mahiwaga

I think back upon this past spring, when my world contracted upon itself, and I couldn’t keep the darkness back, and how all I could do was hang on and hide in my cocoon.

And I think of how my sojourn in S.D. started off 2 years ago, bright and full of hope, thinking that things were bound to change.

I’m not sure how much things have really changed. I’m trying to keep a positive attitude, and I’m trying to hold on to the realization that things will be different. Not that things I hope for will necessarily materialize, just that whatever happens will be unforeseen and surprising, possibly in a good way, but maybe not.

I think I’m growing weary of solitude, but I’m rather unsure of how to change this situation. I keep thinking of being resigned to thousands of days by myself, lurking in the shadows, consigned to watching other people live their lives. I will be a ghost, maybe just evaporating into nothingness.

Whatever will be, will be, I guess.

The problem with me is that as soon as the going gets tough, I start having serious self-doubt. Now, granted, there are a lot of things in life that I am bad at (normal human socialization being one of them), but for the most part, I hold up the illusion of being a functional member of society pretty well. Sure, as soon as the shit hits the fan, I typically want to hide under my bed and cry, but luckily I’m a masochist, and tend to take fallout head-on, right in the kisser.

Long story short, I have gotten the hang of coping with failure.

Needless to say, this leads to a lot of frustration. Not only in myself, but in a lot of people around me.

I sometimes wonder what would’ve had to be different in my life that would have made me someone who was more confident, someone who was more sure of my abilities. Because I can’t deny the fact that I’ve been given some gifts, and this constant anxiety about possibly fucking things up seriously limits my chances of making this world a better place.

I can’t help but feel that most people deal with adversity in a much healthier way than I do.

I, on the other hand, would like nothing more than the permission to just fall apart and go to pieces. I just want to run out of situations insane and screaming, freaking out about the sky falling.

I am not the pillar of stability that I wish I were. I do not possess enough self-assurance to be able to figure out what to do next. In times of crisis, all my actions become tentative, with the expectation of making everything probably worse, if not outright disastrous. I do not have the knack for gambling. I don’t get a thrill from taking risks, when everyone knows that life is all about risks. Without risk, frankly, there is no hope. If everything were certain, why worry?

Why is it that life always tends to hit me hard like this? In the almost 30 years that I’ve been on this planet, why have I not learned a single goddamned thing?

dreaming
wheel of fire
blue green white
the twisting paths of sunlight
beams of starlight glinting across the warp and weave
of cosmic strings and singularities
mathematical catastrophes
eternal darkness

I am sighing, longing to sing
lips dry, cracked
throat parched
voice weak

thinking of the brightness of her eyes
arresting my gaze
overwhelming me with her beauty
(the waves crest, the current pulls me in)
the sound of her voice sending tremors through my heart
crumbling from inside out
defenses untouched
walls unbreeched
ramparts unscaled
towers still standing
every arrow still nocked
and already I am defeated
already the white flag raised in surrender

inadvertent victim
of kindness and camaraderie
and hope drives mad ideas into the core of my brain
like invading parasites wriggling and squirming

I dance with madness
unsleeping but weary
not eating but hungry

And I reminisce of the times I’ve raced along this worn track
veering and skidding across the deep ruts and grooves
banking against imminent disaster
and always missing that turn
spinning, twirling
the crumple and twist of frail metal
the shatter of glass
and fire and smoke
and the darkness of two-thousand days running into each other
sucking the substance from my soul
and even to draw breath is a struggle

I am always falling
the walls closing in
too dark to see
with not handholds to clasp
the neverending scream of the wind enveloping me
stealing my inner fire
wearing away at my bones
blood churning sluggishly through my veins
turmoil wracking my body

My soul erodes
snagging and smearing memories against the ragged terrain
and all flavor and form exsanguinated
and hope becomes ash, dreams become dirt
leaving this formless nothingness where time does not pass

I gaze deep into the abyss
knowing the long, hard road and smooth, sheer cliffs
back up into the sunlight
and still I stagger, and still it draws me
and my heart is a millstone dragging me down

My fate is written on my hands
branded onto the tip of my tongue
knowing this road that goes nowhere
except ever-spinning circles
down to the bottom of a vortex
where no man dares hope to escape