Author: bass

Posted on

A wish

I want my brain to cooperate to maintain this meat suit I have been burdened with. I have decent stretches of being functional, then hit a wall and it is like another, self-destructive, shadow me is trying to drive. Not like hearing voices. Just… the urges and needs grow ragged edges. A fog settles over concentration. A near anhedonic slow-boiling rage bubbles up like a cranial reflux burning my amygdala like a raw, weeping esophagus of my subconscious. Everything I want becomes exhausting, even when it is something I love.

And then I climb out and the lingering bits crust over and fall away, leaving itching reminders of where they were in my psyche.

But the lingering adhesions where the edges are… remind me that the attachment points are still there. That I am still wired to interface with the morass. The primeval shade of unspecified rage and bile wants to burn the edges.

Posted on

Stolen Silence

Where do the words go that we never speak?
Where are the paths to the destination
the places we never seek

Cut off at the last moment
a plan in pieces when the picture was near complete
rain on watercolors when the day was bright
and words unspoken brought unrelenting night

One more day
a sunrise away
everything unraveled in confusion
so many words I wanted to say

If there was just one thing you knew
kept inside for the moment to be right
could have been that last handhold
for you to climb into the light

Cold now the hearth and gone the soul
never knowing but maybe wishing
still fallen before truth was told

structure broken
support was decayed too long

sunken into the sea

I was not a siren but should have sang my song

Posted on

No destination

People often say what they expect, or do not expect when “Death comes for them”.

I like to view this in an entirely different way. We are heading towards death. It is the invisible barrier that we will one day encounter on our trip through spacetime. We are like the skydivers that have switched to the flying squirrel suits. We are plummeting at near-terminal velocity with the illusion of control.

We can modify our pathway along the course of gravity, but ultimately that great attraction still wins. There are no parachutes on this ride. You do not get to safely land and try it all again. (Unless reincarnation is true, I suppose…) You meet the filter at terminal velocity and the electricity that runs the sub 60-watt bulb in your skull flickers out. The signals to and from your amygdala and vagus nerve stop and your coprocessors wind down.

Then the mass of symbionts that have been travelling with you start the process of breaking down your meat suit for further processing.

But you – your energy has ether moved on to a dimension we are unable to perceive within this flesh, or reaches a resting ground state.

Death does not come for you. It quietly waits for you to arrive.

Will you be on fire when you hit, or just another cold breeze coming through the door?