Stream of consciousness

I’ve always felt out of place
Like I didn’t fit
Pieces of me stick out at odd places and as a consequence I don’t fit in the world. 
I’ve made a lifetime of not fitting
I stand alone,  apart. 
Conversations held,  I don’t take to my logical conclusions because experience has taught me that others find those conclusions odd.  And some can tell I’m holding back.  Which most take as rejection.  Which is hard since it is those with that intuitive sense that I can have a real conversation with.

My one major relationship… with a woman with whom I shared obsession with.  It was what we could give each other but it was not love.  A long time coming, that realization.
  And so it is with every moment,  turned about and about until intuition and logic tell my conscious mind each peice,  until it is ready to become a part of my tapestry of experience.
I jut out at odd angles,  looking for a place I fit, despairing that it won’t be found, and fearing that it will.

Brothers by choice

I would in my heart fain love though in truth I know only emptiness, to have had love then lost is more bitter than to merely yearn for what one has never known.
And to drink this bitter draught while the brothers of my choice find what I have lost and sought leaves my heart more desolate.
For I should be joyful in their joy but often it is such that I summon a mask for the self and select a different face to the world.
Would that the way were more clear or perhaps merely my perception of it.


Souls siphoned down the fallow earth
Flowing over depressions

Forgotten pools reflecting a sullen sky
Dwindling from moment to moment

Clouds racing to the horizons edge
Growing between breathes

Wind whipping into brazen lines
Mending order into chaos

Reflected light throwing shadows
Revealing secrets arcane


I’m an asshole. I know it.
I let my indignation and admittedly large ego, run my tongue and fingers when logically I should keep my mouth shut. I let my emotions run me, when I’m not clamping down so hard on them I go numb. I retreat to those things I perceive as truth and assault everyone around me with them. I accept cultures and things held at a distance and I’m good at seeing nuances and subtleties, as long as it’s at a far enough remove.

The closer someone is the more poisonous I become. Except for those few in my inner circle whose goodwill I care about and even they are subjected to rants and horribly pointed and venomous retorts. Eventually, unless the person is extremely patient or gods forbid, genuinely likes me, I will drive them away.
Sometimes just because I can’t conceive of someone actually liking me, I’ll metaphorically shove the knife in. I won’t realize it consciously until later but subconsciously I knew what I was doing. And nine times out of ten I’m not sorry. Sure I lament the results, but what I said is true, if stated in the most hurtful way possible, and my ego and ethics won’t let me apologize for something I see as truth. I could go on and on. Welcome to my brain.


I cast my words out wide
Dandelion seeds on the wind
Looking for fallow ground
Hoping someone will find them
Hoping they will nurture them

All my shattered choices, grief, pain and pleasure
Giving voice
Not one voice in the wilderness
A chorus, singing triumphantly
Arms raised feeling the warmth of the sun
The bite of the wind
One hundred percent alive
One moment of clarity


I’ve been struggling with how to say this without sounding naive but I don’t think there is one. In my internal voice, it seems reasonable but out loud I sound like a fool or a prig. I’ve probably seemed worse here, so enough preamble.

I believe that love is the only choice we get to make that matters. If the choice is love or anything else (except in cases where to persue love is a betrayal), then love is the choice. It may result in contention, depression, tears, anger and rage or it may not work at all. But the chance, should always be taken. Always jump off the cliff. Love may die from neglect, or be found to have not existed, but the opportunity to persue love should always be seized. Just don’t fall in love with love. See what is really there and don’t fall prey to obsession.


Hope leaves me on uncertain ground
Wretched hope, it burns through my mind,
A disease which promises and lies
What would she like
what would he like
what can I do
A disease that rips through the self
leaving aching and inflamed
I want it to end, I want it’s fruition.
Can the part of me that was asleep, lulled by years of sorrow
sleep again or will it die.
Sleep or death this is what life has taught me,
The fragility of hope
Can I rip away the masks and lay bare my desires
When the masks have sheltered me for so long that it’s hard to differentiate between the mask and the self.
The Shaman, the poet, the cynic, the bastard
All pieces and all lies
or is one the truth and the other just half closed doors leaking traits
I’m lost in the overthinking overfeeling and can’t seem to find my way home.