They sound so sincere
So confused by what’s happening
Trying to make sense of something which runs contrary to the lies they’ve believed their entire lives
They watch footage
They read transcripts
But as soon as someone tells them a happy lie
One that clicks with their fiction based reality
They say, “Oh really?”
And they sigh
Letting out the tension from the cognitive dissonance between reality and the false narrative that they hide in
“I didn’t know that,” they say
“That makes sense,” relief palpable in their voice.
Fucking white people
Month: August 2020
When I thought of the thought of thinking of you
The awful truth of memory is that the more important, more cherished, a memory is…the quicker it’s faded or distorted. Each time we recall a memory it’s like pulling it from an old school platter drive. Erasing it completely until we save it again. Over and over, each time wearing away the section and introducing distortions until the original memory is lost. Until all you have is the memory of the memory and a description you tell yourself while recalling it. Or maybe only writers do that, I don’t know.
My memories take a long time to fade. Mainly because I try to only access the description of the memory and not the full blown sensory experience. But some important people, they’ve faded almost completely. A worn out picture. A novel read and reread so much that the paper can no longer hold ink. Trying to recall them and all I have is flashes and vague gauze, which even now tatters and fades.
I understand pictures now. But still, what the camera sees and what my mind saw, will never be the same.
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Almost rhyming makes me sleepy
Fever from exhaustion and aches from reluctance
Stress responses to unbearable situations
Call me broken
Of the mind perhaps, the body certainly
But not the heart
And ain’t that some weird shit
To have things flipped table like that
But still that familiar song of close but not close enough plays on the radio
Turning that dial, looking for a stronger frequency
Rolling those dice hoping for a triple hard eight
To run the board and let it ride
Until dreams become reality
But reality is wicked
It does care what you want, only what bargain will you make
Because that’s how it is here
We sell our time, physical or mental
And what’s the price tag on a new life
Hard to buy when you are still making installments on the one you have
Just broke enough to know that you aren’t broke
Alive, paying bills, told to cut back on that overpriced coffee that tastes like freedom and for a few sips you get to forget that the rent is due and food is running low.
Buying everything cheap
Instead of well, because saving costs to much, can’t go to work if you aren’t wearing shoes
Pull yourself up by your bootstraps
That’s some non-newtonian physics
Smiling faces like they’ve done you a favor
Tired of this broken wheel
This simulation
Fucking programmers
Always introducing new bugs with each new sketch update
Fuck it
I gotta live here
What happens when it goes away
Futures uncertain but still
I can always depend on being wide awake when it’s time to sleep
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The sys admins for our simulation are not very good
I dreamed that new software was being loaded into my head and that I needed to call into work so that I could sleep while the software installed. There was a particular block of mathematics which I was to tell them that explained it all. I woke up with a fever and a headache as if my brain was overheating from running its cpu at redline due to a rushed install
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Just another rant about words
The delineation between loving someone versus being in love with someone is bullshit.
What you actually mean is that you don’t hold romantic and/or sexual feelings for a person.
And pretending that “in love” is some kind of permanent state is a harmful practice. It negates most relationships. Causes grief and pain and destroys families.
“In love” should be used to mean that not only are you romantically linked, but also that you will do the real work of maintaining and building your relationship(s) so that the state of “in love” can be achieved.
This desperate seeking for a “spark” is ridiculous. Sparks are fleeting and while they can kindle a flame, it is but one way in which a fire is created.
People are all looking for a thunderbolt but a fire built from steady constant work will burn just as hot and instead of that instant destruction, can build.
And some of us are nuclear fires born of stars, we need other stars to be happy. But really, any person who hasn’t hardened their heart, can become a star.
To build and build lasting and out lasting a mortal span.
I suppose I’m just tired of the limits people place on their hearts. I understand caution. Hells, I understand a sharp blade at the right time. But still, we could be less foolish with our phrasing. Words build us. Give us a framework to assault reality.
And yes, if someone advances on you unwanted, well then remember that sharp knife I mentioned?
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Lazy haiku makes an out of season appearance
My brains kinda fried
Can’t hide feelings, never could
Choose and choose again
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Hunting for beginning
The problem with writing about inner turmoil is that as you deal with your emotional trauma that voice which drives you to write gets quieter and quieter
Sometimes depression yells pretty loudly, sometimes anxiety breaks through and gibbers all over the page. But that bleak dying cry from the abyss is silent. And this is better, I know it’s better. It’s just hard to reach that emotional depth. And I wonder if the wounds are really healed or if there’s just so much scar tissue that I can’t feel through it.
I feel like I cry about things which never would have touched me before. I don’t know if that’s progress or emotional honesty. I’m on a self guided journey. There are good and bad things to celebrate in that, but sometimes, you just want someone to tell you that you are doing the right thing. But who can? When you are adrift in the wilderness.
Even when you are with someone, you are alone. What else could you be, in the white noise silence. In the space of their lives and the distance between you
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A moment to ponder
Sometimes the cab of the truck outside of the house is the only quiet
The only calm
The only myself I get to be
I wonder how it came that I am split
A heart and thoughts in dichotomis parallel
One part with friends in the city I love
One part with love in the far reaches
And home
This place I sleep
Has become disquiet
Contentious
Almost hostile
It’s interiors no more shelter than a battlefield
Still
Outside
I can grasp the contentment I once felt
Hear the wind whip and whistle
The heat gathering in bones
Eyes too sad to weep
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Song of the Day
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The greatest lie ever told
How we got here seems obvious now…
We did all the things which we tell ourselves we must not do in order to have a good life
We didn’t take responsibility for our actions
At each step denying the rights of one group while celebrating how great we are. Building a lie while lying to ourselves and fooling the world that the lie was true. All while denying our own history. And with each successive step, teaching the lies as truth which then shocks the adult either awake or into denial. And awareness is terrible. So we have the sleeping and the awake and the people who violently reject what is in front of their eyes.
And those awake try to wake others up, but doing so carries the cost of being difficult. It wears one down. Wears away at the soul and soon enough some parts of us slip back into sleep. In self defense of the tattered mind.
And those strong enough or crazy enough take advantage, promising a return to the “good days”. A lie which only persists because we taught everyone that the past was good and that makes the present feel wrong. Because how could the past be so wonderful and the present so messed up? There must be something wrong with now, so we go back to sleep, to the laws of the past, because we lied.
We lied
We taught the lie. We taught ourselves that in the past things were good. A happy shiny lie. Which made homes easy and let people go about their day until reality comes along like a brick to the head.
Some people get only a piece of the lie, they get the isolation of fear which is not understood by those who still live in the lie.
We have lied to ourselves. Constructed false narratives about who we are. Then compounded the lie, generation after generation, by teaching the lies as truth. We are the architects of this disaster.
I don’t know how to fix this. Waking everyone up will lead to violent rejection of the truth. Which will lead to at least one form of war.
The best course would be to teach the real history of us, starting from the beginning of the nation. To stare unflinching at our past, at least with the children. So that those who are asleep can die away. Safe in their lie. But we are seeing what happens when we try that. This violent rejection of reality and the sleeping led around by the nose by those self-serving enough to damn us all for their short term gain.
(While pretending we didn’t erode safeguards and protections to prosperity which allow this situation to flourish)
I think I could have written this at any time in our history. And I would be sad with that truth. Because the lens of the world is one which we can’t hide from. And they have finally uncovered our fraud.
The USA has not and never was the greatest nation on earth. It is not the most free, the most prosperous, and the most educated. We falsified the numbers. Put our thumb on the scale. We hid the truth. And those lies are coming out. Hopefully it will be to the good. Before the lies destroy us.
Pelgris 