitting vertical spouts of clear water a foot high. Each stream pulled down on itself by gravity; unfurling liquid ferns held together by surface tension. At the tip of each transparent crystal frond quickly accelerating towards Earth’s center, fracturing and division as multiple single droplets break free; the droplets pit patting, pit patting,…
-
How to end a conversation before it begins
‘How are you?’ ‘How are you?’ she said. In a floating transitional state, waiting for the cosmos to give me the sign. Where are my legs? And gravity? In a hyper-(ir)rational state. Am I sure of my arithmetic? Who says the world is logical? Logic to prove logic seems, well, ill-logical. I am tense. But…
-
Ego metamorphosis
Trapped in this skin, A developed presence trying to break free, From the lower back, up along the edges of the spine, over and around the middle of the head: a pulling, wrenching pressure. Something long dormant has awoken, Cracking the thick, drying skin, Snapping the taught sinew and corded muscle, Breaking brittle bone, relieving…
-
The fortress nursery
I am a play-acting leader wandering aimlessly, Trudging up and down each ridge and valley, Marching headstrong on twisted paths unknowing; Eager to say ‘Here is the way, follow me.’ I set off young, ill-equipped, and eagerly, To a distant snow-capped peak I aimed to journey, Heavy burdensome pack filled to overflowing; Doubt, inexperience,…
-
Shifting shores
For eleven years we stood side by side, drifting on the surface of a mirror lake. Eyes cast down, we mistook our reflections for reality. And as we drifted toward the approaching falls, the surface remained smooth, unbroken, for we drifted imperceptibly. In and out of silent coves, we failed to register the shifting shores.…
-
Narrative seeds
Severed narratives. Ego, understanding, security, perspective, ripped asunder. Open, festering, emotional wounds. Who am I? With what do I build again? How do I see again? Where does the nightmare end and the future begin? I repeat: where does the nightmare end and the future begin? Optimistically uncertain. But afraid. Nervous. What parts of the…
-
Quote #2
No tree, it is said, can grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell. – Carl Gustav Jung
-
Quote #1
I have found that no exertion of the legs can bring two minds much nearer to one another. – Henry David Thoreau
-
Follow
Following
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
The Abyss Post 