It goes this way. Life, I mean.
And there are times which come without reason
or without any sort of explanation.
And there are times when we freak
out or lose our cool
or in my case,
I lose my head, and yes,
we do things
that are against our best interest.
And we know this is wrong.
We know it as we follow through
just wishing we could stop ourselves.
But, we hit the trip wire and then boom
love goes up in a burst of flames
and the battlefield is drenched
with innocent bystanders,
or otherwise known as
the person you love the most.
This is not an excuse nor is this a means
to excuse what we do or say,
and perhaps this is merely an obvious explanation
but more,
this is me, bleeding from the heart
in a very real or sincere, and obvious way.
And sure,
I’ve cut my nose off to spite my face.
Haven’t you?
I’ve sewed it back on myself,
a few times.
My nose that is,
but I’ve cut it off again, and again,
and never fully understanding why
nothing goes back as it was—at least
not all the time, but often enough,
I have found that my actions or antics
have chipped away at the foundation
and made me weak
of something that was once strong.
I own this
and my mishaps
and my misgivings
and my bullshit fears
which have placed me in corners
or caused a loneliness
that grew like weeds
and suffocated the roots
of my better existence.
I did this.
Sure, I have,
I have been both
the best and worst version of me
for as long as I can remember.
And by the way,
there’s a word for something like this
it’s called honesty
We’re all a little crazy though,
aren’t we?
We say things which
in any other moment
or on any other occasion
or on any other stage of reality,
there are times when we do or say things
which we would never do
or think or say, but again
this is the book of chaos.
This is about love.
This is about the all-out insanity
and about the anxiety
or the anticipation of the worst,
or, as my old friend Mr. Chaos would have it
this is about us at our worst,
and how to be our best,
even when the worst exists.
This is the book
about the dichotomy of hate and sanity,
or love and the insane things we do or say
or in the face of unlimited passion,
which is bigger and more explosion than any climax
or more systemic or more bodily
than the seduction of an orgasm,
especially mutual,
this is a book about the jagged
and the double edge of a blade that can cut both cleanly
or messily
and this is about the bouts with jealousy,
and envy, insecurity,
and fear, and the insane belief that while
there they are
your love, right in front of you
this is about the insecure blindness
that douses the beauty of the light
which stands right in front of you.
That’s what this is about.
This is about the pain of loneliness
and the redemption of someone’s kiss.
This is about the ills of our fear
and the solution
of someone’s touch, who, if it were possible
a touch by them could cure the most of all evil
and solve the emotional cancers
that thrive from the pieces of your broken heart.
This is The Book of Chaos.
This is about the time
when we lose our best self to some other category,
which is unlike us as a person, yet
this is exactly who we are, crazy and insane,
like a mad person who should otherwise
be locked in a rubber room
with white walls and matching floors
because there are times
when we are downright crazy,.
especially when love comes along
and Mr. Chaos comes along
to fuck everything up.
This is about that voice in our head,
or the tragic scenarios
that we nurture
through on overactive imagination
which turns against us
or gets sick and takes off
in an unfortunate direction.
This is the way we think ourselves
into a sever bout of insecure sickness or worse,
this is about the times when we (or I)
forget about the thing we call boundaries,
and this is about when selfish thinking overwhelms us
(or me) and next, the tragic scenarios
and the worried projections from the mind
take on a whole new shape—and then
they become real.
And I say, son of a bitch,
I did it to myself again!
And no one asks to go crazy like this.
No, I wish I could
“Just be cool”
with what is,
but no . . .
I get carried away and hence,
everything has to go down now,
and yes, I call this self-inflicted
or self-destructive
or self-sabotage;
in which case,
we fight about something
that never even happened or took place.
However, the thought machine
doesn’t see it this way
because to the mind of emotional thinking,
this did happen
and this did take place—in our minds.
It is true about what they say
about thinking yourself sick.
I have done this.
I have spent hours, awake in bed,
thinking about what was said
or what I said, or better, I think about scenarios
that are unfavorable and jealous
and fearful and filled with insecure doubts
and as I lay in the dark,
I think about what I wish I said,
or could unsay—but nothing said can be unsaid
(sometimes) and oftentimes
nothing done can be undone.
“I just want to get back to a better place.”
Who doesn’t?
Who doesn’t want the thrill of being absent
from pain or to be so happy or overjoyed
that they literally forget
about everything around them,
and who doesn’t want to be so full,
or so fulfilled, that in the contrast
between love and hate, sad or happy,
who wouldn’t want to be so healed
that love and happiness wins all the time?
I know I want that for me,
but between here and then is a thing
which we call healing
and that’s what needs to take place.
I know there is a world outside of my own,
which I tend to forget, which is selfish of me
because there are times
when I allow my vision to become tunneled
that it cuts out the world around me
or often enough, this blinds me of the gifts
I have right,
which are right in front of me.
Chaos . . .
The crazy parts of love and the fights,
and the tough moments, or the hardest ones
that can be knockdown, or drag-out,
or all out brawls, yet—no matter how wild
the moments are
despite how bad or unfair,
or no matter how ugly the fights can be—yes,
love is still beautiful
and sexy as ever . . .
to the point where,
and I’ll convert this to a question
but, have you ever been
in such a fight with your love
or in the middle of a bad day
or a sad moment
yet, as you look at your love,
did you ever wish
that you could push a button
and reverse the cycles
so you can kiss them?
I know there is chaos in love
and there are times when despite the battle
or the wounds
there is still a love so strong beneath it
that not even an eruption from the biggest volcano,
or the destruction from the tallest tidal wave,
or the cracks from the angriest earthquake
can match its intensity
nor destroy the love itself.
Maybe this is why sex is so great, no?
It reminds us that somehow,
there is a connection that is so wild
and unchained
that nothing can stop the world
of a moment that resolves,
like, ah.
like this.
I am sorry . . .
. . . I am only a small man,
afraid as ever, and certainly a person
who has come from my own battles
and with scars and all, tired and weary,
I stand before you
here in full, total, and in complete submission
and with a humble heart, yes,
I am only a man, small and scared
and timid and weak.
But I’ll tell you this much,
as weak as I am and as afraid as I may be,
or as crazy as I can get,
I know that the love within me
can never be matched by any storm,
or tidal wave, or earthquake, tornado,
or any kind of natural disaster—and yeah, sure,
I’m a disaster too.
A big one.
But I bet that I can love you more
than you could ever imagine,
and touch you in a way
that you will never feel anywhere else—that is,
of course,
if you’ll have me.
Good, bad, beautiful
and ugly.
That’s me.
The Written Addiction 