PaW #52: Gneiss (Grand Finale)Pay no attention to the leeches
White wallsThese four blank walls, reality condemned
2015-194 EvensongMy friend Rebecca Michelle TheEmptyChest asked if I were to write the story of my life, what I would title it. The title I was thinking of was 'Holding onto Hope' or something along those lines. But 'Evensong' would work well, too, or perhaps better.
Help.No matter how hopeless you feel,
Brush Stroke Discoveriesthe sunset is not complete without tomorrow,
toxic radio(active) They thought she was crazy.
They believed that there was something wrong with her.
They said that she'd just seen something from her imagination.
(In reality, there was something wrong with them.)
She ran her fingernails through her hair and chattered her teeth like battering rams; her eyes were stained with red veins and her skin turned ghostly pale. Her hair was something beyond tangled, brown from dirt splotches and red from dried blood. She had a cut on her leg and when she dipped her fingers into the pool, she had accidentally ran them through her hair.
The men in yellow came back. The room was an unsettling shade of white and so were the lights. One of the men stood and stared at the woman. He was the one who said,
"She's infected, all right."
The woman slid her hair under her nails again. She hated the way it felt, but she found it so satisfying. Deterioration, <
Shot to the heart"I love you"
"Yes, I know"
B-Side the FireI set the same song on reply.
I glue the button down
with blood and spit and tears
to make the track rerun because
right now (since how long, I can’t recall)
it’s been the only thing keeping me from
falling into vomit I am puking from my heart.
There are no words, just
the same acoustic refrain
as if it sends me far away
from whatever this
is supposed to be.
(“Reality,” they tell me.)
At least in my head,
I can’t get hurt and
I don’t wear a frown
quite as hard
as the PF Flyers
I’ve worn holes in.
I keep running but
I don’t know which way
to chase a daydream.
It’s like trying to catch the moon
I’m told we’re all
a little crazy,
a little sad,
a little weird and a little mad
But all I really am is desperate.
I just want to crack
these goddamn headphones in half
and climb inside the music notes
to find the Neverland I dream about
every time I close my eyes.
I’d like to suck a couple dro
We're Not Bad KidsDrowning in cigarette smoke, sighing away the seconds,
siphoning out the life in our limp limbs, heads
lolling to the sky, asking for the stars we can barely
see to give one last wish,
our skin pale like dead fish
bellies. I can see the sickness spreading
through our broken hearts,
our broken starts as we try, again and again,
to be free. Who wants to live when
conformity dictates that death is the only truth we can find?
We call each other "bros" but we're really a suicide pact;
we try to act
like there's something funny about being out here in the woods,
in the man-made clearing of cement,
not looking for pleasure but searching for that
final release. It's easy to laugh
when you're trying not to feel.
And they call us "bad kids",
a bad generation,
children of darkness,
loving the sound of life's whip
thwacking across backs, especially our own.
But we lack that sense of humor we strive so hard to emulate.
We're not bad kids.
We're just sick as hell
and missing home,
My brother believes
as history repeats itself,
or at least that's what he slurred
on the anti-psychotics that made him
One little man didn't know
there existed a continent
between him and a spice trade,
so the world got bigger: or at least
that's how I imagined it,
coloring brown smiling Indians
dining with prim little pilgrims
By second grade I knew
Native Americans died of diseases like small pox,
pictures in the textbook of sad weathered faces
wrapped in government-issued blankets,
but it wasn't until I read a book about a teenager
from Spokane who lived on a reservation
that I asked: Was this the greatest country
Those blankets became sinister,
and by sixth grade I was suspended
for saying genocide.
they told me I was right but
the debt already had me.
Do you think of entropy?
The empath and the narcissist in an eternal battle
for the human spirit. Neither wins,
only greed, only chaos,
Your Ego is Bigger Than Your AccomplishmentsI hide behind
a shield of false humor.
I make a careful cut
with my dull, double-edged blade
and hope you won't recognize it
as the attack
I've had to make it be.
Your blows knock me back,
but they deal no damage.
(You've got no weapons;
how could you hurt me?
Why do you even try?)
Instead, they build my rage
and you should thank your lucky stars
our god is patient and forgiving
or you would already be dead in the streets.
SilhouetteShe looked across the bedroom, across the hurricane whipped sheets of the bed to the window where the morning sun shone in brightly.
A silhouette. The outline of a girl, against the bright sun. Detail was faded and obscured by the light, the form still there but still not as real or solid as it had once been.
Her friend. Her lover. How could she be sitting there, looking at this marvelous element of her life, so close and yet... already gone? Tears were in her eyes, going nowhere, simply pooling as if they, unlike the girl in the window, would not, could not leave.
She wiped the tears before they had a chance to run down her cheeks. She was doing her best. But she knew that soon the silhouette would turn and become a real woman once more. And when that happened, it would be the start of a horrid process that would look... oh, so normal... but inside would be screaming that it was unnatural, that a piece of her was being ripped from inside, torn out and taken, leaving nothing but a gapi
home sweet homesome days when
the clouds are hanging
l o w
and there’s a cold that
seems to settle
into the very fabric
of my skin
[from my sun drenched freckles
down to my curling toes]
my mind will w a n d e r
amongst shadow darkened
corridors and shady
it’s content with the
p.e.a.c.e that the
because it quiets the faint
t re mb l i ng
that disturbs my bones
and lets me sink
back into my
home sweet home.
That Chinese girl you passed on the StreetI am not American--
I am just that Chinese hostess cook and cleaner number
4 approved by Lady Liberty.
Honor the slant-eye
Honor your ancestors
I am not exotic
I am not a piece of ass, all good daughters paint their
lips in sweet sour sauce.
I raised my brother and sister while my mother spent days and nights
I feed dim brother and radiant sister Spam with onions and baby bok-choy;
My mother told me I was Second Mother.
all good daughters obey
Honorable father left for a white woman three times divorced with rabbit eyes
honor your ancestors
honor the slant-eye
My mother, the Iron Dragon;
made me promise never to marry a man
born in the Year of the Rat.
(Silently I mourned the death of Honorable father)
Fortune cookie say--
If you want a happy-ending
Visit Panda Express and
go fuck yourself Confucius!
Road TripI put a bullet in her head, but she keeps coming back to my front door. That's my fault.
But what isn't my fault, what I will never accept as my fault, are the things she leaves on the doorstep for me to find after she staggers back into the lake. They're photographs and diaries, addresses and phone numbers.
It's always something horrible--the first photograph was of four men in hoods surrounding a little girl on a plinth in a large stone room. They had cut her vertically along the belly, and her face was distorted. Another time I decided to go to an address; it was in Pittsburgh, a long way from my home. All it was, was an abandoned project. Barren floors and paint peeling from the walls, broken windows and the smell of mold and excrement. Then I stumbled on a trap door and found a pit to the old sewer line below. It stank of burning hair.
And the diaries. Oh, God. The things some people have seen.
But yesterday she left me a set of keys. I'd long since given up screaming at he
Office Crime SceneThey were found slack-jawed and glass-eyed
Skin pale and waxy
Last breaths frozen in the air
Like dust caught in sunlight
The coroner's report read: Death by PowerPoint™
on endless loop on endless loop on endless loop
The projector is still on
Confessions1. I have a cactus that I constantly cut my fingers on,
And a plant so soft I always reach to stroke its leaves.
They sit side by side on my windowsill,
A miniature orchid pushed off to the side,
Its purple flowers glowing.
2. The day I gave away my wheelchair
I cried until my throat was raw,
Rough sobs shaking my whole skeleton.
I still don’t know if it was in relief
Or in fear.
3. I remember every time my mother
Has called me vile
And meant it.
The echoes haunt me,
And I’ve never told her.
Never told her that I remember.
Never told her that I believe her.
4. I love my father.
I hate him at the same time.
He’s done terrible things.
But I know he loves me.
I know he tried.
I think he wants me to love him,
To forget about the hate.
I’m not sure I can.
5. Sometimes I go looking for help.
I always end up crying
Before I find it.
I stop searching.
6. There are some things I’ll never do straight away,
Like laundry and vacuuming and painkillers.
Like admitting I
I am 21 year old artist, writer, composer, singer-songwriter and jewellery maker.|
I don’t really have one particular area of interest yet; I just enjoy creating and will give anything new a shot
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Many other things, but those are the main ones that matter here
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No matter how dark the night gets, there will always be that tiny little spark waiting to blaze with life in the dawn...
Through a deeply emotional series of photography and poetry, explore the world of an individual with mental illnesses and how they are learning to overcome the accompanying difficulties.
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Lori has Lupus.
Anyway, I need to have gastric bypass surgery. Medicare won't pay it all and I can't have the surgery until I pay at least $2500.00. I put the fund raising amount at $3,000.00 even though it will be more.
But that amount will get me into surgery.
If you can help, even $5 or $10 adds up, please see the full story at gofund.me/LoriLife or http://www.gofundme.com/ and my name is Lori Hill.
Whether you can help or not I ask you to please read this article. It will help you understand people with lupus and other chronic incurable diseases. It will take just a couple of minutes to read.