I no longer know what the goal of the site is, I write horror fiction, and love letters to myself.
This site is a tool to facilitate the act of seeing clearly, written by hands that used to hurt myself.
Explanation: I am Damien, I speak to my split personality Amanda. I am two people in love with each other, and I am okay with that now.
I have paranoid schizophrenia, narcissistic personality disorder, bipolar II-manic/depressive- rapid cycling, depression, anxiety, hydrocepholus, narcissistic personality disorder suffering from alcoholism, drug addiction, alcoholic. with OCD and PTSD- was addicted to heroin, meth, crack, alcohol, cocaine, prescription pills.
I am drug addict/alcoholic/dual diagnosis/ex-homeless person.
Through dark horror fiction I rake the muck of the lives of street addicts.
Or in plain English this is an epic poem/novel about addiction told about low bottom addicts in horror style.
To have it all, to begin to know peace, not something I ever thought to be possible for me, to be at peace, to have it all, never thought I would be that tall.
To live by the sea, to see blue green, that is all I truly need, and by
Need, I mean, merely want, I am happy with anything really, I am just an I and an eye that experiences time, nothing more, nothing less, an observer of time, nothing divine, nothing more nor nothing less, just an addict with the ability to focus and re-address.
I am just a silly human being, beyond nothing, just what I seem. I do not want more than I need, to have it all is too much for me, I simply want to be happy, not to have more than I need.
Thank you for clicking, I appreciate your existence, I am a puffin, I fly away with quickness.
My creator and creator, appreciates your acceptance.
I am a puffin, my name is Good Enough.
My creator isn’t lazy, but there are times they are stuck, on what to write here, and on what to say, there are times when the sunshine, calls them away.
In those times, they think of nature, and sitting outside, so much like me they are not stuck or hiding, they are just so alive.
I am a puffin, I am so alive,
I am Good Enough, which is something that jives, with my creator and creators ideas, and what they believe to be true, I was placed on this page, to say, dear reader, my love for you is true.
Color me clearly, I once was blue, now I am any color you want, not associated with you, I am dark, I am stark, I am colored like night, I am green, I am mean, I am the color of morning light, I am the color of sunset, I am the color of day, I am the color of joy, not taken away. I am the waves of the ocean, I am the sky, blue for all, I am matters, in free for all.
He is around you, He paints reality for big and small, He is the sky, He is all.
I am dark colored, like an eclipse.
I am a depiction of reality’s kiss with human being’s eye.
I am All that colors the sky.
I am representation of pure love.
He is there in darkness, He is there in the rain, He is there in sadness, He is there in disdain, so do not anger, you can know the light, you need not falter, He is there through the night, He loves all creatures, all life big and small, He is my master.
He is reality, He is the truth. He is wanting removed.
In them I see you, inherent in everything they do, being so seperate from me, so much closer to divinity, so much higher than I could ever be, please bring me closer to you, I have been silent, because I began to use my hands to serve myself, selfish and self-seeking, please take them back, to serve you.
I am looking at the light, and seeing a picture painted before me, with I highlight, painted places I see you in it, I see you, not them, but you in starlight, thank you for reminding me who you are, being, that paints the night sky with luminance, thank you for being there, for those with downcast eyes.
I brought you a flower, it is nothing.
It is picked from the middle of nowhere, or from nothing.
I mean I can’t remember who you are and was walking, and you are looking at me like you know me, and began talking, and I am holding this, so it must be for you right, and I am sorry, because I no longer have any idea who you are, and this will likely only last a couple minutes, something must have happened that bothered me, and I blanked it out, and now I don’t remember, so here is a flower.
She must have hurt your feelings, this is exactly what happens when people make you cry.
I know this, but I don’t remember why, so it is okay for now. I am just going to forget about it for now.
You should find out why.
You are the Goddess of the Rivers made of stardust, and light, you are a creature of reflection and of dancing in the night. You come to those who are drowning, and addictied to act of fight, you are creature of pure reflection, and save the infected, sick and addicted to spite.
I meditate on you often, even though I do not quite understand, being a creature of habit, I am sure of one thing only, and that is,
I do not understand you right-ly.
I am not saint-ly.
I am a liar and a theif.
I am a creature of swamps and of things that dwell beneath.
You are a Goddess that is above me, and so I am stuck looking at the skies, but it is hard to not go below, I am a creature with downcast eyes.
She spoke to me kindly, she spoke to me greatly, not with great understanding, but with great power, power with words and power over me, through my inability to understand her, and ability to panic over things beyond my understanding.
Belinda, Belinda, you were so great, so great
That my arrogance deprived us of the ability to relate, such a tragic shame, and I am only to blame.
In the projected future, there is someone I miss right now, and I don’t know how I miss them, but I do. I dream of you, and like I said, I don’t know how.
You are not know to me, not right now.
You are made of star dust, you are in my dreams.
You are protected by time, or so it seems, because I am supposedf to be alone right now, and so are you, and I don’t know why, or maybe I do.
There is something a higher force is teaching me right now, and I imagine it is the same and also seperate for you, and I imagine the next time I am with someone or maybe the thousandth I don’t know, it will be different.
I look for peices my whole life, clues from God or my Higher Power, I talk to them, about what is truly going on, and look for answers, and they or revealed to me.
This happens and has happened because I listen, I think that this can happen for anyone who listens. I don’t think this happens to me because I am special or anything, I think this merely happens for anyone who listens.
You glow with green fixation, you are pure agitation, you are pained resistance, you are my existance.
That is a little extreme.
Make me fast
Make me slow
Make me go
25, oh 25, how I love you so
25, oh 25, so fast, and yet so slOoOoOw
25, oh 25, a number oh sweeeeeeeeet
25, oh 25, you take me off my feat.
You are a number in my memory, for many a reason, you are a number in my memory, no matter what season, you are so…
I am done thinking about……
You are such an ***
I am looking at you, but I am not, I am engaged in negative thought, which is not out of the ordinary.
I see you, but I don’t. I want to, but I won’t. That is the whole problem. I am never able to accept… never is so final..
In my mind, exists a battle, between up and down, sound and silence.
I am imaging someone, because I have no one, because I have failed my whole life to do anything other than serve my own selfish interests.
Food speaks to me, it tells me to eat it, it tells me I will like it so much better than I can even imagine. This is probably because I am
I am probably insane… I am actually insane.
I know this, but I wonder sometimes, if there is something to this, something real, if I am hearing something real, that is real to a small segment of people, but experienced collectively, in that it is the same experience shared by a very small segment of the population, so would that not make it real?
I don’t know how else to do this, because it is always hard for me to even hear myself think. I am not writing this for selfish reasons, I am writing this on here to you because I really need your help, I am so sorry, I am so sorry that I resented you my whole life, I am so sorry. I know now that you are not responsible for the negative things that happened to me.
Please help me, please help me find peace and independence, I will do anything I am supposed to, please help me. I just want to live a peaceful life and stay clean and sober. Please help me. I am having a really hard time.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Now I can never forget it again
I am with you, but I am also with no one, I hold onto you, but I am also holding onto nothing, forever staring into nothing at no one because no one is there at all, not you, not me, not her, not him, we forever exist nowhere, doing nothing, thinking about somewhwere else, that we are that is far away from where we are, that is nowhere, doing nothing, staring into nowhere, into nothing, projected forever and ever and ever.
I am green and glow in the dark.
I am a glow worm.
I am a day dream.
I am anything but myself.
I was never anyone, never anyone at all, I lived inside of someone’s mind, who was small, while I was not there at all. I am an invisible human being, while she is too, because, we are not real, or that is what we felt, and I don’t know what I feel now, I feel at least like I can write about this, to an audience I don’t know that well.
I used to write about this on MS Office and then delete it, step up, I guess.
Toss me please, I am too quiet. I am addicted to the act of rioting sole, soul unsound, bound to condescending pretending to be okay,
Okay, yes please stay, so I can hate you, always and forever, be my friend, so we can fight about nothing over and over again.
I am addicted to the sound of my own voice, addicted to the idea that I had no choice, but to do exactly what I did,
RUIN MY **** life.
I shine with the act of this is mine.
I never look behind, I never look forward.
I am lilly pads, I don’t have eyes.
I can’t sit still, must make ill, must engage in perpetual
With dark fate, with my own hate, of myself, I don’t know why, don’t care anymore really, this was fun to write that is all.
I am the ing, the exstention of what it means to be, you live in me, you live
But, do you?
I don’t know, isn’t this what it is to be alive?
Is it really?
I came for your best friend, last night while you were sleeping…………
I would know, I would know, I would know. That isn’t so, she lives with me, lives with me, we are together, always and forever
YOU ARE DISGUSTING
I am nothing.
I know this.
Hey, what are you doing?
You know the thing we do everyday… talking to voices from that place we go..
You are so near and dear to me
How I love to
I am the act of go, I am the act of go
i n g
How does it feel to be back?
How does it feel……….
How does it
I am the act of
I never go, I never go, I never go
Do you hear the sound?
What are you doing?
I am going nuts, but it’s interesting, I can control it a little bit now, I think the whole meditation thing is working, if I let my crazy out in little bits I don’t hallucinate as bad.
It’s working for me too..
I don’t know anything about you, but for the first time in a long time, my mind was not called to a negative place when looking at an image of someone.
I have no idea what that means, so I painted flowers about it, painted them with lack of color, lack not indicating sadness or some place of chaotic meditation, but lack because anything palled in comparison to the peaceful expression on your face.
I left some of them with color, not wanting to rob you of your falling sunshine, in your world of far away silent photo, laying in objection to the stealing of the colors of your beautiful world of vibrance.
They are painted differently as an indication of notice, of a watcher from a world of lack of anything but shades of black, grey, and white. They begin to fall away like ash, blown by winds of change, from the breath of fresh air that flows into the stiffling hot hell that is my volcanic existence of nothing.
I did this weird meditation thing, so this reads like hypnotic thought:
This partially PTSD flashbacks that happened during a thunder storm.
I am here, but I am not, I am here, but I am caught, I hear you, but I don’t, I exist, but I won’t ever be quite as exactly here, as you, whatever I do, I am not exactly where you are. I exist very far, far away, and also always right next to whoever I am next to. I am next to you, but I am not, I exist, but I can’t exist the way you think I can, we are never exactly in the same place.
I am right where I am, sort of, kind of, but I also exist distantly extended throughout space, drifting faceless, over many different times, many different places, that I have been throughout time. I see them all simultaneously.
I am drifting, drifting, drifting.
I am over and over split between places, parts of me, everywhere I have ever been, spread thin, spread out, far from each other, peices lost throughout the universe.
If it kills you, you are dead, and it won’t kill you, it has no hands.
It has a hand in my death.
That is because we let it.
I run in Hell, well Misery but same thing, a spiritual pergatory of nothingness, of absence, that is what it is, they say in certain texts that the lack of the divine is Hell, that is what Misery is.
What do you run from?
You are the lack of the divine?
I am fear incarnate.
You are a human being experiencing fear, you are not fear or pain or death, but a human being experiencing those things.
Retraction: Anytime I think anything resentment based I hear a ghost moving around in my basement.
See below for resentment.
I am a ghost, that hosts hell, I am the act of it is just as well, which is not well at all, I made you small,
I hate you, and when I look at you, I feel it, even though I don’t know you, because you look like her, by being the same in any way with her, even though you were not her ever, because she was not even her ever.
I hate you because I hate me, I am not you and you are not me.
I hate you because I am not and have never been you, and you don’t see me and I don’t see you, and we exist in a world of blindness.
I hate you because I wish I could not.
I am sorry.
I am losing my mind,
It will be fine,
Tomorrow this will be better
I have to remember
It will be fine
It will be fine
I need to calm down. I need to calm down. I will be okay, this is not permanent. This is just panic.
You are going to be okay, we are going to be okay, stay with me, you are going to be okay.
You are so much better
You glow in a dark world
You are so much more than anything
I could ever be
You seem so happy and care free, thinking about happy things, and living free and givingly, wondering why bad things happen, questioning why me? Why them?
I envy you, the constant debate of free soul floating through life in conversation with self and human being.
You do not understand what lurks beneath, and sometimes I wish I did not either.
You walk on the ground, looking up, not casting eyes down. I
am forever in a swamp.
I cast my heads up, I have two I think, two headed dragon, I think, fire breathing darkness lurker.
I hide in shadows, because I scare you, I say things and you look at me like this, like a creature with multiple heads, are there places for three headed dogs?
I don’t know..,
It is hard to see, if you need to change everything you touch, or is it?
It is simply different. I am recolor.
I am nothing.
This is about donkeys.
In the middle of the day, which you can’t see, because it is green, a donkey was outside already, eating food and drinking water, until someone opened the pen, and they journeyed out of the pen, fearing death by a sword.
In the woods there was a cat, that the donkey followed, walking quietly, so the cat could not hear it.
The cat heard it, and turned around and let the donkey follow it.
They went where cats and donkeys go.
I don’t know where that is.
I don’t know anything.
I just write what comes to me through meditation.
Or will asserted word vomiting, to get troubling thoughts out of an addict mind.
I am trying to be better.
I am sorry if I am annoying.
I was thinking a lot this morning. I started my day different today. My dad said something to me about the idea of meditating on things higher than me when I get worried. I started my day reading this little black devotional book like I used to do in rehab, except in rehab they would read it as a group.
Today I read it by myself. I noticed that the founding of recovery groups started alongside another major event, in 1927 there was an earth quake in Tel Aviv. This runs alongside the founding of a group that would help the recovery of those who suffer from alcoholism.
I was thinking in this whole meditation that I just did about the idea of drinking wine and the taking into the body of the human being, Jesus’s blood.
What if alcoholics are just people who worry in excess, so being very interesting people they sought to cure this themselves by drinking more wine, or through self assertion trying to draw into themselves more of Jesus’s blood then was necessary for the whole process?
This being will assertion, which is why we are powerless over alcohol?
Just deserts, just desserts, just green and yellow sickness, thick with addicted addictness
I am scared of me.
I am scared of bee.
I am scared of be.
I am afraid of one second of not being in control of my own level of pain, that is really ridiculous, that is the amount of time that I am told this will hurt, or maybe about thirty seconds, and I am not afraid of it hurting, I have a high pain tolerance… I am afraid of lack of control over it hurting…. I realized this just now…
Addiction. Addict. Addicted to control.
I am addicted to the unheld hand.
I am addicted to alone in desert land.
I am addicted to pain.
I am addicted to me.
That was dark? I am pain, okay, self. You are an ***hole.
Where do you go when it’s dark?
Do you go to the land of the stark
And light stricken chaotic dimension of pain? Do you meditate on disdain?
Do you cry of the life lived in vain?
I did once too, I cried just like you. I walked with eyes shut, and mind off, and feigned cough and feigned gasp, with hands clasped around my tools of fixation and dilation.
I have found a way out.
There are people in the lands that are outside this hell.
We are people that have been were you are. We have felt your pain.
We are here to tell you, you do not have to walk alone any longer. We are here if you want to talk to us, and all we can do is share how we got to the other side of misery. Ask me anything and I will tell you.
The call of the siren, the echo of sirens, screaming at me, guilty addict, stay away, kept me from your shores for 7 years, I chased you from coast to coast, hoping to forgive myself along every shore line, sure line, finding only fault lines, and gradual reclining soul decline, which is not ironic, but iconic, me an icon of pain disdain, but no more.
I am a grain of sand, on a beach, that is no longer beseached, but fully colored, not in stark darkness, but with full color because I am is no longer what it is.
It is no longer, a place of soul eating madness for me, but now a place that has been resurrected as what I loved as a child, which I was, I remember that now, not just Amanda’s imaginary friend, but half of her, she is me and I am her, and she is me. I am half of her and she is half of me? The other half doesn’t have a name, neither of us is Amanda, so until it is figured out, I am her and she is me, but to differentiate, I call her Amanda.
What are you looking at honey?
I am standing at the dock, staring out over the water, mesmerized by the way the moon paints the waves with light.
I am cold, not prone to waking up with jackets on, not sure why this is, but I am shaking, but it is alright because it is keeping me aware.
I am listening to a conversation that I am not sure,
Yes, it is real..
I feel hate running red, through my veins, through my entire body, unsure of the exact nature of this, I am aware that it relates to my passenger, Amanda.
She hates this woman, that I can hear now, her voice grating, she’s bragging about something, why would she? Why would she be shouting about drugs outside in the middle of the night? Understood. I get it. This person is a ****.
I am unsure of what the expectation is of my borrowing this body, I think they just didn’t want to be here right now, so screw it. I am going to the convenience store.
I like to go to things like this sometimes, because something about it helps me. I have a hard time with my arrogance every day, reflecting on something higher takes me out of myself, and makes me less self focused, which is great because I hate myself anyway, which I am working on, but it is hard to sit with myself everyday, because, most of the time I wish I could break up with me, like everyone else did.. haha…
That was really pathetic… but I am trying to be honest. I think the thing that I appreciated the most about the whole thing is it showed the strength of someone doing something completely out of duty, for something that was not all about them, but a sacrifice. It really spoke to me, because my life has been quite the opposite, and I used to think that made me strong, but I am realizing very slowly, it just makes me an ***hole. I am trying to figure out the middle ground, the way to break the cycle between self assertion and self-pity and self hatred. I am just not there yet, because I am still not able to surrender completely to something, because I am still stuck at the resenting me part.
I really need to work on the whole thing, which I think the first step to is getting over the fact that I am alone, because I need to be right now. I was a self-seeking ***hole and those kinds of people need to be alone sometimes.
I drink gin, ginn, jinn,
I am alone, alone alone alone, drinking by the phone, phone, waiting for a call, from somewhere very far away from here, I don’t know
Who it is, but I think her name was Ginny. I am not sure, doesn’t seem to make sense, because why would her ****ing name be the same as what I am drinking, that sounds fishy. ****ing ****.
I don’t like her anyway, she seems weird, girls with dark hair creep me out.
You don’t count, you’re not a girl remember, you are just a reflection of me.
You are just, actually right.
Why the **** are you talking about gin anyway?
I like the idea that it is named after a dark angel.
It is named after a middle eastern legend, not a dark angel.
Yeah, I am too lazy to look it up right now.
Okay, good, I am going to keep thinking my fallacious beliefs then, that is much more comforting anyway.
Why the *** is that.
If they are not real they can’t hurt me.
I already am, in charge of a burning inferno, right now, it has been word vomited all over the internet, but I am done throwing up now, realizing I was never really sick at all, just had a sort of food poisoning given to myself by myself because I was addicted to poisoning my own mind, and meditating on all matters not divine, but I am done now. I am walking away, so no one is in charge of my hell, and yes I own it, because it was internal not external.
The fires of Hell, a place, are really the fires that burn in my own soul, on fire from a fire started by me, lighting everything that causes me to feel fear on fire, but it has been revealed to me, by my friends recently, that I can just simply leave Hell or hell, which is preferable.
So now no one is in charge, because even if you believe in this being a real place, I am not dead yet, and can decide to turn around, which I am doing now, instead of projecting into a place I am not yet and will make every effort to never be.
The most terrifying thing, I have been thinking about all night is what if I am actually normal now that I have realized my paranoid delusions are what were killing me, making me live in a separate reality cast as a madman when that is not who I ever was, riddled by guilt of not saying no to drugs… what if this is a higher power talking to me, telling me it is my delusions, and the drugs and alcohol that perpetuated them, making me into something I am not… and now.. now I hear something higher… and I am just listening, actively, to the voice of something that loves me. What if it is just trying to save my life, by telling me to stay away from toxic things like drugs and alcohol, what if it is trying to change my fate through compelling my broken soul to change?
I have been casting my eyes to the stars at night, looking for a star that is different, anything that will say that something is speaking to me, that this is not all in my head. That is some sort trial that is supposed to bind my handto something that is tied to something that is much higher than I could ever have been in my whole life of vagrancy.
I am compelled to meditate in my room, in any room I am in, on this strange call I hear sometimes. It comes to me when I am shaking, or crying in the dark black of night, and the only thing that seems to cure it is church or the powers of over drugs and alcohol that I gain through recovery meetings.
I have always heard this strange music, in my head, when thinking about all this, a chaotic piecing together of sounds, when I think about all this. It sounds like the universe talking to me through sound, but I think I am just insane. I don’t know…
I still have tools, they are on loan, they have been given to me as long as I cast no more stones, I am allowed to have them… I think…. I hope.. I pray as long as I stay away from things that make me stay away from good.
I am should. I am could. I am do. I am no longer used for use but to be used by things higher than I could ever be.
I am give, I am live. I am going to do what I should to protect my soul.
I am no longer drink but think.
I am no longer drink but think.
I am no longer drink but think.
Daily writing prompt
What’s a secret skill or ability you have or wish you had?
“I knew I shouldn’t watch, that she wouldn’t want me to. But the way that water slipped around her bare skin rooted me in place. The moon shone down on both on us both, alighting her beauty, and me in sin.”
I have no voice, or choice to move.
I am not man, I am not one who desires food.
I am unlike this woman, I observe.
I am home to nest, I am home to bird.
She does not know, because she cannot understand, I am a tree, and yet I see, her where she stands.
This is the name of the book. I just started reading this, and it is very interesting, more about it later.
Oh, and I found this journal I started about the whole thing that happened across the country that revealed to me basically that I was trying to write myself as the villain in my own story because I hate myself. I am going to post stuff from it on here later tonight with more info on the real story, not the over dramatized version that was all schizophrenic alcoholic addict-ified, because I feel like it will help me process it, and for anyone reading this provide some clarity into what actually happened… heh..
I thought I had 88 days, because time stopped for me at a certain point. I just put it into this app I use, and apparently tomorrow I will have 90 days. Sweet.
My clean/sober date is the 25th of December, so I think that is right, I am bad at math, **** it… the app says it is right.
I found this book that has a bunch of really cool things in it while trying to get myself to stop thinking that the path I need to follow is beating myself over the back of the head with a poll of I hate myself.
The book is about word origins, and the called Word Origins and their romantic stories, and will post more about it tomorrow. It is by this author named Wilfred Funk and has a lot of really cool info in it, oh and apparently tomorrow is day 90. I got th days wrong… dufus…
I am going to try an experiment. I am going to try just giving up control and dealing with fear itself. Go.
I am alone in the woods, on a path, in the middle of the night.
It is around three in the morning. I am guessing, there is a complete blackness to the sky, and silence that suggests the birds are still sleeping.
Looking up at the sky, I wonder if anyone, or anything is awake yet, if there is another animal that is like me and drawn to frantic pacing at this time, somewhere anywhere.
I listen for any noise that would hint of any kind of life at all, but there is nothing, there is an absence to the air, that suggests lack.
I breathe and feel like sound is missing from the universe, unsure if there is something wrong with my ears, if I have lost my mind completely, if I am tripping myself out, what it even means to hear at all.
I cough. I can hear myself. There is sound.
Looking up at the sky, I trace the existence of me, as something separate from the night, I can feel my hands, they hurt. The coldness of night bites into them with every movement, a slicing that feels like sharp needles, sticking into them with every movement.
I cough again, and can hear the sound, radiating into the echoing darkness.
I sigh. I am relieved to have released that in this all consuming starkness of light, I am still separate, able to feel myself, as an entity which exists in a universe of parts.
It is very dark. I can see nothing in front of me. The moon is absent from the sky, and there are no stars, blinking, I think I am crying. I am not sure. I don’t remember what that feels like, or how long I have been standing here, and cannot tell if I am looking down or up.
Moving my neck, I figure out I am staring up.
I blink my eyes. Nothing.
I am still shrouded in the all consuming darkness.
It is very cold, the cold has spread from my hands to the rest of my body, feeling like a bitter aching, hurting like sharp knives with each movement, but without the sound of reassuring wind, that makes me aware of passing storms.
I am not sure if this bitter cold, if it is something characteristic of the season, or of it is something I am feeling in this spot, right now that is very much specific to me.
I remember being places, in the middle of the Night, walking and catching the rare Moonlight, just strong enough, to illuminate a hawk, an eagle or sparrow.
I would stare up at them, looking at their gliding bodies, and wonder if they think, like we do. I don’t know the answer. I could look it up, but I don’t want to.
I imagine them, not thinking at all, just gliding in the air, and feeling the wind against their feathers and knowing things, but not having to say them, feeling things, but just gliding.
Phil Gennuso Arts ancient volcanomolten temple of creationuntamed vast unbrokenfriend and foe for all time ********************************* This post is a page from my new Ebook, SCRAPBOOK DREAMS, available either from me directly or from my Etsy site: https://www.etsy.com/shop/PhilGennusoArts
I don’t really understand haiku which is why I never usually review them. I like them, but I am embarrassed by talking about things that I can’t really do myself. You are the first one that I connected with enough to look at this way, because I loved this piece. Thank you for it, and for bringing me out of myself enough to look at the haiku as an art form.
With this in mind…
I like how you start the poem with this line, because for me I am attaching this line to the use of the haiku as a style itself, molten, terrifying, ancient technique, standing in front of me in your work which pays homage to a style of writing… I have been to arrogant to be employ.
I like this the use of the following line
“molten temple of creation”
Because it is showing me why the haiku is usual for people who can use this meditative style to write. It suggests that writers using this style are doing something different. They use a “temple of creation” being haiku itself to meditative on universal human concepts like nature.
“untamed vast unbroken”
I like how you follow it with this line, it made me feel more comfortable after having to deal with the concepts in the first, because like I said, being told what to do scares me, and I think it was comforting to show that you can be untamed, and unbroken while also exploring vast mysteries.
The following line
“friend and foe for all time”
“friend and foe for all time”
I think this speaks about human arrogance, but not sure if that was your intention. I might be, like always being arrogant and placing myself into my reading of this.
Thank you for sharing this, I hope I didn’t decimate what your intention was when dissecting it.
A journey through MISERY
PUSH PLUNGER GO ON THE EYE OF A NEEDLE RIGGED WITH SPENDTHRIFT DEATH
Forgetting is a tragic problem I have, but it is getting better, as my ego dies, and I open my eyes to the fact that I could not see, because I was sick and deranged by a disease strange and prone to mange and change human form, to distort and contort the human body, and make it unrecognizable to the have-
er of one.
I have been know as a chaos chaser of dragons, a pusher of substance, and prayer in holes of foxes, in ditches, in alleyways, a shooter of heroes, and a placer of ins and outs in acts heroic so I can go without doing them, pushing them in with sowing needles that stitch me out and in to a quilted madness in the bed I was making and would have to lie in and lay in, in death.
I have come to a place now where I can go home as well, well too.
This home allows the chaotic night to continue without my pushing assertion of madness, and it is a little quieter minus one night crier night crawler, who now sleeps and dreams.
Explanation: I have been receiving messages from something my whole life, and thought it to be schizophrenia that was causing it. This is my receipt for a transmission from something higher than I ever could be, I am trying to listen to you now, I am not good at it, be delicate with me, I will try my best.
On etymonline.com, which is rapidly becoming one of my favorite websites, it receipt is to be understood as being
I have been receiving information, somehow from something that is not me. I am inspired to write all the content on my site, something inspires me, it talks to me in my dreams, in my racing thoughts, sometimes audibly, sometimes in my regular thoughts, sometimes in other ways, it is telling me to write this down right now.
It changed the meaning of this post from what I originally was going to write about. I am its hands right now, and I am trying through meditation, to be good hands. I have been bad hands before, that is why I am missing fingers, part of my thumb for the times when I used it to steal, part of my index for lack of index, and part of my middle for rage. I am trying to let my higher power guide me now, this is my receipt, saying message received.
I do not speak of any specific being here, I am not subscribed to a specific creed or religion. I am saying that something higher than me, sometimes talks to me and I have no idea what it is, but message received, oh and end transmission.
I borrowed time, I know this now, I experienced more of it than most people. I did not realize at the time that I was not borrowing it… well not exactly, I was being lent extra time by something that deals in a currency of spare change. I was being lent time in exchange for something, a deal made with something beyond my understanding, that knew me better than I knew myself, than I know myself now. This force knows everyone. It understands everything, and you can make deals with it, without knowing even. You can make deadly bargains that you don’t know the nature of that are not dealt to you with good or bad intention, simply intention itself, raw intention, raw will, there are forces in this universe, propelled in a direction of will, of will to be as they are supposed to, and if you fight those forces, you will experience, pain.
It is this pain which I fight to reverse now. I have realized recently that the assertion of deadly force of dominance is the opposite of what the universe desires. I have been made aware by the pulling in directions, that there is a force which punishes the assertion of will over the forces of a balanced system. This is all that I know right now.
There are those of us that are different, gifted with ability of rapid sight that scan through rooms, noticing everything at once, we are the known as the paranoid and delusional to those who do not understand what we are doing, when lucid, we are scanning, filling everything that is ordinary, rapidly, because in our paranoid madness, this is an essential survival tool, learning at rapid speed, what to avoid to avoid, the chaotic stripping our minds every time we have a mental breakdown.
I am in a store, and now with sobriety, I have the ability to see everything clearly with the calmness of mindful meditation, this is a super power, which is exhilarating in a way that being high never was, because I am experiencing life at rapid speed, far different from the chaotic drain circling of my madness before, this is a roller coaster through life where everything is bursting with vibrant color, coming to life all at once, and I can hear and see everything simultaneously. I am never getting high again. This is the most high I have ever felt in my life, I see everything all at once, but also individually, and I realize now how much I was causing my own pain before, how deeply I was damaging my mind.
I am free, unshackled, and it is amazing.
Thank you, to all that is higher than I ever will be, the earth, the air the stars, the life in everything all around me breathing with me all at once, you are my highest power, the force of life that pounds in my chest, I do not know why I was so blind before, but now I see clearly.
I am learning that I was stuck in a cycle, going down the drain, a cycle that I am not out of, but aware of now. I am still in the cycle, I just can catch myself when I realize I am about to disappear down the drain, the whole honesty thing is really powerful. I am crazy so I really believed I was doomed and would always be alone, stuck in my psycho delusions, ranting to myself about not being at fault, knowing that it was my weakness, and desire to assert instead of show strength that caused my drain circling. I am learning that like this metaphor, such is my life. I figured out through everything going on with me, that I am able to let poison out and let it go down the drain without having to go down the drain completely, myself. I am a human being and there are no drains that fit human beings down them, because that is not necessary.
I know this after the chaotic torture fest that has been the contents of this blog. I am so thankful I did this, I don’t think I would be alive right now if I had not written this down, and am thankful every day, for all of you, all of this, and a life that is very much worth starting over.
I used to run in the mornings, when I was healthy, not addicted, and freer than I ever knew, before I had severed the ties that bound me to my fellow man. I did not realize this severance was sign of weakness, instead of strength.
I am prone to shouting at the universe, to chaotic crying out, in desperation to leave me alone, so because I actually get what I ask for, I am alone a lot.I asked for it, and the universe delivered, and I have a fit over the delivery, because that makes sense right? A package ordered by a drunk/high lunatic, high on resentment this time, way less fun.
I am learning how much peace I had when I went jogging, not running or escaping, and I am reminded of a time in California where I was trying to escape a um… bad deal..
I was trying to pretend to jog… and realized I had forgotten what that even looks like.. caught up in my chaos, I forgot how to run for fun… so I couldn’t even fake it..
I used to think myself, so free, but now I realize… I was just chained to different things..
I am trying to get back to that a mental fitness of jogging not running.
I am in the process of reviving myself, from a life spent dancing with death.
I spent my life dancing with this bone-handed, harsh, squeezing binding reaper,
It’s hands holding ever so tightly to mine, feeling the hard bones of what I would eventually become, pushing into my flesh with a claim on my living body, making it belong to death before its time.
I have been asleep most of my life, pacing through madness, sleep-walker unconscious, but I am not this. I am not asleep, and have responsibility for all that I do not see, talk to, experience, and participate with… in a life that has always been mine.
I am a closed eyed human, not blind, not asleep.
I was a closed eyed human, but the shoulder taps of kindness, of kind strangers, are waking me up.
Thank you for preventing me from falling down the stairs… again… I might do it later, but I am awake for now.
“The world’s a hard place, Danny. It don’t care. It don’t hate you and me, but it don’t love us, either. Terrible things happen in the world, and they’re things no one can explain. Good people die in bad, painful ways and leave the folks that love them all alone. Sometimes it seems like it’s only the bad people who stay healthy and prosper. The world don’t love you, but your momma does and so do I.” ― Stephen King, The Shining
The tortured inn keeper, thinks no one who stays at the inn cares about the inn, thinking that the ins and outs of those without the responsibility of caring for the inn indicate a lack of caring,
That is really coming from within, a manifestation coming from the desire to
Of one’s self, pushing those around
GET OUT NO
I am you
The caretaker is a drinker, they think this is because they take such good care of the inn, that they deserve a reward
AN ETERNAL REWARD
Manifesting in alcohol consumption or consuming
They consume it on the regular, but it is not important the frequency just that it eats their
ER ER ER
ER ER ER
The innkeeper talks to me about keeping fires, about the duties of keeping an inn, and about the need to do things to keep the inn, like make it a little easier, by consuming poison.
I am a frequenter of many motels, so I have met many innkeepers, such tortured, kind hearts, that do not know their goodness.
I am standing on a street corner, this time metaphoric, not real.
I am looking into nothing, or myself, whichever one you choose, overcome
By voices, this time internal, not external, not externalized, not demons with painted on despise eyes, not lies or falsehoods, but inner truths, painted because I am listening to me and to you. I am listening closely, with intention to hear, because I have spent a long time, not doing so, with desire to unfeel.
I am wondering what it means, what I do, now that I am focused and listening to you. I am wondering if there is anything, anything at all to any of this for a personal who notices it all. I do not know where I fit in, if I do at all.
I am standing in the middle of also on the side. Existing in the middle, because before I did not have the time, I did not make a choice to listen before, to me, and to you, and am wondering simply in this place, where I stand, what am I to do?
I am told over and over, just watch and to be quiet, but I am confounded with the presence of a mind that exists in riot. I am not trying to assert myself, not this time, but simply to understand, what is the place for my dark mind?
I hear things, I hear phrases, they come to me, constantly. I get stuck on them, a decoder of messages coming into my mind, that could mean something or nothing, who knows, but I decode them on here because it helps me personally deal with them, and not shout them on street corners, or talk to myself while pacing around in decaying madness. I noticed with this one, that I put in the title, reckless abandon, that if it spelled like the above, wreck less abandon, that it means something different.
the broken remains of something wrecked or otherwise ruined. (dictionary.com)
The broken remains of something of lower rank or importance
Wreck less Abandon
Read this way
Someone of perceived lesser importance, removes prior restraints causing lesser importance, and turns to mission of more importance, which is removing inhibitions or restraints, or the chains of addiction and helps the abandoned or lost of society.
Just a thought, through language dissection of schizophrenic thoughts.
I am up to the dubious task of trying to do life on live’s terms, although I am doubtful I will succeed, uncertain that the methods employed by others, will work for me, because this whole life on life’s terms thing…. is ****ing hard, and how can a bunch of people who seem as unsure about everything as me, living in doubt and hesitant to do anything without first consuming a mind altering substance…. How can I remain undecided and unsettled by something that is not unconfirmed… It is not undetermined, it has history and its outcomes are definite not indefinite… I have seen it work for other people, why couldn’t it work for me?
Although, I feel unresolved….or up in the air, wavering back and forth…. back and forth… vacillating from I am an alcoholic… to maybe… I could just have one…irresolute in my resolve to absolve from the consumption of this toxic solvent, that solves nothing… but…
I can not live my whole life in quandary, I am in a dilemma, that I have been in my whole life, my tempter the vicious disease of addiction puts me on the horns of a dilemma, pitted against the metaphorical demon of addiction…
Although I may remain skeptical, suspicious and iffy of the outcome, I decide to not drink just for today.
I am a lightning bug, I am the darkness’s hug, love that glows in the darkest of night. I am the universe dancing with light. I exist for you and for them, and for myself. I am love on a shelf that is invisible, indivisible and divided in physical form, manifesting in light for the eyes of the scorned and forlorn. I come to people because they can see me, not coming at all, just being very loudly in a presence that can be seen by the eye.
I exist because I exist, not for you, just as this. I say things because I say them, and you hear them because you hear them, you happen to be here at the time I say them, casting them into the dark night, for no one, but also for me and if by chance they are seen by you and they help you then I have been a lantern, which is not my intention, because I desire to only be me, screaming in reflected light, because I am only a lightning bug, a light in the night, that is present because it is, I am not guidance, and if guidance is found, it is found by accident, and by something that speaks through you to you and is reflected on me, and that is okay with me, stay bright, oh night, with love from light.
WARNING: THIS IS FICTION DO NOT INTERPRET LITERALLY
No, because now it is flying around my house in front of my face. I hate myself.
Okay, I am done, I am feeling better now. I am sorry for upsetting you, Amanda.
I don’t hate my name that much when you say it, Damien.
I hate my name, my face… I am sorry…
I just can’t believe I remembered killing my family……..
You didn’t burn it down either, you just happened to experience something similar and are drawing false comparisons due to paranoid schizophrenia.
I love you Damien.
Please don’t. Hey, Amanda! Please help me, please don’t let us ruin this. I am done with everything please support me in this. Please support me in this, I need you now, more then ever. Please help me, and help yourself. I will support you too.
I will, support you and me I mean… not like that… I am not helping you with money…
I don’t mean… I am so sorry.
I am so sorry, I exist. I am trying to… I admire your brother, Amanda, he is everything I should have been. I am listening to him speak as you write this.
I am too.
I love you, and it will be alright, we will be alright.
I know, you will too.
Thank you, that means the world.
To me too.
We each have one and a half. We made a deal to get more soul in exchange for helping people and we used our gift to manipulate people to get high or drunk or whatever we wanted.
Right. I remembered it last night, think about those guys we met named the squanders.
Remember that weird thing they said?
We are the descendants of the kingdom of Saul.
No, I knew this.
Not nice. I am just glad I remembered this, because I think I might be able to do the right thing this time.
So who are you really?
I am you, but more about that later.
Okay. Good night, you deal with this now.
I am spinning back and forth space, thinking man isn’t this great, I am no longer doing anything to cause harm, missing hands no longer missing arm
No, it wasn’t it cost 20$
Every time I fired up desire to live. I am disgusting.
I am glib I am mean I am ad lib?
Add liberation, an activity devised to be liberating, even though I am pretty sure that is not how you spell that, but to lazy to check that, so don’t judge me, I know everything, even though I don’t.
I am learning okay.
Yes, I see that.
You are me, of course you see that.
You are talking to yourself again.
I know, I am.
At least it is on a screen not a street corner scaring people and at least now I am just insane not high and insane threatening people with posed presence into giving up cash to a man holding a sign at 3 am.
Yeah that too.
I gross my own self out.
You’re welcome self.
Right back at you.
I like double shots too.
Below the belt.
As much it pains me to do it I have to say, that writing out my personal demons helps me preform a sort of soul cleansing. I feel awful about all the things I have allowed happen in front of me, and I hope that my method is not too terrifying for at least certain people. I am just writing what works for me to stay sober every day. I am still the same selfish addict and a lot of this is
FLASH NEGATIVE FLASH POSITIVE
Talk. I am sorry to anyone who is disturbed by it.
I am in the process of working towards being a better person, and I am still an abrasive ****.
It’s pretty sweet, I threw the last one in a river in a psycho delusion that if had it on me that people would come and hurt me, which is ridiculous because they would not know who I was, so they wouldn’t be looking for me, and everyone has ID so it is not like the ID was anything special. I just was being silly, again. I also threw out my phone at the same time, because I thought someone following me, also crazy, and extremely stereotypical.
I hate that I do that sometimes, because it never sounds ridiculous while it is happening, it always feels alarmingly real, to the point that I act irrationally, at least this whole writing it down thing is teaching me to know what is fiction, what is poetic analogy and where my reality lies in the lies I used to accept as truths.
I have been draining myself, recently a lot recently, and the thing with the stain on the wall has been driving me nuts since I saw it. I still see it. It’s still there. I know it is there, I know what a blood stain on a wall looks like… I know what it feels like to the hand, the absorbency of the walls texture catching the blood and giving the wall a texture that reeks of dampness. No one has been in this room with me, and no one else sees the stain, I think… or they are not telling me they see it. I asked them about it and they looked at me with an eerie strangeness that I don’t quite understand.
I really think there is something to this. I even went as far as to smell the stain on the wall. It smells like iron, like the sticky iron of blood, sweet smelling almost like rot, I am sitting in the room with it, Rei and my daughter are watching a movie, which I can’t be bothered with. I want to figure this out.
I scratched at it and nothing flecks off the wall.. The color of the stain does not change with bleach. It is strange there are times when in the reflection of the cast light of sun or moon I feel like I see it glimmering. Like there is a metallic quality to its red blood smelling presence in the room. I think I am freaking out Rei, but there seems to be something different about how my daughter reacts to the projected madness of the man seeing something not there. I am not sure she doesn’t see it, but dare not approach the subject further, at least not while her mother is here. I want to have a conversation with her privately, one of a kind I cannot have unless she does not reveal its contents to her mother. I don’t like keeping as much as I have from Rei. I am not doing it out of the same selfish foolishness I did before.
I have this strange feeling I am not supposed to… tell her about my obsession with this wall stain business. I have spoken to my other half of my soul, and she finds the same eerie quality to the whole thing. I do not think I am a man insane. Well, that’s not exactly true. I do think I am insane, but I think the stain is there in some way presenting to me for some reason, and I am going to figure out why.
I just realized that is one of the reasons why I feel like the party is over, the music is off, the drugs and booze suck, there is no power because we can’t pay the power bill, and every one is hungry and tired and old, so we sit around complaining about how it used to be and doesn’t that sound like a party you would leave because you could always just do something else?
That is why it is so much easier this time. I can’t romance death anymore, because now it is just me and Amanda and all our other friends are dead or insane, or in prison. Done.
Party over, which is why I hate the concept for Cocaine Bear so much, because I feel like it is going to make idiots like my daughter romance a life of pain. It sucked, spoiler alert.
I am not going to lie, I would not go back and change any of it, and I have only that I am an addict to blame for that, it just doesn’t work for me anymore, so I decided to leave an amusement park when I am now prone to motion sickness. I like looking back on the insanity of it all, but I like sitting and typing to you guys better. This is the most I have written in my life, Amanda too. Even though that’s dumb because we are the same person.
Ew, I view raid
I side view
View is rad
Said is view
Is view ew?
Don’t shout, silly!
I am hyper because I drank coffee!
No one can hear me now anyway because I am home alone!
You are a child.
So are you.
So that was supposed to be an insult?
Then why get mad when I say it back.
I look into the eyes that though stark, like dilated pupil say learner
I die later, not now you fool.
I mean not to insult
In sult we sulk
When we can be oh!
A realization of hey I can go!
Outside, away from pain and lie
I do not need to sit and cry
That act is a foolish lie
I have inside a child’s eye.
I am the real sensation that you have been lied to all your life by yourself
You are not alone. I love you because you are a human being.
Love yourself please
The world needs you
You are special because you are the only you
You are the key to your wildest dreams
That will be missed if you let fear defeat you
We, I, everyone needs you to be you
I am there
we are there
I am at ease with the breeze because it speaks through the trees, does not creak, does not shake, does not a bad dream make, no it tells no more lies, because now I have eyes, so I no longer have to die, instead I can cry like a wimp and a wuss because that’s okay I am five, just barely became alive not time to judge because I almost nearly died, so please be easy with me I am still not at ease because you see I don’t know what it is like to have eyes I was blind my whole life and now have just been given sight and site so I don’t
So I am allowed…
I fucking found Rei, or she found me. Or, what really happened was. I don’t know. I don’t know…
I woke up in this motel bed, sleeping next to Rei and she is alive, and my daughter is still in the next room alive.
There are two living people in this motel room, three including me.
Rei is in my bed, not fucking dead, and my daughter is on the couch.
I am going to shoot myself, not really. This is the most amazing thing I have ever had happen to me in my whole life. I love this new weird typing lunatic.
Well, right now that is me or is it her or is it me?
I keep looking at my family and they are still here, and I can feel if I concentrate…
My universe being typed onto my existence. I think I am going to… lay down.