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Jebus-Zeus
last online: 10/09, 19:48
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Ascendance

I inhabit a different body now. Each day, it seems, another self wakes up and heats the coffee. I can distinguish, even gauge, the passage from a disturbed youth to a disturbed adult by the subtle aggressiveness in my anxiety. Sometimes I catch myself sitting on the edge of the sofa, staring into the flickering glare of the television, like a deer on some highway transfixed by the headlights of a car. As these images pass, I can feel them feeding on my own inertia. Other times, I am overloaded with a smooth, graceful energy, filled with an almost incomprehensible joy. Sometimes I open my eyes out of a deep nod and see her staring down at me as if, by some vicarious means, by some force built out of an overwhelming will, she herself had penetrated the flux of my drug dreams and shared them in each vivid detail. It is as if I were riding a raft through rapids and, by a supernatural sense of timing and dexterity, she jumped onto it from a bridge as I passed beneath it, having followed it from above a long time before, as it first came into view around a great curve. And she lands feet first, upright, like a cat.

sometimes i ****fuck it up. I sit here with my liver and kidneys vibrating from uncertainty in every direction. Poetry can unleash a terrible fear. I suppose it is the fear of possibilities, too many possibilities, each with its own endless set of variations. It's like looking too closely and too long into a mirror; soon your features distort, then erupt. You look too closely into your poems, or listen too closely to them as they arrive in whispers, and the features inside you--call it heart, call it mind, call it soul--accelerate out of control. They distort and they erupt, and it is one strange pain. You realize, then, that you can't attempt breaking down too many barriers in too short a time, because there are as many horrors waiting to get in at you as there are parts of yourself pushing to break out, and with the same, or more, fevered determination.

So i take what the muse gives, and try not to force it. i knock down one barricade at a time, making sure no more is behind them than i can handle, making sure they don't double up on me. i take drugs, perhaps, to calm things down but all the while i know that whatever poetry gives out, i must pay back eventually, with an incredible interest added on. Take my word for it, the muse, in one form or another, will be around to collect. The price you pay for drugs is a small pink simian who enjoys interlocking his twenty digits around your spine in a slowly tightening grip. But at least you are dealing with a pain fierce enough for you to understand, to endure. The subtle art of poetry carries a more subtle pain.

It's all so on the surface that everything just slides along. It's like rain on a tin roof, or air raising up one of candy's silver pillows. The feelings are so shallow that there never is time for drifts to accumulate and slow things down. Even the boredom has no depth; it's just a stamped impression of the continuously subdued.

I'm sick of writing about dope, about drugs in every form. I'm sick of recording the ups of indulgence, and sick of releasing dispatches of misery via abstinence. I thought I could deal with, perhaps even come to understand, my obsessions through some strained eloquence. I thought I could eventually pierce every veil through chance metaphor, but how many flowers can serve as metaphors for that initial mingling of blood and water encased in the barrel of a syringe? All the Laotian roses . . .

I can't attempt to write always in the hollow flux of desperation and incipient terror. I try to cover this up, cower behind some facade of humor, hoping that old Aristotle was right--that humor will act as a catalyst to purify the tragic. But it can't go on. My body is broken.
.

Now I Am Ready to Ascend

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Since writing this post Jebus-Zeus may have helped people, but has not within the last four (4) days.
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time, sick, pain, drugs, subtle
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Jebus-Zeus
last online: 10/09, 19:48
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i was in the us army for 9 years, and im the closest thing you will ever get to a hero, all my friends died in a foxhole right next to me, and now you understand why im so sad.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsYp9q3QNaQ

Dr. ralph club zps9ornptsl
DocteurRalph
last online: 10/23, 23:49
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Even riding a rolling coaster gets boring after a while. Right there with you...

Help me with:

I need help.

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Jebus-Zeus
last online: 10/09, 19:48
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(14 hours after post)
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i know alot of people here, not many cuz there aint many people here
, dont like me, but i love all of you,i love you too ralph.

Dr. ralph club zps9ornptsl
DocteurRalph
last online: 10/23, 23:49
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I think everybody here likes you Jebus. You certainly liven the place. You give me a lot to think about, that's why I come here. Get my mind off my own problems.

Help me with:

I need help.

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Jebus-Zeus
last online: 10/09, 19:48
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dude im 15 mins away from killing myself every day, and the only reason i dont, is help.com

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Jebus-Zeus
last online: 10/09, 19:48
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i wrote this poem, and i reread it 40 times a day, to remind myself who i am.

Happy earth
smiley
last online: 11/26, 18:47
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I like you. I don't fully understand you, but I like you.

Please stay with us.

A
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