Sleep deprivation

***

Guilt

Sense-making and maps of meaning

Revisiting memories

Crying

Staying away from scary corners of my mind

Deliberately going toward scariness

Not resisting

Yes resisting

Respecting resistance

Compulsive tv watching

Dropping or letting go over and over again

Exploring

Curiosity

Forgetting and then remembering that it’s all happening on its own, noticing this, knowing this, realizing this

Realizing that realization comes and goes on its own

Being in love with everything

Crying

Playing with time and concepts

Craving emptiness

Love

Catastrophizing

Ranking what "works" (i.e. sleep deprivation is effective), noticing that the metric of “effective” and "works" is = resulting in greater illusions of "forgetting" with a capital F

Loving everything

Being everything

Self-flagellation

Not really believing any of the stories or narratives

Procrastinating

Being irresponsible

Getting off on self-loathing

Forcing intimacy

Compassion, large, whole, unrelenting, everywhere

Oversharing

Falling in love with a homeless person at a traffic stop

Being bored and sad and hopeless and desperate

Remembering inherent wholeness

Being stubborn

Getting out of the way always feels like dying

Loving dying

Loving mourning dying

Dramatizing dying

Wanting to be seen and loved

Self-loathing

Intensity

Craving intensity

Hating craving intensity

Knowing that nothing is a problem

Suffering

Being impatient

Being very very patient

Feeling like I don’t belong in the world, like people and things and money and social media are alien, foreign and scary

Feeling like I am the world

Forgetting that knowing how to verbalize isn’t the same as knowing

Wanting knowing with words to be the same as Knowing

Wanting knowing to be a Real, solid thing

Fear

Mortal fear

Bewilderment

Constant background anxiety

Hating this body

Not caring for this body

Being burdened by this body

Feeling trapped in a body

Feeling more trapped in a mind

Wanting knowing to resolve everything

Wanting to be saved

Thinking that I probably don’t need to be saved

Thinking or knowing(?) there’s nothing to be saved from

Knowing that I can’t be saved

Feeling open

Feeling vulnerable

Feeling exposed

Feeling bad

Feeling like I'm doing it wrong

Believing it all

Wanting to both believe it and have a choice about when, where, and to what extent I believe it

Not knowing where the edge is until I've fallen off

Feeling violated

Feeling like existence is non-consensual

Somehow trusting all of it, totally, exactly as it is

Watching the panicking

More crying

Being one

Being very very aware

Noticing and letting go of effort in one swift move

Compulsive clenching

Compassion

Dissolving

Disillusion

Dying without the novelty

Being ok vey very briefly and for no apparent reason/because of no reason./?

Wanting distraction

Respecting needing distraction

Getting out of the way of intelligent coping mechanisms

Villifying coping mechanisms

Understanding only in retrospect

Frustration

Compassion, deep, like warm water

Compassion, hard, like being ****** vey very slowly

Torture

Life-giving torture

Never wanting to stop

Marveling

Abundance like grace, like not deserving, like not needing to be deserving, like deserving is perverse language

Tasting everything

Endless kaleidoscopes of being and tasting and knowing

Non visual seeing

Clarity, brightness, nothing is a problem

Being alive

Being sososo tired

Wanting to rest, to die into void and nothing

Wanting to hibernate

Wanting to still

Dying to get off

Begging to get off

Finding the edge more thrilling than the center (because then the center can be anything at all?)

Loving all the previous versions of this being

Needing to hate, loathe, earlier renditions of this being

Hating repulsion

Trusting repulsion

Getting stuck because resisting repulsion

Knowing that there's no way out

Knowing that the way out that I'm seeking isn't a way out

Not wanting to do the work

Dancing around the center, constantly

Feeling dizzy with chaos, with knowledge of power

Feeling comfortable with mediocrity

Hating mediocrity

Waking up with jaw tension from the enormity of my own suppressed power

Telling stories about sensations

Relying on self-bullying methods I know don't work

Perfecting the art of pretending

Perfecting the art of self-deception

Wanting to make the stakes higher

Being overwhelmed by my own storytelling

Not wanting to give stories credibility by dispelling them

Naval gazing

Loving philosophy

Feeling dried up, tired, stagnant, disinterested, not engaged, not here.

Sleepwalking. Sleep writing. Sleep talking. Sleep caring

Not sleeping

Vivid dreaming

High weirdness

Questioning my sanity

Romanticizing insanity

Wanting to blur all boundaries

Wanting to smooth the edges of reality

Questioning reality

Destabilizing reality

Feeling destabilized

Feeling irresponsible

Guilt

Feeling sick and tired

Feeling scared

Feeling hopeless

Wanting to reach out

Feeling like everything is inevitable

Feeling like suffering is inevitable

Recognizing kindness

Discerning well (properly? Clearly? Well.)

Fearful trusting

Thinking too much

Not wanting to love my dad as much as I do.

Chasing the intellectual high

Disappointment

No need for resolution

Feeling caught in existence

Feeling caught up. Like in a potato sack; I can explore the exact measure of my confinement, the sensorial elements, the scratchiness, the filtering light from the outside, the stagnation, the wanting to stretch.

I love this being.

This. It's not a problem.

Confusing familiarity with comfort

Confusing comfort with peace

Reifying confusion, but not really

Yielding, on my knees, heart to the sky

Seeing through, like pinholes in a perfectly realistic backdrop

Dispelling everything

Stripping away the Stripping away

Trying to stand still and feel

Wanting to be convinced by rage

Always loving Sad, not despondent, just sad

Feeling continuous

Feeling fragmented

Feeling like motion, like flow

Feeling like thousands of still frames, constant flickering

Grasping at impermanence

Resting in the middle

Dancing down the tightrope

Knowing perfect poise, so so brief

Everything is hysterically funny

Hysterically

But also just plain humorous

And absurd

Loving people

Feeling grateful for people

Seeing beauty everywhere

Always coming back

Like an epic

Like a great love story

Like a violin solo in a forbidden song

Like the last wring of that silk dress you're not supposed to squeeze dry

Knowing the inside of my hand

Knowing teenage shame

Knowing being yelled at, towered over, by my dad, in a narrow
hallway, eyes glued to speckled floor tiles, feeling small, nowhere to go

Loving with my body, with my hands, with my mouth, with my whole entire strong soft body

Crying with tears, and snot, and heaving

Becoming one single, concentrated point

Wanting to envelope everything. Really. Actually. With my body.

I am not this voice

Or this writer

Or this narrator

Though I am also all that

Belonging

The feeling that you will always be
accepted
                                        Integral
one of us

Faults forgiven
Triumphs celebrated
Your past and future
                                        Integrated
into our story

Such an important feeling
                                        Vital
To our sense of community
our sense of self

The ground feels shaky
Prone to destabilizing quakes at the first crack
If that feeling is lacking
                                         Withheld

The floor disappears from beneath you
If that feeling vanishes
                                         Or is withdrawn

Usually it takes more than one
Of the us
To expel or invite

But perhaps
The most influential
One of us

Is you

At the end of the day
You decide
                                         Unconsciously
                                         Consciously
If you are worthy
Of belonging
Of being

                                         One of the us

Sometimes though
The better question may be
Are we worthy
                            of belonging to you?

Connotations and elucidations
We need language that recreates nations

If you use changency on a regular basis then you might be a changent but then you're defaulting to a noun based thought process and we live in a fluid, living universe. Nothing in the universe is unchanging thus locking our minds down with noun based systems of thinking cannot do our Selves or our Universe justice...if you believe that you have a life sentence of just ~100 years and then you're gone, then you're not a responsible human being...or you are being lied to and tricked into thinking that we're barely human...being is a verb...we are in process...in flow...we are the dragon's that we've been waiting for. We are the guardian's of wealth and we are the guardian's of prince's and princess's....because we are the prince's and princess's.

If you think I'm full of **** that's fine. You've been tricked. Your reward for such treachery, your reward for allowing yourself to be deceived....another ~100 year life sentence.

You'll deal with it eventually because you'll be back again and again and again until you figure out how to swim out of Hades and get back onto an eternal path not as a Changent but found within the fluidity of changency.

You don't go to Wall Street or Bay Street or any of those 'important' streets to understand currency...you borrow Turtle Island technology in the form of a canoe (don't forget to pay your royalties)...you get off the land and onto the river and flow....this is currency...this is flow. Buddha sat on the edge of the river studying flow and found great truths...Buddha never had access to Turtle Island technology. You can't study currency without getting into flow physically...the mind will only take you so far. A mind has barriers, a mind can be deceived, that deception can lead to false dichotomies such as the left brain~right brain, us versus them, US vs the People...let's unite the states. Flow into the nondual truths that resonate through the subtle frequencies of those attuned... Let's stop at Acme Explosives on the way home from 'work' along the ****** Tune paths found in our minds and load the Hoover Dams built in our heads by the Fortune 500 who want us to think that we're dead (or dying) ...  load the dam full of explosive ... then let Wylie and Bugs do their thing. A levee is impermanent...and the levee is about to break...it nears the time for the deal to go down. Hereditary leadership could make a coup but this doesn't honour flow. Those power mongers, who, using their ill-gotten bellows to stoke the flames of fear have worked their way into their own slavery. When We, the living people, realize that we're the plantation owners and we are the ones that can and need to start pushing the signals back into the marketplace...this is the people's market. A just internet decentralizes the economy...it just is...Justice. Destabilizing using the ebbs and flows...using whimsy...this is Game Theory writ large. Let's turn the Prisoner's Dilemma on it's head, Jed...i

The idiom...pushing on a string is supposed to connote the impossibility of sending signals back up the ladder. Hahaha. That is exactly what can and in the new economy will be done. You can pull strings but you can also push strings. I know this, I understand this because of an idea I've been meditating on for several years. It's an idea the Tlingit and Haida chiefs used to honour their lost loved ones. It's called a Potlach Ceremony. It's also called Indian Giving or flows into negative connotations that are attached to indian giver, let's take the power back...keep pushing...it's almost time

He wears his falseness as if in fatigue

Like the new old décor of a bad Victorian theme pub

A nostalgia of bland notoriety, hideous, perhaps contagious

For it is indiscriminate and without compromise in its counterfeit

Lying in wait, eagerly in ambush, hidden by a thought

A thin antiquated distraction, a solitary mutilation of identity

Deflecting interest in amplified displacement into delirious disguise

Re-emerging in distraction, pestering, problematic,

Destabilizing directness in its ubiquitous imaginary lie

It is a realization that one is all too aware off

Yet despite this knowledge cannot help but conspire in its captivating complicity

I am fearful to look upon him directly,

For in so doing I may discover in his open masque

Improbable truths about myself, as foul as any slander

Souls don’t have friction, if there without clear instructions to what’s being used for? Meant to combine the velocity of aspects surrounding the pure energy from growing without endangering itself. Souls becoming too powerful without layers. Layers interpreting logical statements of what good values is growing over itself for protection. Layers protecting itself. Protecting itself from the one that needs sheltering. Forcing more layers to follow in direction. Direction forcing more layers to protect itself more over, then pure energy endangering itself too much! Prompting the ideal for conquest in the face of chaos. Chaos sharing varieties without clarity. Clarity taunting the individual switching off any claims to servitude. Who’s this individual? Umm…clarity itself? (Sighs EVERYWHERE!!!) Energy isn’t withholding itself anymore. It’s destabilizing altogether! Pressure doesn’t come with layers. Endangerment is consequence. The ideal claim without surfaces. Surfaces needing layers without logical statements evolving proudly. Evolving flaws meaning to pace itself out. Clean up the act so chaos can protrude reasoning. Basic fundamental truth of life itself. So, which is it…? Souls without layers! Or dynamic layers ******* energy material too fearful to crack without confrontation? Exceeding the limitations of presence alone. Were all doomed! However, why isn’t there a claim to any of this? Friction has another backbone in its surface. It’s cleverly silent.

You aim your arrow
and directly impact my lapel.
without any contemplation
you perforate me with your aimless spike,
making me vulnerable to your senseless aches.  
  
Aiming without consulting,
without sparing consequences
or even considering if I'm willing and able;
to follow you again,
to fall victim to your games,
or be subjected to that feeling, where I
concede my power to your prevarication.  

Notches that penetrate my elbows,
traction attracting my exhilaration,
you release the handle with your erred hands…
hunting me like easy prey,
destabilizing my  bravery,
making me day dream about possibilities
of things I thought, were obsolete for me.

I hear the call and refute it,  
but the sound of your arrow continues to pursue me.
Futile is my attempt to dodge it..,
my stiff body resists the impact,
the tip has pierced my heart, poisoning it with adoration.  

Again I am smitten, denying it is foolish.
Like a sweet debutante, I hear his footsteps coming.  
My beloved has arrived with waning moons;
to locate my nevus,
to play with my polarities,
to satiate my fissures,
to explore my possibilities,
to climb mountains of passion
and hope-filled constellations
with Moons on my navel
and the darts of love piercing my back.  

Blessed be your indiscreet arrow!
For your tip has pierced through my resistance
of blindly falling in love once more.

LeydisProse
2/20/2018
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse/

Once upon a time,
There was a Distant Land--
In the north were hills and valleys,
In the south desert sand.

Once a powerful empire,
This land now faced a threat
From outside intervention
That many would regret.

It welcomed a Mighty Country's
Involvement from far away--
Not fully realizing
The role that it would play.

A group from the Mighty Country
Helped organize a coup,
Destabilizing the other
And setting things askew.

A new regime replaced
The one that had been deposed.
However, the regime's tyranny
Soon became disclosed.

Discontentment grew;
The leader fled for his life
And begged the Mighty Country
For asylum for himself and his wife.

The people in the Distant Land--
Angry and abused--
Wanted their leader returned;
The Mighty Country refused.

So, the people took
Matters into their own hands,
Taking fifty-two hostages
For negotiating demands.

For 444 days
Conditions remained very tense
Until the release of the captives.
The damage was immense.

"Be careful what you ask for"
Is a common phrase.
The Distant Land now suffered
Tyranny in other ways.

The new religious leader
Ruled with an iron fist
And added more names
To his enemy list.

Eventually the Distant Country
Was attacked by its Neighbor,
Which received outside assistance
To help it sharpen its saber.

Help--for example--
From the Mighty Nation consisted
Of the selling of poisonous chemicals.
Frankly, that sounds pretty twisted.

Imagine the horrible suffering
From a war that went on and on--
Ending eight long years after
Battle lines had been drawn.

The Distant Once-Glorious Nation
And the Mighty Nation maintained
Their strained, aggressive relationship
From which nothing was gained.

Both accused the other
Of harboring evil intentions;
Both stubbornly resisted
Peaceful interventions.

The people were the ones who suffered
From dis- and misinformation.
The ones caught in the middle
Always experience privation.

Could this story end
Not with tears but with laughter?
Will the two ever live
Happily ever after?

- by Bob B

I awoke to the crashing sound of thunder,
outside my window, I stared, placed with wonder.
The day was umbral and stormy, with no light in sight.
Cold sensations in the air, something didn’t feel right.
I searched the house, to find my Mom slumped on the floor.
She was crying and she swore that Dad left for that *****.
Emptiness filled me, and my eyes darkened with detest.
My “father” cleaved her heart beating from her chest.

When he left, he abducted something from me.
He robbed my sister’s opportunity at having a good father.
For that, I love him no longer
and hope that when he is dying no one bothers.
He robbed my mother’s peace and love
and left her doubting the realness of above.
I hate such a coward and wish that he could die a thousand deaths;
I pray that his existence would collapse as he loses his last breath.
He ruined our lives and set them in disarray,
fraying our world as soon as he left our driveway.
However, when he departed, he also replaced.
He left my mother with destabilizing depression,
he left my sister with a skepticism of man’s impression,
he left myself with a lack of self, with no exception.

For the one who takes, loses in turn.
For his life, I wish to burn and burn.

A call to action is not action
Other things that are not action include:
Expostulation rhetoric poetry
Fulmination logic contumely
Proposition dialectic philosophy
Tergiversation polemic and ideology

Actual action, he expostulated, is behavior -
Behavior that acts, he fulminated,
Actually impels or constrains the acts
Of other behavers
This is only done, he propounded,
By applying pressure to weak points
In these others’ safety or security
But acts of violence, he tergiversated,
Only spread or institutionalize violence.

Apart from physical violence, he droned on,
All people have two things they can use
To act with –
Time, and Money.
What you can do with time is specific
To your skills and situation
But what you can do with money
Has exactly two categories:
You can give it,
Or you can withhold it.

You may think withholding is automatic,
And it is, it is; but you are not the one doing it,
It is being withheld from you, in every pay period.
By far your largest charitable contribution
Is to institutionalized violence.
To attempt to withhold your money from these withholdings
Would be enormously risky, painful and destabilizing
In ways that calls to action and other forms of talk never are.
But for one body to impart momentum to another body,
It has to transfer energy, i.e. there must be a cost.

* * * * * * *

On the other hand:
It is currently fashionable to say
That we are not the same person over time
Everything is replaced every few years, personality is a myth
And according to the most advanced thinking
Consciousness is an accident that affects nothing.

In the real world, of course,
I’m the same person I was at age seven
When I first thought of myself as a person;
This knowledge is immediate and irrefutable.
We aren’t the sum total of replaceable parts,
And consciousness for most people is a long-lived thing
Not the space between tick-tocks of a metronome.

This conscious thing concerns itself almost entirely
With exteriors, which are almost the only thing to
Latch onto. But the ultimate **-hum of the exteriors
Compared to the permanent (mortal) consciousness,
Which has no good bad up down or plus-minus incentives
Gets so obvious as to become ridiculous. This is Anti-Action.
Other terms include depression, cynicism, selfishness,
Detachment, solipsism, reality.

But you must care about the others,
Or you are contemptible. Even the Buddha
Said this…right? (It was a long time ago
And there may have been many edits.)
The real and only basis for action is Love,
That is to say you must care about the exteriors
Which is to say the undeniable mechanics of the world
And what happens to those who are acted upon. You Must.

Is this knowledge immediate and irrefutable?

“I’m the guy who gets you out,”
said the well-built man standing outside my sister’s door.
“I just wanted you to see my face,
so you’d know me … should the need arise.”
His eyes scanned the joint quickly,
Instantly calculating all means of entry and egress.
A quick handshake, and he was gone.

You see, my sister was a fun-loving Peace Corps volunteer
Stationed in rural Honduras
In a time before today’s violence, drugs and gangs
No, those were quieter days … but still,

There was The Guy …
… Who Gets You Out…

Presumably in case of a sudden revolutionary movement
Some destabilizing event. A political coup.
Intrigue between nations
The likes of which we’ll never know.

Oh, that Guy, that Guy!
God, how I’ve wanted him in my life!
If only he’d show up on my doorstep
And then I’d know I’d be OK.
He’d be there for me.
He and his operatives,
They’d have a way to know
when things were getting a bit perilous
Watching. Waiting.
Never engaging unless it was a matter of imminent danger.

I’m not proud. I’ll admit
I’ve longed for him to materialize
Those times I’ve been depressed and stressed and anxious
Overloaded, weighted down
Teary, weary, lost.

Out of nowhere, the chopper descends!
And there he is, looking down at me
The Guy Who Gets You Out
I grasp his outstretched hand
And he pulls me Up, Up and Away!

He flies me to a deserted island
To a nicely appointed safe house.
“We saw things were getting out of your control,” he says.
“We knew it was time to act.”
“You’re too important to lose. It’s imperative that you do what only you can do — that you survive.”
“You’re safe now,” he tells me. “Just take some time to recover and then get started.”
“You’ll find everything you need here — food, clothes, toiletries, plenty of paper and pens.”

And then as quickly as he came into my life, he was gone, for now.
The Guy Who Gets You Out.
But he’s done his job well. Mission accomplished.
I feel an ethereal calm, staring at the waves, the tide rolling in.
I contemplate my place in the world
And marvel at how the Powers that Be
Knew just when to catch me
Right before the fall.

It’s a blur now — the chopper, the escape, the chaos we left behind
But his face, his outstretched hand remain forever ingrained in my memory
The tamer of my bedlam
The savior of my spirit
The Guy Who Gets You Out.

Shrinking, thinking of a time when everything was fine.
Reeling, thinking of a time when my heart still had feeling.
Completely aware of it what it will take to keep my soul from beginning to break.
Unable to process to the simplest things,
Unable to see what happiness brings.
The pain is consistent, throbing and aching.
Like earth upheaved, cracking and quaking.
Nothing to numb it, no drugs for the pain.
Shredding my mind,
Destabilizing my reality.
Still what right do I have to complain?

troubled sleep
woke up in full delusion mode
you were him again
it was disturbing
depressing
destabilizing
I woke up in love

i wake up in the morning and then can’t get back to sleep. my mind races, pouring over all the faces i’ll never see again. i’m numb. complacent. confused. devastated and torn to pieces – hurt and worn and put away wet – exhuming every detail of the last ten years: an epic odyssey of regret.

my heart is heavy but my head feels light – my chest feels tight – i grab my phone and stare at it, you know the drill: swipe left swipe right. now i’m on the trawl. everything helps a little at first, but nothing really ever helps at all.

i wake up in the morning and grab myself a smoke. perhaps a little ****? a shot of whiskey to lubricate the spokes? it’s not a good idea but who gives a **** what i do?

i’m stuck. paralyzed. incarcerated. trapped inside a cozy cocoon of narcissism. lashing out and resorting to alcoholism. i’ve stopped exercising. there’s been a sharp increase in my womanizing. fat and sugar both suddenly seem so appetizing. all the things that hurt me are actually the most tantalizing. it’s demoralizing. i’m realizing that my actions are destabilizing the very fabric of my mental state. i feel like a slave who forgot to save the password to his freedom. christ. i feel lost. feels like my life is in a vise. i get advice, but then i ignore it and instead keep on chasing the next vice. my heart bleeds. i don’t want what other people want. but i also don’t know how to find what i need.

depression. it’s back for another session. three weeks and counting, this is my official confession. i’m sure that somewhere there’s a lesson about the need to lessen my obsession with bad options. in truth, i want to go. leave. disappear again. escape. run away. jettison out of this place, pain, and situation.

i wake up in the middle of the night and there’s nothing left to do. my heart hurts. it’s stupid but i can’t make it stop. it’s dumb but i can’t help but feel like i’m in the dumps. ****, i’m stuck, in a perpetual drop, deeper and deeper into a frenzy of madcap lunacy.

what the hell am i supposed to do?