Night Creature

There's something in the shadows
outlines within the fragrant night
there's shapes within the shallows
That limnal entry to the light

What you want
what you desire
what you would run to
through the fire

You just don't know
where it begins
You pick at locks
with broken pins

There's something in the shadows
that you would chase throughout the night
you would desecrate the hallowed
just to have it in your sights

What you need
what makes you burn
while you trace runes
but cannot learn

You look above
to find a source
You dive down deep
and find remorse

But what you want
you cannot win
there are no doors
to let you in

Which leaves you in the shadows
an echo of the night within
Your will is made of tallow
Melting, running, going dim

You know you are a shadow
prisoner of the night within
Your features growing sallow
Desaturated, greying skin

But deep within the shadows
a dawn is creeping, whispering light
If you can navigate the shallows
You may be given back your sight

There's something in the shadows
There's something in the shadows
Keep running with the shadows
You are the empty space of shadows

There's something in the shadows

Beg for forgiveness

I dunno why that popped into my head, but there it is. I'm not thinking of anyone in particular, it's just a disconnected thought.

I wanted to try to write a poem, but those things only happen when they want to, which is not necessarily when I want them to.

Had the disability hearing. Said something stupid that got my lawyer angry at me, and if that means I screwed the pooch, it is what it is.

Tonight I set up a schedule for myself to start tomorrow.
Something as simple as that, and it stills feels like I'll fail before I start.

I'm not intentionally trying to be a downer, I'm just in a mood.

Going to watch pretend-tv for a while until the sleepy comes.

Peace out.

Onward and upward - to Narnia and the North

Sometimes I feel invisible in a swirl of electronic and internal madess, but it isn't until there's that brief moment of contact that I realize that it's still possible to feel alone. As long as there's a wall, I don't think about it being there - it's just a feature of the landscape. I don't even remember building it, and I don't make an special effort to maintain it - but I don't take any steps to tear it down or climb over it. After a couple of weeks of commuiting to work with a friend I found that it gave - brackets to my days and nights that I didn't know I would miss until it ended. When it stopped I went into a serious tailspin and had to crutch along on clonazepam just to keep the walls from tightening until I couldn't breathe. Tonight, just a brief contact, online from a distant friend - a congratulations for a small goal met - and that small kick of seratonin makes the world glow a little more brightly. I guess somehow, sometimes it seems like the chances I take online are the ones involving the least amount of risk but are also those that have the better chance of an actual return. I know that I wouldn't be the person I am now, for better or worse, without the realtionships, whether created in meatspace and continued online or the reverse - started on the interwebs and developed and actualized IRL -

It's all such a puzzle.

Tonight I had some of both, A real dinner witha real friend in real time, and that wisp of hello, well done, on the interwebs.

It's strange.
Sometimes unstatisfying.
Sometimes just enough to keep me going when I'm afraid I'm just a series of synapes that  can disengage and spin away from themselves into the ether and just - stop

And sometimes
It'll do pig. It'll do.

For What it's Worth


If it wasn't pure selfishness - the need to have that mind and heart in my life, in the place where it is missing

If I were able to be as disengaged enough to not just wish you happiness, but hear the details without my heart shredding like tissue paper

If I could be happy enough in my own life to be able - stable enough - to swallow my pride and take the chance of asking for friendship after shoving you away with both hands and kicking the door closed behind you

The second one's the worst. That hurts the most. That I hope - believe, even - that you are happy. Living the way that best suits who you know yourself to be. And that hearing how that is playing out through your other relationships -

I have a visceral, physical reaction to that. Anti-anxiety meds can only do so much. They can't entirely unlock the iron band around my heart. I need it there, to keep it from breaking.


But for what it's worth - I hope your life is truly grand right now. That you are doing what you want, where you want, surrounded by the people you love the most.

Even if I don't get to hear about it.

That isn't all that I want, but it will do.

That's what I want for you.

The false hope of sarcoma

I miss you so much
so much
and so often when I am

when the walls of my
reserve are at their thinnest
you are just there
the benign growth
tendriled around the
pumping center of my

there you are
where you can’t be seen
wrapped around the
host organ
my heart

you are the morning glory
the ivy that severs brick, given time

you are just there
the creak in the gate and
in my bones when the weather
as predictable as the seasons
and as necessary

you are there
a fact that is as inseparable
as the one that you are not

you are there the most
when you are not

miss you
wish you were
and you are not

The Accountability Factor

I’m starting to journal again, obviously. The purpose was, ostensibly, to try to make sense of my own world, in a way that would somehow remove me from the immediacy of the goddamn endless swamp that my life seems like sometimes, post Death Race to the Emergency Room 2016. 
Then, the world started to lose its fucking mind.
Well, to be more specific – my country lost its mind, and started to shit itself all over the rest of the world.

I remember a time… is starting to be a phrase you see a lot on Twitter. Maybe on Facebook, too, but FUCK that place.  After the damage they helped to do to the election – again, FUCK that place. And word is that Zuckerberg has his sights set on 2020. You know what?  Fuck HIM too.  
Ok. Got that out of my system.
But I do remember a time – when Bush winning the election felt like an incomprehensible insult. When having him in office and telling us to go SHOPPING as a solution to 9/11 was –
Ok, I’m about to devolve into a Lewis-Black-esque spew of FUUUUUUUUCK again.
Where we are here? Now?
Years and years ago, pre-internet, I used to carry paper journals around all the time. Never without a book to read, and never without some place to record my thoughts or collect quotes or what have you. And there was some ok writing that came out of that, but in the main, page after page of those journals ended up devolving into a downward slant – “swirling” is what my friend Mannie called it – that tendency to focus on something negative and just follow it doggedly down and endless rabbit hole of FUUUUUUUUCK…
Yeah, I like that word a lot.
But the thing with those journals was, part of why they did that - dig themselves into depths of FUCK THIS SHIT - was the self-knowledge that no one would ever read them. Outside that one time when my ex – but that was a whole other thing…
It’s more likely than not that no one will read all this stuff either. Just because it’s on the internet doesn’t mean it’s actually ‘out there’ in the sense that I’ll have an audience.
But there’s that possibility.
And it’s what helps keep me, in a weird way, accountable.
There’s the slim-to-none but still possible possibility that someone out there – might stumble across this.
And because of that, I feel like I have to be interesting. 
I have to try to make sense out of all this.
I have to have something to say, besides just endlessly howling into the void.
Because someone out there just might – maybe – hear.

That's all I was able to do yesterday. Last night
This last week.
The last ten days.

Howl. Shriek. Cry.
A lot.

The world I live in right now – my country – has stopped being accountable. Even though it has the ear of the entire fucking world – my country has gone totally tone deaf. Our sense of responsibility for and to others has disappeared faster than an old-school vampire in direct sunlight.  
Yes, I know, this has been years in the making.
But ten days –
In ten days –
I can’t right now.  I just can’t even go into it.  It’s both simple and complex, and overall overwhelming.
Whoever runs across this little time capsule in the electronic ocean - if someone ever does - if the USA and by extension large chunks of the world aren’t just smoking rubble and an EMP hasn’t wiped out colossal swaths of the Earth's collective knowledge – the Library of Alexandria writ large –
Look it up.
U.S. History, Friday, January 20 to Saturday, January 29, 2017.
Then again, depending on what happens in the coming weeks; months - who knows who’ll be writing the history books.  
All I can say right now is that in the last 10 days, I’ve lost my country. 
My mind?  I left that behind long ago.  
I just never expected to see the world around me devolve as well.
I was saying something about how journaling was supposed to keep me from ‘swirling’.
Maybe tomorrow.
Laters, internets.

So that was a thing that was good until it wasn't.

 Met with Heather twice, and it was really helpful.  for our next appointment she had stuff to do and so rescheduled for today. She was supposed to be here an hour ago.  Not responding to texts or voicemail. The organization she works for said they were going to get me a counselor. No call on that from them, either, and no response to voicemail as well.

Feeling really fucking abandoned.

Fuck this.


Wherein Our Protagonist Experiences Success

So, today was the variety of interesting that is good, rather than Ye Olde Chinese Curse variety. Exhausting, but that was both due to the length of time today's tasks took and having taken Trazadone last night, which leaves me feeling fucking wiped out so completely the next day that it's pretty much not worth it as a sleep aid, since the point of sleep is rest, but - anyway...

Today was supposed to be an assessment/intake appointment for counseling, and it ended up being not the 1 hour session I expected with just a counselor, but a 4 hour 3-way with a counselor, then another counselor, and then a - I can't remember her title but it was a new variant of "case manager," the latter of which I have decided is one of the most awesome people, partly because of her personality (which says something as I don't get a long with most females), and partly because her job is to help a person search for resources, establish a baseline for pretty much all areas of your life in terms of both coping and daily living skills, and she is able to not just see people in an office, but also go anywhere at all in the city to meet with people as best suits them. In a city where there is FUCK ALL in the way of transportation if you don't have a car (seriously - the supposed 'transit system' here goes well beyond joke and way into insulting), this is a service that to me seems like an absolute godsend.  Currently I still have my car, but without a steady income coming in (see: fired CHRISTMAS FUCKING EVE, by a boss who takes the appellation of 'dickhead' to new and transcendent heights) - life is feeling not just precarious, but more like pre-fucking-inescapable-sinkhole.  It's amazing how people will listen to you when you tell them that you have a suicide plan in place, not because you necessarily *want* to die, but are about to be in a position where that seems like the best of all possible options (see also: if my healthcare goes away I only have months to live anyway, yadda yadda).

Anyway, not-case-manager Heather is coming to my house tomorrow morning to get an idea of the space I live in (and how the broom closet dimensions are one of the challenges that I'm having trouble with), and then we'll go to a cafe to continue working on figuring out what resources to pursue - one of which will be getting help applying for disability, something that I HATE the idea of doing, but have finally had to accept is a necessity.  Also, shorter term options, since getting denied - and denied - and denied - is not only common, but something that one should not only expect, but assume and plan contingencies for.  

These are the kinds of things that I find easier to help *other* people with, but when it comes to doing them on my own, for myself - I dunno.  It's like a frosted Lucite wall descends between me and the intended tasks, and I can vaguely make out the outlines, but can neither fully grasp nor connect with them.  Vapor lock or somesuch. This isn't something I have the luxury of not being able to not deal with, so - it's one of the areas I am in great need of assistance with, and is EXACTLY what Heather is all about. After today, again, I'm wiped out - but I feel more hopeful than I have in, oh, about 9 months or more. Basically, pre-hospital.  So.  We're also going to look at formulating a game plan to help me finish my incompletes for school, and maybe see if there's some way I can get funding for the A$$L0AD of expensive testing to get my teaching license. Although another thing I have to accept is that I'll never be able to teach full-time - I just don't have the physical constitution necessary for it anymore - if I can teach part-time, and do some other stuff for $$ part-time (theatre, getting the Etsy store up and running, etc.), in theory I should be able to get back to the usual things-are-tight-but-manageable space again. Poor, I'm used to.  On the  brink of homelessness - not so much.

So.  That was my day. I wanted to do the bargain movie thing tonight but I'm still feeling hung-over from that AWFUL medication last night, so I think I'm going to try to do a little cleaning - I think I may have 20-30 minutes in me before all the muscles in my lower/mid back trying to strangle my spine AND rip their way right out of my body - and then just - blargh. Watch reruns of Sherlock I think.

Seriously.  I am fucking DONE with today.

In a good way for a change.

Which is pretty damn cool.


Never say "well, it can't get any worse..."

Note: Cross-post from LJ. May try to maintain both spaces. Under consideration.

I'm going to go on record as saying 2016 was the worst year of my life.

So far.

I'm coming back to longform writing now. Not just to bitch and moan, because that's just boring. Seriously. But I gave up on Facebook before the election, and even Twitter is just... depressing.  Even though a ton of my favorite authors are on there - they're smart and observant, and given the shape the world is in today, a lot of *their* observations and most of their links - because even more so than Facebook, Twitter is basically just a repository for rotating links - are depressing as fuck.  Don't even get me started on William Gibson.  Just don't. Suffice it to say we're basically living in the distillation of all his dystopian fantasies, just without as much of the cool tech.

But anyway.

One of the side effects of my new exciting Shittier Living through Disease and Chemistry is memory loss (See: Lupus Fog), and I'm officially entering last half of "Flowers for Algernon," so if I don't write down what's left, soon it's going to be - *poof*



In my teens, I carried a paper journal around with me everywhere I went. Now, even that is something I forget to do, which sucks, but there it is. Part of my goal now - I don't do New Years resolutions; this goal is just coincidental - is to spend an hour a day writing. Not necessarily about myself - I may finally get the fiction thing going, or possibly write about my grandmother, because anytime I've described her life, I've almost without exception been asked, "are you going to put that in a book? Because I'd totally read that" -

So, yeah.
If I can knuckle down and be the discplined person I'm basically going to have to be to survive - assuming the Affordable Care Act doesn't actually get repealed, in which case I will be dead in roughly 3-6 months, but that's another story, hooray -

So - from now on, words should  be regularly appearing in this space.

So Mote It Be, yadda yadda and stuff.

Cheers, DW / LJ Void.