Too tired to die, too awake to sleep

Doomscrolling is the death of creativity.
It sucks me in. And with my tastes there are a ton of poets saying poet things. And rather than inspired, I feel like I’m not going to be able to write. Because they wrote it better. Their personal journeys. Their blood on the page.

My lukewarm days. My pedantic pedal boat. Moving slowly into the certain uncertain.

I’ve bled and cried. Burned and created. But here I am, a product of doomscrolling and too many days stuck without the people who make life good.

I gave up caffeine. More to do it than for any health benefit. Haven’t seen one 3 months in, to be frank.

My cats receive my attention. For both I am either never enough or always too much. And if that isn’t the echo of all my relationships, I don’t know what is.

My problems are small. Even if they are insurmountable. I have shelter, food, and safety.

What I find I have less and less of, is hope.
I used to believe in the undelible goodness of humanity. That when push came to shove, humanity would choose the brighter path. I can’t believe that anymore.

The trump years proved the overall despicable traits which simmer beneath the surface. And the now times have so far proved that this isn’t going to change.

I know that when things advance, there is a backlash. But this backlash is like a flywheel. By the time it stops, our wounds will be so grievous we will either fall or fury. And everything I’ve seen points to fall.

I feel like I’m spinning my wheels. But I know this world. And I don’t have the means to switch tracks.

No spoons, no funds. Just the endless parade of days. Wishing it were otherwise.

Spring bears false witness

The gentle breeze tousles dark strands
Eyes closed
Bled thru to blood
Birdsong cries
Each warble singing joy
Steady hum of distant roads
Leading to lives
Unknown

This quiet perfection
Marred only by absence
And the fleeting thoughts
That if a choice were to be made
Today would have been a good day

Instead
Fresh blooms
Fading winter
Fading night
And a lament
For who can be truly content
In such perfection
Without your lips on mine

The unsaid things create the sharpest wounds

I find myself in vulnerable moments
Cut open and flayed
Words which seem true
Reverberate
My heart broken
Believing and not believing
Wondering if what
My brain says is true
Possessed with faith in Intuition
Faith in feeling
Faith in perception
To have that scalpel turned inwards
Whispering fears
Whispering truth?
How could I know?
When the lines blur
When I am not strength
Not safe
Not home
Just another person
Broken
Wishing to be whole
But what would that even look like

Deep rifts which, bottomless, we nevertheless must jump

Broken down epiphany
broke, sitting outside a locked car
Wondering how to break in
Keys sitting in the ignition
Waiting to be turned

Looking around
Hoping the Gang in blue
Passes me by
I swear it’s mine

But what goods swearing when you are brown
Not gonna matter
Sometimes invisible is the best you get

I remember
In my youth daring anything in the world to touch me
A promise of bloody retribution living in my heart

How naive I was
Or was it that without anything to lose that life was just less valuable
My life and theirs

Though I still hold no value for lives of those who wrong me
Now, I hold my life valuable
Forced to acknowledge that the path that was past
Is long gone
And any action has deep repercussions

Though I think about the last hurrah
And play a game
One I’ll likely never put my quarter into and roll the dice

What can we do
Shouting from the rooftops
Wondering if we’re heard

Wondering if it matters
Just a silent majority
Our voices hoarse from screaming

When you love physics but hate math

My creativity feels like a stream of photons being scattershot through a pinhole. Hoping to magically land against photosensitive paper and thus become known.

To leap full formed like Athena from the head of Cronus.

But this pandemic and the life that has been forced on us because of it, bends away the light.

A black hole forcing away a mind used to the sounds of a raging river. Changing to the low hum of the background count.

And each day is a question. Is the cat alive or dead?

Will today be one which makes light?
Or simply a burden which necessitates the digging of a grave.

This slow spin down

Wondering when again I will wander in a direction strange.

Living different lives

I was having a dream I’ve had before where me and my people were all trapped in our home. A derelict sprawl of a building which was dangerous in multiple ways but ours. A heavy rain was falling that mutated the animal life that got caught in it. The water itself was fine. It was something in the storm.
We were safe inside but the waters were rising and it was flooding the lower levels. And some strange infectious energy was creeping along the walls. Changing things.
I’ve had this dream before and the only way we’d devised to save ourselves was to lock ourselves away and take a pill that slowed our perception of time, and our bodies experience of it. We were gathering the survivors together when something strange(r) happened. The waters froze. They froze solid and we were able to escape.

The dream reelled forward 10 years and I was different. I was alone and had internal cybernetics. I also had a vehicle that had group of AI drones. They each specialized in a variety of energy which were known parts of this world. 2 life based, one dark based, and 2 necrotic. They had offensive and defensive capabilities and I recall having built them. They stayed in the car while I went into a high end restaurant where the owner owed me a favor and I was calling in the marker for a table and a conversation.

I was waiting for my table when my cars proximity alarm went off. I went out to see and it looked like a team of jetpack jackers had descended on the vehicles of this high end parking lot. My drones deployed. First hitting with life energy to push the attacker back while the necrotic drones erected a barrier. At first he was amused by the harmless energy attacks which are street legal if uncommon, but then the dark beam weapon hit him, shutting down all of his optical gear. The drones retreated beyond the dome and he was like WTF, when he saw it was necrotic energy which is both rare and deadly.

The owner came out to watch and said to not worry. That they were imperium protected. And my perspective shifted to the cockpit of some kind of fighter jet, though it was more like a space based plane that was only flyable in high atmosphere. It fired a missile which was headed straight for the guy looking at my shield. The missile was odd. It looked more like a container for something rather than a normal missile.

I heard the ring leader tell his people to bug out, that the imperium was here. But then he switch channels and said, “See you around, flyboys.” He had the scrambler codes for the imperium communications and he used them for something frivolous. He was a spy, a plant in the gang, from the imperium.

The missile hit my shield but nothing happened. Well, the necrotic shield flared and the missile flared with the same energy but my shield held and the missile spent its without effect.

I went to check my car and heap accolades on the AI’s but there was a man sprawled in the seat. He was disoriented and confused. The life bots were quivering with the need to protect but they are not allowed to fire in the confines of the car without permission. I got a look at the man and was shocked. I knew him. From the compound, from before.

He saw me and was relieved. I was not. The last time I saw him he had died. He was fighting imperium forces and they killed him.

He said he was happy to see me but he had to get back.

Back where, I asked.

To the Imperium, he replied. Looking at me like I was a quizling.

“Why would you go back to those monsters”, I said, my voice rising.

He looked me square in the eye and said, “they aren’t monsters. We were wrong. I’ll take you to them and you’ll find out.”

A local security guy came around and said that the restaurant would be pressing charges on all trespassers and looked pointedly at my old friend.

My bots took the opportunity to act on the perceived kidnapping threat and pushed my old friend out of the car. He got up, unperturbed and walked to a clear area. He setup a homing square for interdimensional transport. A risky method of long distance travel for any organics.

Then I woke up

Begin at the beginning

I can feel myself slipping into depression. There’s this deep uncomprehensible sadness that looms just out of view. I’ve just eaten my favorite dish, watching a show I like. I am restless and want to do something. But nothing sounds good…no,that’s not right. There are things that I know, if I started, I would enjoy. But I can’t work up the will to do anything.

So I lay in bed. Isolated from anyone who might check on me. And I hope that sleep will find me, before the crippling self doubt. Before my brain starts whispering lies. I write this in the brief calm before the storm. Because on some level I’m trying to reach out. Even though I won’t send it to anyone. At least not immediately. Maybe I don’t want help. Maybe this is what I deserve. Maybe I’m too late. Maybe I always will be

To be a blade

I’m a book nerd and I have an admitted love for a turn of phrase.

One of the phrases that always makes me happy is “the old pacts will be honored”

It always gives me a thrill that the old ways will be honored. That the compacts made in the early days will still be in force and that others hold their word sacrosanct.

I hold within myself several such compacts. Oaths sworn that I will not break. And to see that reflected in fiction gives me a thrill.

Like the first time I saw a pansexual person(David Rose) on television, seeing myself on screen.

Though, in the case of a former, I do wish I saw the same amongst reality.

It makes me feel a bit isolated and alone that this is not the case. And I know that there are honest people.

But that’s not the same. Holding yourself to a high standard, never breaking your word. That’s a rarity bordering on the mythic, in my experience.

So I love when I see it in fiction, though my mind turns and, always with a wistful sadness, sees the world.