I heard the cages banging last night. There was a threat of prisoners looking to riot, which is nothing more than another day here, alive, and living with the beasts.
In all fairness, I have to admit to the truth. And the truth is I am afraid. The truth is I am afraid of everyone. And I’ve always been afraid.
I was afraid to care.
I’ve been afraid to be the fool or afraid to be hurt and I have always been afraid to be weak or soft and used.
I was thinking about the way we speak with each other. I was thinking about the words we use and their value to us.
Or more to the point, I was about how we invest in the words we say or hear.
Then I started to think about our selective hearing. Or maybe it would be better for me to tick to the plan and explain about my own selective hearing.
I was thinking about the most important and meaningful three words in our English language
I was thinking about words like, I love you.
Or how about the words, I need you
Or what does it mean to you when someone says, “You mean the world to me!”
What does any of these words mean when someone says these things and yet, we struggle to feel them or believe their words are true.
There was snow over the weekend in Purgatory. There wasn’t much. But there was enough to coat the ground and keep the nighttime from being as dark.
Alone above, the moon took on the bluish hint and the holiday lights made the season feel more festive for a while.
These things are bitter sweet for me.
I don’t mind the snow. I don’t mind the cold.
No, really.
I don’t mind these things at all.
I have these dreams, which are not dreams at all. They are more like pictures and memories of times, long ago, or back when I was old enough to understand but to young to know that I had the right to question the life in front of me.
I am sick now, late in some regards, and older, achy, and unforgivably defiant against the ideas that yes, “this is it!” and this is as good as it gets.
No. I refuse this.
I know there has to be more.
There are memories I have. I swear.
I was young once. Wild too, and I was crazy in the best ways possible.
I was eager and afraid.
And I remember.
I remember the ideas and the thoughts and the cravings which came over me like a wave as it falls across the shore.
I remember some of my drives, long ago.
I remember driving over the 59th Street Bridge.
The Big City. And there she was.
New York, New York.
She is bright like a dream and complete with every urge or desire.
She is complete with every idea or every kink or fetish.
And hey, don’t judge.
Or don’t knock it, until you try it.
You never know.
There comes a time when silence is best.
Just be quiet. Be still.
Let your eyes close and let your breathing slow down.
Relax.
And when there’s nothing else, then there’s nothing left to lose.
So, sit still. Be calm.
Close your eyes and fade.
The truth of the matter is that no one knows. No one cares. No one is paying attention and yet, we assume that everyone sees the same thing that we see.
Not true.
The fact is that everyone has their own life. Everyone has their own motivation, their own agenda, and everyone sees from their own perspective.
It is all too often that we take on more than we need, and I say this with the ideas of people, places, and things.
I have talked about the deception of our perception and the inaccuracies of emotion and assumption.
This is a link to my greatest downfall.
The meds from last night hit me hard.
My grogginess was amazing to me.
Literally.
I could hardly understand my whereabouts, yet I am where I am because I was where I was.
This is for sure.
The handcuffs are figurative but tight. Then again, so is the reality of fiction and so are the details of today’s courtroom proceedings.
Here we we go, I suppose.
Such is life under the watchful eyes of those who study the inmates in our private Alcatraz.
But ah, the benefits of the accusers and how they try to lead me with their advantages.
And so, I have to ask . . .
What have you seen that made you change the way you see the world?
What happened?
What changed? Or what snapped?
What broke and never went back into place?
It has always been hard for me to believe in the terms of God, or God the Father. It has always been too curious for me to look around and see the hurt or the destruction of our everyday life.
How could there be something all-knowing, and all-great, yet here we are, living on this rock, which is third from the sun.
When there is nothing left, then there is nothing left to lose. And yet, we find ourselves pondering the losses and mourning the irretrievable. And we weep and we cry and we beg and we plead with the Gods, as if something or anything could eve be changed.
Laugh all they want, I know what I have lost. And I know what I have gained in the absence or the aftermath of my own aggression.
I’ve lost and I’ve tried and I’ve found myself in the emptiest place, late and past the midnight hours, and talking to myself, aimlessly, and with hope that somehow —I can find my way or find something that makes sense to me.
The Written Addiction 