(Discovering my Quad-polar compartments)
But sleep never satisfies
for long. I find myself
dreaming more and more,
vivid, frightful dreams
as real as being awake
but with less control,
movies play through my mind
mirroring the day In some
****** up way,
and just like that,
Like a drug,
sleep loses its ability
to provide escape
because of tolerance.
I watch a snail move slowly
across the flagstone.
I lose track of how long
I've been watching.
Only the thin line of spit
beneath my pillow
lets me know it was
a dream.
Without escape
There is no reward,
No rejuvenation
only confusion,
and that which is
easy is not.
But this quest has
opened my eyes in more ways
than just lack of sleep.
My quad-polar discovery
has helped me identify
these quadrants of my mind.
God. Beast.
*** Love.
My quad-polar compartments.
Confused and bewildered
they will not be merged.
The god in me thinks the beast needs to be loved.
The beast in me thinks that *** is a god.
The *** in me thinks that love kills the beast.
The love in me thinks the beast is just ***
It’s the love I am most afraid of,
At least during those times when
there is a me,
a me that looks down on the quads,
but mostly that’s rare because
I never know who’s
in charge anymore.
It's such a difficult existence
when what’s theoretically
my greatest need is also
my greatest fear.
If I consider this logically
then the conclusion is clear,
that is,
my dedicated inlets
and my spiritual outlets
cannot get along.
*** and love do not co-exist.
At least not in me.
I’m either penetrating inlets
and ignoring outlets
or
seeking mysticism while
the inlets go on wanting.
I have known this for
a very long time.
Maybe if I find
a new island
I could find
a new inlet,
open the outlet
back up.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
(Discovering my Quad-polar compartments)
But sleep never satisfies
for long. I find myself
dreaming more and more,
vivid, frightful dreams
as real as being awake
but with less control,
movies play through my mind
mirroring the day In some
****** up way,
and just like that,
Like a drug,
sleep loses its ability
to provide escape
because of tolerance.
I watch a snail move slowly
across the flagstone.
I lose track of how long
I've been watching.
Only the thin line of spit
beneath my pillow
lets me know it was
a dream.
Without escape
There is no reward,
No rejuvenation
only confusion,
and that which is
easy is not.
But this quest has
opened my eyes in more ways
than just lack of sleep.
My quad-polar discovery
has helped me identify
these quadrants of my mind.
God. Beast.
*** Love.
My quad-polar compartments.
Confused and bewildered
they will not be merged.
The god in me thinks the beast needs to be loved.
The beast in me thinks that *** is a god.
The *** in me thinks that love kills the beast.
The love in me thinks the beast is just ***
It’s the love I am most afraid of,
At least during those times when
there is a me,
a me that looks down on the quads,
but mostly that’s rare because
I never know who’s
in charge anymore.
It's such a difficult existence
when what’s theoretically
my greatest need is also
my greatest fear.
If I consider this logically
then the conclusion is clear,
that is,
my dedicated inlets
and my spiritual outlets
cannot get along.
*** and love do not co-exist.
At least not in me.
I’m either penetrating inlets
and ignoring outlets
or
seeking mysticism while
the inlets go on wanting.
I have known this for
a very long time.
Maybe if I find
a new island
I could find
a new inlet,
open the outlet
back up.
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