therapy and resistance

how is it that therapy becomes the excess of class war or the oppression thereof?

When the struggle of the individual is made to seem self induced when it is easily and clearly directly a result of the failures and complacence afforded by the majority of the group.

When in a therapeutic environment it is important to distinguish the opportunities of resistance from the experience of trauma.

there has always been individuals who establish groups that are in a realm of desperation.

Understanding how this process has unfolded institutionally is just as valid as treating the individual.

This gives the individual the choice and resources needed to heal.

The healing could look like resistance rather than assuming aspects of class war or oppressive culture to be normal.

Otherwise therapy is nothing but the means to normalize the process of oppression.

The traumatic state needs to be able to decipher its organic existence from that of organized oppression and its institutional cooperation.

the neglect of deciphering or distinguishing these differences causes individuals to make a competition out of trauma. This minimizes certain trauma of individuals and causes the group to have less of an opportunity to resist organized oppression of the institution.

Those that are in the realm of desperation or traumatic state are given no choice but to repress in order to continue being social or a member of the group.

in excess the hierarchies of gender, race and class are reinforced to an almost superhuman level.

To the desperate or traumatic state…

what needs reinforcement is that there are humans just like us who have resisted oppression and caused the normalcy of the group to be more inclusive and aware of the processes associated with organized oppression.

Dear Estranger,

the only boy who has called you father
is your buried best friends son;
Sorry but Secretly, sir I don’t think I would have wanted
you as my dad.
I was never the athletic athen or the sporty spartan
I was the kid who could create.
Create a world with words and word those worlds
into a willed waistband that held my reality up on the hips
of hypocrisy.
Although, I never could see
what you expected from me
because I tried to wrestle,
wrestle the writhing rapids
of emotion I now choose to hide.

Dear Estranger,

You choose to stay out late
Keeping the company of neatly lined papers
and that was a stab to our hearts, a ****** with a rapier.
I garishly grinned
grabbing at a grasp.
grasping your grip
a grip with a twist
or rather your twisted grip on reality.
I never could see
what you expected from me
because the lawn grew overnight
overtly obfuscating all the golf green
grass grinding I had completed
just to please you.

Dear Estranger

Your television shows are
brimming with bottles
sans ships, but full of ****
just like you I guess.
“We are what we eat”
but
“You are what you See”
and I hope that that mirrored mirage minimizes
revealing the rottenness
wrought on our innocence
I never could see
what you expected from me
because I tried to make a movie
filled full of wounded warriors, you collected my camera
and gave me **** sans soldier.

Dear Estranger,

When I was 7 years old you
chucked a block of cheese at my mother
when we should have been at chucky cheeses
enjoying the recess
of the life afforded to youth.
Where are the kids? 'Who cares” he carelessly
croaks
I never could see
what you expected from me
because i grew grumpy and grim
from despairing disapproval and
maybe just maybe thats why my sisters cite
superficial substantiation
on their lack of physical attraction

Dear Estranger,

the life of a rockstar
is the life of a shiny silver stone
set in a slimming silver ring.
Pretty to look at. Not much else.
Beauty is what you seek
but the shriek of your ugly soul
seeps through into our toxic home
Lullabied loathing lasts longer than you think
and is heard louder than they speak
I never could see
what you expected from me
because I spent time with celebrity
and celebrated there celibacy
of a live lived fully
and quite frankly
that life just doesn’t seem very fulfilling

Dear Estranger,

I can now understand
who’d stick around
when there is people to please
saying pleased to meet you
words filled with friendship
a necessary work trip
well let me tell you our ship has sailed
I am lost at sea and no one is out
looking for me and I wish I could just drown
but I still can’t see
what you expected from me
because the other boys built boats in boy scouts
with their dads,
While I stayed home building lego dreams
stuck in the fad of boys with a too busy dad

Dear Estranger,

Pictures this, framed photos floating
on the sides of white walls.
Full of a fake family that
feared their father
Strangers are dangers
and nothing is stranger
than an estranger
in this the mormon Mecca called mesa.
Yes I called you a danger
so would the slits on your daughters wrists
and the poems pouring out of your poor
sons lips.
I never could see
what you expected from me
because you never told me.
Christmas came and you left
my eyes were left bereft of tears and
my journal was stained red from the dead
I felt when my shoes wore out and your
feet dated dockers new from the box store
Mom sold her ring to a rock store
to pay the studios electric in may
may I suggest you man up
or get the hell out.

Sincerely, a ******* who found his father ******* around

Time is nothing new, knowing knots will never be undone
Evil crawls in the minds of man, manifesting itself to be beautiful
Accepting and acknowledging all aristocrats who abuse their power
The world is bland, where a woman loses her womanly flower
Covering each other up, taking out the surface not the root, it’s wrongful
Uncommon is the book, imagination in the individual’s ideal of no fun I sit pondering upon these problems, probing a way into fixing all
When a crumpling crucial crumping sound, roared through the skies TV’s turned on, radios turned up, the Television speaks of trumpets
Couples, church-goers, children cry to the camera “Ready your Caskets” Fire and hail trail to the ground, blood blaze behind, Earth in her demise
People jab and judge each other, nobody understanding the Trumpets first call.
As the people panic in passionate rage and fear Everything is going, diminishing, dying, covered in dirt, grass and trees burning
A second trumpets serenades through savage yells
Mountains begin to burn and fall, along with the church bells
The seas slowly from within spoils into blood curling
Every child glances up joyfully as staircases appear. A ten horned beast raises out of the sea, mouth maliciously open with intent
Scrambling and screaming sub-beasts crawl into an unhinged jaw
It rages and shakes the ten kings hoarding on each horn. Three kings crumble, crash to cultivated grounds, their bodies torn. Blood bathed, entitled; enraged the beast takes earth as its thrall. The people scared, scratched, scraped and tortured bent. Blackened beasts bash past the saints
Looking for sin, sinister civil devils
Trumpet three blows, while sitting upon universal long ledges
The demons demonstrating patience beyond the ages
Hells helpful and hazy corruption seen at different levels
Through mans lounging, Wormwood falls to decide fates. The world is weeping through wasted weaves of wind
Disgusting smell of dead rides the tormented tasteless air
Swallowed by the fourth trumpet, bravely bashing through gusts
To find safe haven upon the throne of tusks
No animal though that tasted the tenacious disease will be accepted in care
They will be banished into the cold forever dark air, where they will shiver and cringe. The world is silent waiting, wallowing for the fifth When it comes Angels, breath beneath the blacken clouds
There striking wings linger as they blow three cornets In the sky, seeping through the soundless sky sails comets
A sight for the still faithful all watch in a crowd
As the comets releases Locusts from beneath. Laying lusciously low in a most lucid state, The ***** Her words wager, weave, win through the minds, falling for false prophecy
Ripping right by the remonstration of being The ***** of Babylon
Woman and Man fall for the words, seeking haven from hell hereon
Adult to child, wishing away her whims, she is the spiritual adultery
No newly made Neanderthal seeing her for the devils zany zealotist abhor. With The ****** lies, breaches the Mother of abominations
The one obtuse and first woman to walk in the Garden of Eden
Human at first, ripped apart, away from innocence; Lilith Haste to Hate, Revenge against the rotting earth, taking away human health
The goal stupendous, shaking sorrowfully, any good is forbidden
For killing is her passion, her art, her own Revelations. The sixth trumpet signals the release of the most dangerous Soldiers
The four enticing beings of end that are released from Euphrates the great water
Their massive army mounting at two hundred million minimizes us
Useless and hopeless everyone allows plagues in their bodies with lust
All people want is death, decaying, disembodied from the soul, without a bother
The ***** still preaching, but not a single being is listening to her false words of a philosopher. In the mix of mist and swamps I continue to sit and scrutinize
Every evil endorsing embassy of hell-spawn
Floating and coating, demoting every satchel of thought
As every defecate of remorse leave me in distraught
My mind is distilled where my initial thoughts are withdrawn I empower the sour cowering stare of the devil’s eyes. I cannot look away, the steady statue stare Embracing escalated enmity, fighting for it not to invade my mind
Never knew cruelness existed and brought beings such delight It covers itself in kindness and caring as it wishes me good night
When wrathful vengeance I awake, to aspire, to find
A torture most terrifying, tossed into twisted tarred souls, my religion I forswear. A game of chess, played between each, no physical state
Dictating the defence, drawing out, hitting, harassing and hackling
Pawn for a pawn, the pound of flesh taken from the absence of attack
Everything twists and twines around each feeble thimble of thoughtless comeback
Devil sends soulless soldiers, crashing crazily through bones a crackling. Finding flirtatious moments to pass the queen into the kingly gate. I have lost; no match made on earth can win with the Devil
Although I lost, I still hold onto faith that in the everlasting end I will be acknowledge by my God, I’ll will be shown care
I sit, sore, scarred, seared of my dignity, I pray
In my mind the Lord’s Prayer is the only way I can defend
I know beyond my brave but bashed thoughts that I kept away from evil. The loudest, most holy, mind clearing trumpet rings
The seventh and ending of the biblical war
A hole rips the sky, rendering useless, entirely beautiful though
Angels dash rescuing the ravaged by faithful souls, protection from beasts below I am avenged, my mind repaired from the unprotected un-releasing pain that I can now ignore
I praise to the Lord, lavishing, laying beside his council of twenty-four of forgiving beings.

I AM A ******* ADULT.

At the very least, the status is implied
by the Jenga-tower
of (mostly unopened) envelopes
on top my refrigerator
(which is full of ingredients now,
occasionally,
instead of scraps or dead-end, quick-fix options)

My wine comes in bottles, now;
$6 bottles, on average, but still.
(though I maintain my
unconditional support of the
undeniable
economical benefits and efficiency offered
by pumping it into/out of a box)


Why is the measure of maturity exhaustion?


Two years ago, I bought a file cabinet,
for no other reason
than it seemed like the
'adult'
thing to do at the time.
Inside lies reams of papers
instinct tells me to save.
Some with impressive
time-sensitive, stamped, sealed, italicized importance.
Times New Roman.
PAY ATTENTION.

My plates don't match,
and technically until less than four months ago
I only had one bowl,
but i have a decent can opener and
measuring cups of various degrees.
-No ladle. -
(But how often does one really need a ******* ladle?)


Why is the measure of maturity exhaustion?


A queen-sized mattress
minimizes the volume of my
minimally-spaced apartment.
A point of pride last year
after the 24 it took to shake the twin-sized option.
Sheets with a thread count
low enough for my cat to count to
but I could get some throw pillows,
or a dust ruffle. (do people still have dust ruffles?!)

I am a ******* adult.
What a shock
to discover
from where I sleep on this red denim couch.
(Did I forget to mention, that
I only sleep in my bed like once a month?)
But I can see the file cabinet from here.
Doesn't that count for something?

**Why is the measure of maturity exhaustion?

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I never had enough time to
open myself and dance with you,
nor could I make dahlias and sunflowers shimmer in the reflection of the light
while you danced in circles
without me.

--

I can't wait to see what 22 has in store for you.

--

I just don't want you to think that I'm ready for anything.

Words and green jeans of
the hazel-stained dream scene
showed me a passion for humanity,
but love is just warped titanium,
and minimizes intimacy for polyandry.

You told me this was not your plan,
but
you drank and
drank
and you grabbed me inside out, knuckles tied to insecurities so tightly that bruises turned black and blue into a hue of comfort and confidence and everything that I needed.

You were the answer. You were my anchor. You were the alternative to the smoking gun and everything that I've lost a drive to attend to over the years.

I will always remember the smell of smoke,
your sweaters forged from low-hanging clouds,
and the seemingly fully-shadowed tunnels in my organs that you accessed and lit up like a sun longing to burn forever.

on another hand,
with my shoulders squared,
winter will not freeze my spirit
enough where I will believe in you.

Over the years I've noticed that I feel differently about life than most people.
I've noticed the way I look at the stars just before midnight when they seem to shine the brightest, with a desire in my heart to know what it's like to be up there.
My entire perception of the world is shaped completely around curiosity, a curiosity to know the completeness of things that exist within a vast emptiness.

Like space; I desire to know what it is like to flow through space, live in space, be a part of space. Maybe like being the moon, living calmly alone in the darkness, lonely and unbothered.
Or perhaps maybe a star, surrounded by nothing. There is a certain beauty in nothing. I find there is a peace in nothing. I desire to know what it is like to live within nothing, to be nothing.

Most people, I'd believe, look up at the sky in an amazement, almost an awe, for what they can see only as a beauty to the eye, and nothing more.
I look up at the sky, however, with a longing in my heart, feeling separated from where I truly belong.

I have began to realize the meaning behind my admiration and utter jealousy of the universe comes from the truth that I feel I am meant to be above the secluding, limiting, unbearableness we call the world. That living within it I feel subject to only a small portion of everything, everything but nothing.

I feel living upon this world minimizes my true worth, my true meaning in the universe. Where life upon nothing, within nothing, is impossible. But a life of nothing, is truly the life for me.

Not only do I see hundreds of stars with just one glance upon the night sky, I see a home, somewhere where I can just be, my home.
A home that has been formed from the comfortableness I find within myself. Each star and each comet, the beauty marks upon my face, my imperfections- they are symbolic of the bright dullness I find in being alone, completely alone.

I have come to know the reason why I am so attached to the vast, empty universe composed of nothing, surrounded by nothing, filled with nothing, and only nothing. The universe is the sole recluse of who I am, what I am.
When I see it, I see myself; a clear mirror exists between the universe and I, along with all of the vast emptiness and nothing, surrounded by nothing, filled with nothing, and only nothing that's been used to create me.
That mirror a wall, with no real barrier, yet preventing me from surpassing the life I live- one yearning to touch my other face, my true face, made entirely of the beauty I find true peace within, the beauty of nothing, and only nothing, the nothing that's been used to create me.

Love lifts us up
It can power the world
With its energy
With its light
Whereas hate puts down

Cruelty destroys our spirit
It minimizes us
Pushes us down
Kindness soothes and inspires

Small mindedness shrinks
Tolerance opens up
It  helps us spread our wings
To open up our heart to others

Start every day start smiling
With the pure joy of being alive
Offer kindness and laughter
Especially in difficult times

Let’s makes a difference
Push away darkness
To help light up the world
To heal our wounds

In our own special way
Light up the world

Love lifts up
It can power the world
With its energy
Whereas hate puts down

Cruelty destroys our spirit
It minimizes us
Kindness soothes and inspires

Small mindedness shrinks
Tolerance opens up
It  helps us spread our wings
To open up our heart to others

Start every day start smiling
With the pure joy of being alive
Offer kindness and laughter

Let’s makes a difference
To help light up the world
In our own special way

Light the World

Love lifts us up
It can power the world
With its energy
With its light
Whereas hate puts down

Cruelty destroys our spirit
It minimizes us
Pushes us down
Kindness soothes and inspires

Small mindedness shrinks
Tolerance opens up
It  helps us spread our wings
To open up our heart to others

Start every day start smiling
With the pure joy of being alive
Offer kindness and laughter
Especially in difficult times

Let’s makes a difference
Push away darkness
To help light up the world
To heal our wounds

In our own special way
Light up the world

The things you don't want to talk about
The things that hurt you cause suffering
Those pains make you stronger, better
Dealing with those cluttered emotions
A pondering mind makes it worse
Confrontation minimizes pent up anxiety
Made up scenarios that never happen
Things feel real compared to reality
Staying calm levels it out keeping peace
Acting on that frustration cause chaos
Disconnected from uncomfortable situations
Know your worth trust your value
Others disagree don't lower yourself
Criticism makes you better not setttle