tinkering

education and cynicism and life experience haven’t turned me into an atheist or an agnostic just yet. questioning my beliefs is something i do everyday all day, including my religious beliefs. i try, and often without success, to operate on a level that is integrated, all actions stemming from beliefs, all beliefs stemming from convictions and faith, all assessments of actions rooted in a self-contained matrix of learning. i don’t like catholicism. point blank, it’s been too corrupted over time and has lost its purity. but i still identify myself as catholic.

epic – one more entry left unfinished.

aelita 1 Tied and Tickled Trio

he came to an ocean, his soul in his hand

alone and turned in, to make his last stand

he stood on a rock and yelled to the wind

i don’t know how to live, i only do what i can

the wind screeched in kind, its protest of will

he threw back his head and heaved dry and shrill

the paean carried off on the crests of the waves

and he dove for the rocks and braced for the chill

falling through mist and the damp of the sea

he opened his arms to sound his decree

to a diving gull plunging down for a kill

this is my will and as i will, it will be

passage was offered, but he chose to swim

sodden with guilt, the sage rushes in

again as before, ventured off filled with fear

glistening wet with the thickness of sin

soaked through with blame self-imposed and contained

a great hole in his hand, his innocence stained

murky clay eyes; fragile, torn paper skin

weary with all his past joys abstained

the surface drew near, both clear and dark

a peace filled his chest and he aimed for his mark

there below waits his truth and his reason

guised as a game, an adventure, a lark

the waters of timeless appeal splashed all around

fruition, delight, and rapture profound

he consumed, voracious infant at breast

chaos ensued but he heard just one sound

calliope’s aria, streaming through hadal and brine

his Nemesis, his antithesis, exoneration divine

inverse, though perverse, extends her pale hand

this fruit, suspended from the tip of an ill-fated line

echo boom this

sometimes i am speechless with disgust at my generation, the generation that preceded mine, and the one that follows. we are pampered, so sated and pacified by our material comforts that we fester in our own lush shells. domesticated pigs greedily feeding on our own crap.

our flight from our given places on simmer. what are our obligations when the social contract is no longer honored in spirit?

what i see disappoints me. i include myself in my assessment. i am fortunate to possess comforts that my predecessors did not and my contemporaries in other countries do not. yes. i am fat, lazy, and apathetic. the zeitgeist hovers just above the surface of our awareness, but never quite settles. it’s difficult to sense and synchronicity is stunted.

we all seem to be suffering from something like synaptal fatigue, psychic numbing. i call it sissified bullshit. i call it whiny baby learned helplessness. i call it spoiled-ass generation XYZmyfoot-the-grownups-willdealwithit crap. even a whipped dog or beaten child will eventually lash out. people condition themselves to ignore. cleave it out, wuss.

all this disgust in me for inaction but i recognize we possess a potential as yet untapped…quiet militancy. respectfully belligerent. weapons of the weak. willfully suppressed, but it’s there.

your fat, lazy, apathetic ass has too many rainbows and ice cream cones to focus on. i don’t mean to say that each doesn’t have his own sorrows. but the truly downtrodden have a greater capacity for joy and a less cynical sense of the sacred. they are not so padded by the comforts of the flesh as to reject the the eternal. your doubt and over-analysis of the meaning of life mean precisely dick.

the oppressed are women. the oppressed are men. the oppressed are children. the oppressed are the elderly. the oppressed are the white. the oppressed are the non-white. the oppressed are those aware of their opression and those who are oblivious. they are the starving and the overfed.

raise your sons as you raise your daughters. to feel and fear and love. raise your daughters as you raise your sons. to fight and move and shout.

i sporadically bring up these topics with peers. i rarely have the opportunity to breech the topic of the big picture and how one’s thread fits into the tapestry. i’m sick of talking about my job and my money. i don’t know where to start. where the fuck is everyone else? i feel like i showed up at a meeting in the wrong office.

ansietà fiducioso

painted body, drifting violently

atop your piling oil wave

bring me my courtier verily

by sea or by storm or in grave

i. don’t wait in bound passion

passion that simmers lies

i. don’t sit in patient resignation

there is noise behind those eyes

such is spirit

such is mind

such is love

such is i.

workaholism runs in my family

http://youtube.com/watch?v=DsGUe7r8rmM

you’re not your fucking khakis.

sourface

i’m in such a sour mood i wrote a paragraph about my sour mood and then deleted it because i was disgusted with the content.

i need to eat something. i’m surprised that my rumbling tummy hasn’t sent word to my vascular system that it’s time for a migraine. still thirty minutes to go before i can pull into some nasty fast food place and order something out of desperation to keep from fainting from hypoglycemia. and i’m only half exaggerating.

i’m at the mercy of my metabolic system. it sucks. but when i try to rebel, lethargy and migraine ensue. my other option at this point is to walk in the heat to get a snack. not worth it in my book for two reasons. 1) women know that while surfing the crimson wave, going from sitting to standing too often can cause issues and i didn’t bring a sweater to tie around my waist if you catch my drift, and 2) it’s hot. it’s texas hot. and i’m hot natured.

i’ve given up on finishing my last task for the day. my blood sugar is low, i’m fuzzy brained, and i’m cranky. and i’m sullen. and i’m annoyed about being all of those things. i may be gritty with my friends which makes me not want to go on this Sex and the City Movie outing that i’ve allowed myself to get drawn into. the one good thing is that i will have an excuse to lash out irrationally if a particular girlfriend gives me a reason. i’m just begging for a reason. please give me just one reason to squish you with my thumb and give you the verbal thrashing of a lifetime.

…big sigh…most likely i will just fake cheerful, because i’m good at that. and i’m good at making people laugh so that they will say “heeheehee, same ol’ ________, her comedic timing is just impeccable” even when every word i say is motivated by disdain. i will likely make silly jokes. like always. and i will smile from ear to ear so that the dimple on my right cheek digs in extra far and people will be sure to see it. i will toss my long hair flippantly and laugh just as jovially as usual.

however, what i will do is lay low and try not to end up being the organizer/facilitator of the group. hopefully there is at least one controlling bitch there to take that roll on. hell, if there are two, it’ll just be that much more entertaining for me. i’m through being the diplomatic peacemaker/communicator. let the she-wolves tear each other to shreds for all i care.

hopefully my mood doesn’t end up permeating the group through my blackest black aura. everyone will need to stay at arms length, i think. NO GIRLY HUGS! …here i go. towards the certain demise of the evening.