This one is going to sting
(a little)
or maybe not.
And so, it is . . .
I have no time for this
I have no tongue for the lies of my crimes
nor can I stand by as a witness
or be nothing else but a bystander
or some passerby,
watching . . .
nor can I be someone who submits or quits
and more, I cannot stand by and allow myself
to go down –
at least not without a fight.
I cannot give in or
allow the world to overwhelm me
or frighten me into the compliance
or the acceptance of an unwanted life.
Not anymore.
I cannot submit to the belief
that I am either unable
or incapable.
“Stand up and be counted”
I like this saying.
I suppose this means that I should stand up now.
Right?
I have to say this out loud
and to myself now, of course.
Stand up!
I have to say this because
who else will come to me
or who else will stand by my side,
or if battle should come and I should fall,
and if I bleed or hurt and if I should ache
to the point of total despair
who else will fight for me?
That is, of course, if anyone would fight for me.
I say this now and I will say this again,
and I will say this every day for the rest of my life,
if I have to.
You have to save your own life.
No one is here to rescue me.
I have to save my own life,
every day, for the rest of my life.
No matter what.
You have to get up.
I don’t care if you “feel” ugly.
Besides, ugly is not a feeling.
This is a thought or an assumption,
which does nothing but weaken the mind
and the body interprets as weakness.
I don’t care if you “feel” weak.
I don’t care if you “feel” like
you can’t take another step.
You have to save your own life.
Every day, every morning, and every afternoon,
and every evening, and at the twilight,
or at the moment before we close our eyes,
we have to find a way to justify ourselves,
as if to validate from within,
as if to allow our demons to rest,
so that our souls can speak.
And so,
in the revival of our spirit, by all means,
we have to find that spark or that certain rage;
we have to reach for that urge
or find that drive to live and yes,
we have to keep this alive
even in the face of death—so help me God.
Amen.
“But what if I can’t?”
Fuck can’t.
Get up and do it anyway
even if you fall.
And so, it is . . .
Another day arrives here,
on the Northeastern side of my purgatory;
whereas, it is only another day, or elsewise,
today is like the others
or no different with regards to the simple masses
of regular or everyday confusion.
Life is on, as in “happening,”
which means today is nothing else
but business as usual—at least
this is how it is if you ask me.
Then again, I am aware
that no one is asking . . .
I am aware that
there are other versions of life,
and there are other opinions, other ways to see things,
and there are other vantages,
points of view, opinions, but in the end—
who cares?
No one sees what I see.
No one sees what you see either.
So?
Does anything really matter?
This is still life, which means
we have to get up, dress up, and show up
every day.
There are no excuses
and there is no substitute.
It is clear that the morning news
is showing its usual bits and pieces
of common strategies on how to influence people
or how to conquer and divide
or fuel the fires of our mass hypocrisy.
After all, it is easy to point fingers.
Isn’t it?
Which Gods do you pray to?
The right?
The left?
Republican or Democrat?
Why pray to God at all
when politics have become the new religion?
But then again, this is just a thought,
if you ask me, and like I said
in most cases, nobody’s asking so
I guess I’ll just go on.
You are here:
But—
Maybe this is more than a pivotal waystation,
or perhaps, one could say
that aside from purgatory,
maybe this is more of something,
which we might call a daily test, as in,
“how far can we go,” or
“how much more can I take,” or “what more can I say,”
until we realize that the problem is beyond us.
The fight can end at any given moment.
No one else needs to die (emotionally) anymore.
Haven’t we all died enough
or is it true that we are all glutton for punishment
and we are thirsty for more?
I understand battle—at least
within myself.
I have fights and battles and explosions, of course.
I have imploded as well,
and I have lost myself to the vacuum of doubt.
I’ve talked myself through many battles.
especially the ones that never existed.
I don’t call this crazy.
I just call this me.
Perhaps I am alone,
or maybe not.
Maybe this is relatable,
and we all find ourselves,
lost in the battle of all battles, or wars of all wars,
and who knows?
Who knows if this is a test?
Or more accurately,
what if this is none other
than a personal Armageddon?
Ehat if this is our own fight
between good and evil?
What do we do if the winner loses
and the loser wins?
See what I mean about mass confusion?
What if the end result is just a push?
This means that neither the angels nor the demons
come out as the victor.
It’s just a tie . . .
Well?
Who will it be?
Who will save me?
Who will be our internal Saint Michael,
the Archangel, who cast Lucifer from the Heavens,
or who stepped to Lucifer in battle and said,
“Who is like God?
No one.
I want to see the world differently now.
I want the faded lullabies to either disappear
or become so distant that I forget
or to become
more vibrant so that I will always remember
and thus, I will never forget what it means
to fight so hard
and win.
Either way –
We are all here, and opinions,
understandings and, of course,
perceptions will vary.
I don’t know how this will be received.
Then again,
I don’t have to care.
(At least not anymore.)
I am simply this, a man.
I am a coward.
Absolutely.
But at least I dared.
And that’s not cowardly at all,
at least not to me.
I am no one other than myself, of course,
nor could I be anyone else
or should I be. I am no one special.
I am not above or under the law.
However, I am a searcher of things, a seeker,
a hunter, gatherer, and hopeful to make my way
or hopeful to make it through
what I see as unplanned times.
I am alive, nonetheless,
and moving through uncharted territories,
and yes, suffice to say,
I am afraid.
I am humbled by the wake of life.
I am impacted by the fires of wrath
or past arguments, and hence,
as a human, or should I say
as a person who has (or is trying to) evolve
from my own mistruths
or as someone looking to overcome
my own insecure notions,
and as someone who is being honest (at least here)
about my fears and assumed inabilities,
I have to admit that yes . . .
I fucked up.
I have been equally misguided
by my internal lies
and the misperceptions of the mind.
I thought that I would die
if things didn’t turn out the way
I had hoped.
But I’m still alive.
Sure, I know my demons.
I know them all very well.
In fact, we used to have lunch
at Katz’s, Downtown.
I know my angels too—and I need them,
but I often forget to listen when they speak
or see the signs
when they send them.
Today is judgment day,
at least in a sense.
I can sit and submit
or stand and fight.
St Michael asked
Who is like God?
No one.
So then this is who I will fear:
No one.
The Written Addiction 