A hug may be required, but not yet

All relationships are hard. They require a personal commitment to another person to be available to that person. To talk, not just when it’s convenient. To think of others who are important to you even if circumstances change and you aren’t able to be by their side.

And that’s difficult. It requires making the conscious choice to take time out and use it to maintain your relationship. I’m not always great about that. I’m aware of it and I try to work against my impulse to isolate and hurt instead of addressing the problem.

And in these times where isolation is literal life and death, it behooves us to use the technology we have to reach out and maintain those relationships. What are we fighting for if not each other?

This isn’t a choice

Stress doesn’t make for great artistic endeavors
People say starving artist likes its a good thing
Like hunger and strife makes art
That flame out make it or die passion works
Occasionally
Just enough to make it seem real
Enough that it leaves a blood trail leading to LA and NYC
Enough that doe eyed innocents are fed to the blades of the art world
And occasionally one makes it out and occasionally that work is significant enough to actually last instead of making a profit
But art is rarely popular or profitable in the time frame its born in
But it still needs to be
To be painted
To be sung
To be written
To be performed
And that means blood must be spilled
But it’s always the artists blood
It’s always the balance between an art world that glorifies the new and tattered
As if it did not create the atmosphere which kills art itself
And the desire to make rent in a world not built for dreams
Not even small ones
Like wanting what the next day holds
Like eating regular meals while not depending on family to thicken up the margins
Like having the choice to make art
We are burning our dreams for warmth
And eventually we run out
So we burn our blood
And when we are too full of ashes
We fade
Becoming the grey
Our voices lost
Forgotten
As if we never were

Broke palace ethics

This place is nonconducive to the joy of spaceflight
Joy in specific is absent
Also motivation beyond pay
Basically what we call rewarding work
Is a step beyond what we have
Instead settling for pay and the hope of vacation to places we can’t afford to love
Vacation spending always outshines daily and that means we get to live in a higher tax bracket where money doesn’t matter only joy
It’s no wonder we love those days away which come carefree because the bill sits on the horizon rather than paid in full
Living in the moment and without care
How could we not conflate place with joy when it’s really the luxury of not needing to worry which makes it all better
If we could live as we choose doing work we love
Work that challenges but also drives
If we felt seen and cared for
We might not feel so trapped
If life didn’t cost so much to sustain
We might live a life more enduring
Instead of scramble
Instead of the slow bleed

The flensing knife turns inward

I’ve been creatively burnt out for the last few weeks. It’s not entirely anything to do with the big things like work or relationships. It’s the little things that I have let eat away at my free time. Leaving me with no time to sit and be. No time to experience the world as time slips away.

Being so busy that any time…and here I have to stop and redirect because work crept in. Because it’s gotten to be insidious. It slips into any crack which if I turn it off, it becomes that I was unreachable and that is the issue.

Which is why I am writing this at 4am.

In alot of ways work is better, my relationship is better but my friendships and my writing and my actual life seems to have all suffered.

I have never been one to strike a balance. I throw myself completely into things. And that passion sees me through but it also breaks me.

It’s the inevitable, inexorable schism between what is needful and what is best. And much as I thrive in the situation where the world is burning and every action I make can turn the rudder, eventually…the boat sinks and the drowning begins.

And I am oh so weary of dying by inches in that way.
Something has to happen. And I don’t know if I have the mental fortitude to make the life choices required.

It seems like I was so much happier when I was a villain. But maybe it was just that I was young and didn’t see the terminus. The inevitability of less ahead than behind.

Pounding heart shakes the leaf

Kiss me sleeping
Breathe dry
Heat and blinking
Insomnia and anxiety team up
Hope watching you sleep isn’t creepy
Too tired to close my eyes
Dreading the coming day
Freight train approaches
Standing on the tracks
No certainty but uncertainty
Looking towards that future
That horizon
Wondering what’s next
A fish out of water
In a new pond
I’ll flourish
But too much
Becomes toxic shock
And no one notices until you’re gone
Seeing what happens
When the air gets thin
Wondering
If a new lake will make things better
Wondering
And sitting here awake
Too tired for dreaming
Hoping to see
To real-ize a future
Where being stuck won’t pass for
Stability

The ritual of waking

The day begins in reluctance
In putting out of the mind all the things
All the things outside of control
And choose breakfast
My kind of breakfast
Crunchy peanut butter and Strawberry Jam on molasses toast
Downing water
Reading a book
Anything to not think about
Not take the next step
Because then it begins
The shower and the dressing
The shoes I never wear except in the public world
Drawing down my war personality
Pieces of me shutting off
Transition to a darker mien
Each step taking me from where I prefer
From safety
From the place where I grow
To the place where I am diminished
Because, in this world, what I am and what I do
Does not pay for food
For space to breathe
For shelter
Instead I subject myself to the whims of others
Without agency
Without choice except to live in poverty
It’s worse now
Before I was given responsibility
Before I was given trust
And before it was all taken away
Every day it gets worse
Every day I learn more
Maybe enough to leave
But
I’m just procrastinating
That first step to begin the day
To all of us in that same position
Declaiming, in lament, It is what it is
Remember
It is not
Will be
We still have choices
Even if we can’t yet see their horizons

Forced backwards

uncertain fuels the breakdown
butchered goals at the whims of others
chances risked pay out gold
that fades with the dawn
pulled back
skin no longer inured
heart no longer fatalistic
no longer adapted to the caustic environment
Instead
burn
as if the time never was
lost in the false storms
at the mercy
of the merciless