Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Dark Inventory Continued...

from the quiet whispers of exterior things
to the overwhelming echos of interior screams
your fantasy reveals itself in denial
when will Emerson’s call be enough
to break the bones of the gripping inner beast?
Where the liberator squares off with the tight,
suffocation of inside lust and gratification?
Where the small perception framing the scene
breaks loose and the sands settle...



Back to past to set the perfect tone. A series of desperate thoughts spewed on top of each other to make the paper seem alive. To find that lost will that may be alive somewhere. That true self that gave up a realization of premature meaning. Find your way back Derrick. Find your life square with existing sense. Your tears have fallen on the shoulders of those you embrace at a distance. When you reach for them with a crippled hand in search for answers of acceptance. Teach me! Teach me how to sit satisfied in a simple state of myself. My conflict rises again in a handful of pills.
The band plays on stage and the girl in the back is the one I need for now. My friend Chris goes on next and my memories of how I came to be in this church cafeteria slowly slip away. The twenty four motion sickness pills I took and hour and a half ago seem to have an effect unknown to me. Fear of never leaving this state creep in and out. Chris comes across to me in the dim lit room with his guitarist Bob. As we stand there I try piecing together false attempts of composure. "He used to kick my ass back in the day..." I say to Chris referring to Bob. "Really?" Chris says. I force a laugh and wish them luck as my head trails off and my words begin to fail me. They stare as my state of being begins to show as I stumble away. I see my old "friend" at a table across the room and I seem to be slipping back into what seemed to be a combination of a twelve year olds mind after his father has humiliated him in the front lawn in front of his friends and a fearless strung out self loathing drug attic in the middle of a week long binder. He sees me and I think to myself what the fuck! Why not. I had over in what seems to be a crawl and words seem to melt out of my mouth. He smirks and laughs in that way. That condescending higher than way. He must have not understood a word I presented to his composed reality. "How are you. man?" he casually said to me. He didn’t even look up at me as he sat at the table. Rubbing the leg of the girl next to him and looking at the cafeteria stage. I tried to focus and obtain any level of normality in myself. My eyes were bloodshot and I felt a dry fried sickness. Like I was a back ground trying to rip away from the wall it was covering. I talked and attempted to make civil connection with anything around me, but kept suffocating in the drowning of my mind.
I walked away from him as he tried saying something to me. Why bother composing myself for him anymore. Why for anyone. I had no sense of composure anymore. My awareness would spark and fad, spark and fade. Highschool was such a tempting time for me. I bled thick inside and it showed through my blood shot eyes. I crawled back to Amber. She was so cute. I am compelled to make some sort of contact with her. Everything is so blurred and jumbled and burns. Its fried, everything is fucked and sweat as I sit on the stool next to her. She is perfect for the moment and the moment is rejecting me. "Hey hun" I say to her as I lean in. "These band are pretty good!" She yells back to me. I try kissing her cheek. And she leans in a bit and pulls back. She is such a tease. I am so fucking melted. My skin crawls and I am pale. My sweat drips. Her eyes wander to me a bit. "Are you alright?" She asks in kind of a disgusted tone. She knows I am horribly fucked up. "Man we’re gonna go!" Joe yells as he grabs my shoulder. My head stretches to face him. "Alright man see you..." I trail off. Joe hesitates as he stares at me with a bewildered look on his face. "You came with us, man" he manages to get out over a scared sort of laughter.
High school evolved into such a mess for me and the change sickens me to this day because it has not yet left me. These pages are the shackles I wear until the last words make there way across the page. My anger is the only thing that grows inside me anymore. It acts in the form of hate for myself. The disappointment in myself for not knowing how I may ever function in the world around me. People are always my first obsession and my satisfaction. People are where my satisfaction always tends to die. People always seem to fail me in my narrow perception. So much trust. My child like trust seemed to extend way beyond a normal level. It was thrown to everyone and always to the wrong people. I wanted such a strong bond with anyone and I wanted that bond to make sense and face anything that I could not.
It’s a false hope and realizing this is unbearable. The drugs became a commitment that I seemed to control at first. The emotions I felt and feel might still be premature in there exposure. On a universal and individual level of reaction to life and how I fit in its day to day experience. I was becoming the special individual that I always wanted to be. I was disgusting in my evolution from child to teenager. The events that create a drug attic alcoholic are such a violent exploration that anything that enters your mind becomes a justification for deterioration. You are drawn to the monster because people begin to see you like they never have before. You aren’t ignored anymore. You become the concern of quite a few people. You start your devils dance with an unhealthy respect. Some people escape this experiment, this upbraid, this ridicule of fragile life. They just happen to grow up, mature and move on in an almost expected normal fashion. Others, though, seem to slip away in a gripped fashion. The rapture of this must always end in death or a struggle that varies.
The lose of care seems like the love that always was to be. You periodically have violent convulsions back into a reality you once recognized in the morning and held until the last moments of night but all that seems to contain everything that may take you back into a world you struggle to understand. Back to people who let you down, people that you have let down and motive after motive of means that fit an end that you never really wanted to begin with.
My motives began to twist. The struggle between my god I seem to be heightening to a level that did not seem to be worth my time anymore. I used to pray out of fear in almost an obsessive compulsive fashion grew from this sick conditioning of church. Stringing me along down a path of excessive following without ever being sat down to really chose whether this god may be the god for me. Now I know this is unrealistic, but the falling away from the church was happening. It had to happen to liberate myself from the fear and the stress that is brought on by not following rules that keep me from truly seeing what kind of reliance I really could have on myself. Having faith in people and ways of life that may suit my life better. I’m not saying god does not exist. I just claim to not know. To try and understand the ideas of every great and chaotic culture. The interpretations of what god may or may not be. I do know that nothing could really be set in stone. I want to have faith. I really do. I want to have the ability to rely on something outside of myself and others understanding may give me a perspective of what god may be, but its not a whole reality. My doubt I carry with me.
I struggle with words. I get tired with words because they, at times, do not seem to give justice to the minds overflow. Then the panic begins. I search for phrases and extra ordinary usage that can play on ones mind for hours, days, years, or maybe a lifetime. This god factor is defiantly a time where words seem to halt in any fashionable state of explanation. We all have our stories, experiences(or lack there of) when it comes to a higher power of some sort. What stimulates our minds when it comes to an awakening or a full rapture of understanding of something outside ourselves? Where does our focus go in letting go of human existence as we once new it? Parts of us that held us back from something in this world, or parts of ourselves. We are filling in the gaps with and existing presence that surly knows. Our search dies for more life. What fashion is this life to take though? We have to separate. We have to always separate from something to become apart of something else.

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