It's like live how? like you make it
copy down the sad crown
ride the wheel you made it
the strong misguided hatred.

-eclipse-

Bathing naked
The flurried atom swarms and indulgent desires strip me of my latest confirmed identity.  

thoughts  and painted-eyes
Department earlobe tenants remorse filled by the
phantasmagoric patience and comfort of pain.

So plain and petty feels  like I'm crying "lone wolf!"  double knot shoe tie
finite coffer rusty nails-stick latent reparation clips of manta ray striking tail whips.

The core is stifled to trip and fall upon the wet autumn leaves, broken twigs, and an earthly wisdom. Carry us, oh misleading stranger to a different home with Velcro that sticks to platelets and crust that covers elbows.

Hatred is stronger for the long-suffering and confusion when what we need is light
The fierce reserve beckoned to fight after immobility subsides and clears clutter away from the self-loathing, shame, and spiritual fatigue.

Maybe today is the day. This spot is reserved anyway and the wolves seem hungry.

Skip the kind gestures and polite itchy ego scratching.
"How's it going?"
"Good, how about you?"
"No complaints here?"
The truth is too heavy and time consuming to hear. It might be something like:
"How's it going?"
"******, but its still early. Usually the day ***** less as it progresses."
"Decent, but the jury's still out. No what I'm sayin'. I reach a positive peak of enjoyment during the last hour of work. By the time work ends I begin the descent to a feeling of unfounded dread."
Who wants to hear that **** though?
I do.

Bones shackled, breast plate pierced, enemy to the new governance - SCREAMING dark hearted chants that linger in memory like death and love.

Come and be one: we are looking for your[self] substance. Is that the facade you've chosen? Only for now my friend.

Come and be clear: bring us your mistakes - especially those that you continue to make. Those that make you question your worth and capacity for love. Bring your folly, your hatred, your discontent, your ennui, your sluggishness, your truth.

I want to be around those who accept my naked soul. Stripped of the costume that makes me socially adequate or tolerable.  Can you be Who you truly are. I know you crave this. Embrace your anxiety and bring it with you...

All that you are is welcome here.

Look at me, my naked soul wears no pockets for a secret to survive.

Just like so far lost
let in from the outside
remain the outsider
pushed back and forth,
then out
           - again.

Fractal force[d] deeper inside this time,
bone endures and strengthens solitude structurally.
Somewhere within the sponge bone
light emits through its holes in a dark orange hue.
Proof of occupancy? Not likely.
The sign of a visitor - a miner.
An altar carved into the wall, surrounded by shadow and dim orange light, calling out to saddening self-hatred and naked personality displacement.

So cunning, so precise - a rapid cycling of self-doubt, confusion, and contempt. It's there to push me when I know better. It wakes me up when I need sleep. It breaks my will when I need hope.
The silent guide that drags me weeping...
an ancient force that makes me bleed.

Welcomed warmly and befriended willingly.
Bitter now, broken heart, reality clipped winged innocence.
Gather up the feathers and continue forward please.
No time to process this mess yet.

Now over emaciated files kept locked away.
Like a second hand gold claim - gold now gone.

Still...
I dig and dig and dig, more...
****** hands and throat sore
Crying deep with sounds like banshees
blood and tears combine in thick and dusty pillows of pain
cemented by the paste these two create.
What I've buried is so elusive, self-destructing, and sad.

Whats left is not worth the trouble: I was aware when I buried it.

But still...

I visit past traumas like old friends.
When I am especially dark, I unearth the remains and dust them gently, wrap in red cloth, and spend time in search of a lesson learned.
I've been told this is part of my gift to share but I hide it like sickness; I bump into everything I need and quickly scurry away.

Can I honor the past and  let it lay?
The pain I covet only serves to perpetuate old stories and the isolation only softens my brain to social interaction.  

The enemy I've chosen is always present but never within my reach.

Im in a crunch with school and work and 7 hrs sleep in 50+. I aint showered and my *** reeks of ***** outdoor musk type, like defrosted by the sun after freezing under the moon. Inevitably, mold and mildew add that nice after market aged/crusty scent.

Sloppy wet diarrhea brought on by anxiety and doubt; I'm in a ****** hole collecting uneven magazine clippings uncomfortably.

Here I am still, packing my belongings to leave the hole and find serenity. Yet, nothing gets taken out. Instead I'll be here for at least 7-10 more days waiting for the easy chair to be delivered from an order placed online at 3am when I could have been finishing a paper.

A day to take shape and quite possibly escape the self-hatred that permeates my cellular structure.

Is it true?  Will my cellular make-up be completely renewed within 7 years?  Each cell that makes me up now will give way to a new wave of cells garnering total transformation.

I used to answer questions like this because I thought I could answer anything - I still can but I feel like a phony who speaks just to be heard.

I used to think I knew a lot. Now I recognize that I don't know a *******, let alone **** collectively. Ask me, I might answer. Beware of the prefaced statement: " all views are highly subjective

and

most likely to change dramatically before and after they are forgotten".

If and then.  I continue to seek a logical answer to the reason why I don't know anything - but...

Self-hatred, discontent, fear, and ******' Fruity Pebbles. Cocoa Pebbles are good - but lacking the crunchy sweetness of the good ole fruitay pebblays.

Let the funk squadron play...


NOW !

Saul. Babbittz.
Slight variation of the name Paul - sometimes pronounced
with the
"ah-oolll"
of Raul - to intrigue cashiers and toll booth attendents.

These words seem meaningless and even less interesting than the blank white background each letter invades.

And still I thank the God in my stomach that wakes up every once in a while to capture butterflies before I leave the house so I can turn down the sounds in my head that stir the butterflies to a frenzied mess of tangled neurons and synaptic maladjustment.

My interaction goes something like this:
cashier-"do you have a bonus card?"
me-(holding out the pad of my thumb - serious like lava)
cashier-(looking at me with a confused look)
me- "I thought thumb scans were enacted throughout the states. Sorry about that, I just got used to the thumb scan back home in North Dakota".
cashier- (dumbfounded, slightly annoyed)
me- (chuckling-embarrassed smirk) "you know, like a dystopian tracking system?"
cashier- "uh, not really" (avoiding eye contact, rushed transaction) "freak" (under her breath).

butterflies again
I've never even lived in North Dakota!
Just uncomfortable enough to prove that body heat activated "degree" does not provide 24 hour protection...

Next transaction a day later:
me- (silence)