∆ Just more poetic blah blah blahs pertaining to my belief and views on the subject of ‘time’∆
Looking at the clock
A minute has passed since my last glance
But the clock’s arms point to another story
Subjected myself to a quickened time perception
It slips by at an alarming rate
‘Time’ moving at such an enormous speed, well,
How could you not question time travels?
When hours seem like moments at most
Skipping time, point A to B, like travelling, respectively
I don’t believe we could go back to the seventies, no
It is the simple awareness and perceived time, versus actual measured time.
Its all the same in our curious minds
Whether it be hours, or days that go by
It’s no wonder I hate the term ‘time’
its just an illusion, created for mankind
Fulfilling their needs to measure everything
Place a label, put a number on it
Numbers, that’s a whole other story.
Time is, at least to me, is more so a space
Between the beginning and the end
Of any given subject.
Oh hell why why why do I bother on this
Because I was bored, and I never have ideas on what to write about
I just click new post and it seems to create itself
I never know what my clueless mind might bring
Maybe a nice poem, or just the thoughts that cross my brain
Sometimes its good, even surprising myseld at times.
Other times it lacks, and its just me blabbing away
Yeah so, what was I talking about anyways?
I can’t seem to think while my thoughts are racing
So, time travelling, to travel to another point in time, like a magical time machine that can bring you into the past or future, on a large scale, no, no, no. Or who knows. Maybe.
I prefer the term, time skipping, in this sense
Essentially we are escaping time, when time escapes us.
I doubt this is appealing to those who feel like they are already running out of it.
More for those who, have too much in their hands, boredom an everyday culprit
We get to feel fantastic while mending the issue of this.
Terrific. Its a win win situation.
Win win win, actually, because it also opens up the door to creativity and imagination.
So I win win win while winning, because the win is won in more ways than one, maybe more than three but any more wins might be a little excessive, so while I’m winning I’m winning some more. And that’s the best part.
Just a poetic rambling
A prick of the skin
I Watch as blood rushes in
Eagerly, steadily, I push it all in
A hit no less than perfection
One. Two. Three.
In seconds it rushes over me
Warmth, a quickened heart beat
Tingling all over my body
I smile and bask in the feeling
Cause now my worries have no meaning
That’s what makes it so appealing
—————————–
I’ll ride the white pony for days
Living life in a crystalline haze
You live only once, they do say
So its no work and all play
No regrets or thinking of yesterday
It is what it is and its already made
I was born to have fun, I’m afraid
Unfortunately in self destructive ways
Lives like these, glorified these days
The highs and lows are all the craze
We got bored of what society portrayed
Passing the point of calling it a phase
Ran out of causes to put the blame
I’d rather be high, I have no shame
In a good household, there I was raised
A top student, I got good grades
Somewhere along the lines, things changed
Emptiness and a void suddenly placed
So a quick rush became what I craved
An ordinary life, I guess I misplaced
Extraordinary highs are what I chased
Until I found what suited my tastes
Ramblings – To Tango. Expressing my thoughts and opinions
So it takes two to tango, eh ?
Well guess what? I fucking hate tango dancing. Even more so, those who can tango all flawlessly and in a form of pure love and connection makes me sick.
Fuck them for reminding me I suck at dancing. But most importantly, the ones who blatantly prance around, supposedly unaware that a lot of us are failing fuck ups as we try to tango with our even more clueless and impatient counterpart.
Two to tango, HA ! Please..Sure, a new dance with a new lover is all fine and dandy up to a point.
To put it simply, Tangoing and my chosen partner lacked so many elements which were vital, makes Tangoing a happy and pleasurable experience. Ultimately though the fucking tango experience with said individual was one more so of guilt and frustration. I grew so sick of it all lately that ifreed myself from the grasp, control and restraints that this so called tango bullshit had me in.
Oh two of us were Tangoing alright. There was effort on both parts, but not long after, I grew tired of this dumb dance and the very person whom stared back at me. neither of us were perfect at the dumb unison of this so called tango dance but his attitude towards me and my flaws or mishaps took its toll.
You wanna fucking tango dance, go find some pathetically eager woman and see if you’re any happier then
Who the fuck even does that shit anyway? Fools. You’ll all be heartbroken once someone gets tired of the same repetition of the same god damn routine and your precious little pact is split. Or who knows, maybe you’ll grow tired of the same damn pair of eyes you are doomed to forever look into.
So I find a little safe haven, hide from all the wishful tangoers who will all most likely experience disappointment sooner or later. Clouded is their judgement, who wants to tango with the same damn person till the end of time? To my surprise, quite a lot of people. But really? Soulmates, known as the human beings you are meant to spend your entire lives with.. HORSE SHIT. There are far too many people in this planet to say that there is ONE made just for you. There are faaar too many possible connections that could be better than the last.
Anyway so here I can do my own little tango dancing, proving it does not necessarily take two to tango. In fact, I find it much more satisfyingly and fulfilling when I am in solidarity, no one to please but myself,performing my very own tango which is far more successful to me than my last attempt to tango and needing to focus not only on yourself but he who is at your side.
to ‘tango’ or to ‘dance’ metaphorically speaking, represents the relationship between the partners and their pairings. I visualize a ‘dancefloor’ representing the entire earth on this planet. We see relationships that look perfect on the outside as couples are all gaga over their boyfriend or girlfriend and envy the couple that no ones ever seen argue, the couple that is so aesthetically pleasing to the eye that for our own sake we hope such couples never break up so we can forever admire the physical attractiveness that seems so meant to be . shameless PDA is widely performed,like since when do we want to witness young kids dry hump on a lamppost? Does anyone understand the importance of being subtle with your fucking PDA ? Sick.
So one can tango alone, building a positive relationship with one’s self, developing positive views on self image and self worth. I believe you gotta master Tangoing solo before doing so with a partner.
Anyways fuck all this tango talk. My fingertips randomly typed up the content cause in my mind it was cool. But its probably not.
Fucking tango dancing. What are we, Mexican? I’d rather find a partner who can successfully play, shitfaced and fun – its actually new, since the original game called, drink till you’re a dick, failed to reel anyone in.
NOTE !!!!! I am not actually angry whatsoever. The tone was meant to be more of a humorous addition, like when old grandpa sits and complains, and the family finds this as a form of entertainment, his choice of words silly, and has something to say just about anything. Love that old fart.
Such a weird entry. Amazing the thought process is, I gave this no thought and to be honest although I am not very satisfied with this entry, the amount of focus that came with it was too significant to just dispose of it.
relapsed girl – poem about addiction
The poison courses through her veins
Straight to the brain
She can’t feel a thing
Focus and vision she’s struggling
Pupils angrily juggling
Empty spaces in her head, spinning.
Relief as she forgets last minute’s stress
She loves she feels so much carelessness
She basked in her emotional nothingness
Ignoring she’s created quite a mess.
Shes gone overboard this time.
Couldn’t stop and kept on going.
Self discipline out the window
Deep down she feels out of control
Life was too hard on her own.
She decided nothing cut it anymore.
Escaping reality again she chose.
She had forgotten the fun of the rush.
She had forgotten the safety of being untouched.
Only herself and her bubble she could trust.
But it just couldn’t last long enough.
She didn’t want to remember the realities of life that much
Or how she had already used up all the self medicating good stuff.
She didn’t want the sun to come up
Forcing to find ways to hide and cover it all up
She’s ever only felt regret if caught.
Until the poison wears off and she begins to feel negative thoughts
Creep in like bellowing clouds of pollution, interrupting, and dirtying
Her comrortably empty mind, serene, at some sort of peace
She couldn’t understand why good things couldnt just be
It was a cruel joke, as such delights must become deceased.
And pretty soon her bubble will float away.
Pretty soon she’ll be faced with the return of her senses
Irritation and depression will set back in
This time unable to keep feeding her demons
It just could never be enough satisfaction
It never was nor would be, and this was one bad addiction
So here came another day of pretending. Lost count of such days it had been.
Shifting her attention back to the high, she shouldn’t start to worry just yet.
Plenty of time until the moon sets
Plenty of time to avoid people and conversations.
Plenty of time to forget that just one time is often permanent.
Plenty of time to hide the unattractive evidence
Plenty of time to brainstorm new excuses.
But nothing to worry about, not just yet.
She clings onto the numbness
Fighting as time stole her artificial happiness
When it’s all said and done, it will be fine. She is convinced.
Fooling no one, not even her very self.
But who cares when its no work and all play
And when there’s a will, there’s a way.
She tries to comfort herself knowing she’s done this thousands of times before.
When the party comes to an end, so does the entire world
It ends upon its return.
Desperation to avoid the world sets in.
So what if she’s raised suspicion
So what if all the money’s missing
So what if the comedown felt crippling
Because right then and there, nothing really mattered anymore.
Nothing ever really did.
She wishes she could live rather than exist.
Forever a void needing to be filled.
The fulfillment, that’s what she craved. That’s what mattered to her.
And that’s when she remembered, it was about that time.
How ironic it is, filling a space by emptying a space.
the death and destruction of mind, body, and soul
i want to apologize in advance for any misspelled words, lack of or incorrect grammar, to put it simply, poor writing skills.
Psychotic, robotic and disintegrating. – my mind, my body and my soul, during a time I can only describe as dark,confusing, and surreal.
i had been on a path of spiritual ascension and awakening for at least a good year .. During this time, countless events took place that shaped my beliefs, transforned my mental and physical health positively, provided me a great sense of understanding the unfortunate life events I endured, the lessons learned, acquiring more knowledge and sharing it as well as the phenomenal and paranormal events associated with spiritual ttansformation became an exciting new priority. There was no literature, no adventure nor human interaction that failed to be relevant, interesting or life changing.
My life finally had meaning . I was once stuck in an abyss of lack of motivation, interest and happiness, I couldn’t understand why my life was on a path that, from a viewers standpoint
can be seen as destructive, lazy, and lacking in morality – 20 years old, no job, high school drop out spending her days on a road to absolute nothingness.
I guess I was just doing some of my usual casual internet reading when a topic sparked my interest and it was as if this article was speaking directly to ME in what I had at first perceived to be extremely eerie. I furthered my reading and I remember sitting against the wall when I began crying, an overflow of tears caused by many mixed emotions. I had no idea what this meant and what was in store for the rest of my days – once repetitive, meaningless and emotionally numb, now fulfilled with amazement, curiosity, and an extreme sense of wonder. A hunger to learn more and more washed over me. As I continued to expand my knowledge on the topic I finally found this whole ordeal to be – spiritual transformation – phenomena and unusual occurrences began to take place. Anyone on this path knows what I’m talking about. Those not so coincidental things that send shivers dlwn your spine, or make you feel as if the world and your surroundings are not even real.
I rarely went out during this time of my life due to my anti social manner andsevere anxiety, unaware this was key to spiritual transformation. And so once I started and discovered this realm of what seemed like an unworldly, surreal, sometimes frightening as hell, what felt like death was around the corner and sometimes imaginative, challenging but fun, once I got the hang of channeling anxieties and fears into humorous, uplifting thoughts or beliefs of myself, including my capabilities and my duties I after some time finally identified.
By the constant output and demonstrations of love and kindness,I was able to turn around or escape many hostile or even evil situations, spark changes or even healings in a number of lives, which caused immense emotional satisfaction. My life was far from one of the social norm, family relationships were lacking but my calling to serve my purpose to transform and teach was not one I wished to dismiss. Being the black sheep middle child of the family, this level of rebellious behaviors, including being away for weeks or months at a time, jumping ftom place to place wherever my journey would take me, and my ability became effortless, automatic, as if I were doing exactly what was meant fkr me to do at that time. I felt blessed to be lead by something greater than me although unseen and unheard, the sense of knowing that my spirit was under constant protection even in the most demonic environmen, that I had guidance and purpose too great to put into words…. Looking back it seems like something out of a movie, novel or dream.
The climax of these events came to an end and my focus moved towards drawing, poetry, and then finally turned to an technology and internet stuff like data and other crap I’m not sure if I even understood or if I was completely out of my mind. But I could have sworn I was up to something, although it was career or profit driven mostly from what I remember.
I believe I mentioned this took place in a year but my recalculation imposes a course of three or four years – starting with immense fear of the unknown, mystical and supernatural events, more fear, isolation, then magically an explanation for it all, leading to actively participating in this newfound… What would I call it ? Hobby? Way of life ? Or what felt like at times even, a wat between good and evil, dark and light, heaven and hell.
When I moved jb with my boyfriend, all the fairy tales came to a halt. We fueled each others alcoholism, he was a mean drunk and I plunged into a world of never ending drinking, booze, self hatred, and then took on a whole new extreme when I entered a world of extreme psychosis that lasted weeks.. I believed I was on my death bed. My life consisted of terrible hallucinations, straight fucked up delusions, inability to sleep due to nightmares so severe and so real every night I swear I was killed. So I became dependent on this guy I called my boyfriend, I could no longer sleep alone or get out of bed unless it was to drink or sometimes I would eat but then I quit that altogether too due to harsh criticism from him.
One day during one of his outbursts of rage, he trashdd the place we were staying at destroying most of my things and whatever else he could reach. So we quickly moved out, slept on the street for a few days before spontaneously hopping on a flight to Montreal, all the while still in a deep psychosis, believing the sun was about to reach earth and burn it whole, while an Apocalypse underwent in the meantime – I believed there was little to no food available and human meat was now being served everywhere. In such a state of extreme feari didn’t care where I went as long as I didn’t leave his, sometimes loving side.
Now, seven months later, here I am, writing again with that natural flow of thoughts and words I so badly missed all this time but every time I tried to create, even just a short poem, no thoughts or ideas would come, any content had to be forced and lacked any depth, talent, or even mere interest in that sole moment.
My spiritual growth not only ceased to continue, but it seems as if a death occurred altogether. I became the very Hunan being I once could not stand. I was racist and sometimes mean, judgemental materialistic, sometimes my ego was enormous while other times it was completely destroyed by my partners negative insults and comments, the thin and beautiful French Montreal girls partying everywhere with seemingly perfect lives didn’t help my extreme low self esteem. I starved myself for months while drinking everyday, needing alcohol to function physically. I would get blacked out drunk and go around this stranger city shoplifting any chance I got. Anything, anywhere, to serve as the very little excitement and self gratification I had the capacity to feel at that time. Suicidal, empty and often angry, I went to jail a handful of times due to charges of mischief, theft and assaulting my THEN piece of shit boyfriend with a lamp to his face.
My reality while living in Montreal could be described as empty, emotionless, like my soul had been destroyed. I can’t put the feelings into words.. I either felt like I was on the brink of death, or I was in some afterlife as a ghost. Even visually, lighting seemed bright and dream-like. Like it were the final moments of my life in the dream state right before you fully check out of life. I was destroyed spiritually, mentally, and physically was on its tail end as well, so severely that I bled. Everyday. Out of everywhere. But alcohol, and getting dressed up to go stealing was my one and only pleasure. I couldn’t even stand sex anymore or anything to do with the infividual that moulded me into this disgusting, dying human being. I guess it was a blessing in disguise when I was arrested for shoplifting and got put in a jail hospital claiming I was mentally ill. Which I totally was, just not how they perceived me to be, which was schizophrenic and hearing voices telling me to do things – which I actually did have at times but not at the time of my blacked out stealing. I thought this hospital would beat jail, and I also thought I’d have to serve less time if deemed mentally handicapped at the time of my arrest. So I put my best acting skills to use, furthering my delusional belief that certain individuals in Montreal are simply just actors and not actually credentialed whatsoever for whatever position they pretended to hold. Either that, or the very good looking applicants get hired to sit there and look pretty and aid in the decline of every girls self image in hopes that girl attempts to better herself physically so that Montreal will rank one of the top cities for physical attractiveness, needed due to the mere fact that almost everyone just went out acting all day in public while getting paid to do so. Sort of like a fake city consisting widely of fake personalities, but Why, you may ask? Oh my delusional mind came up with many reasons. One was that the best actors get hand picked and shipped off to L.A. to become the next batch of celebrities. I genuinely thought that Montreal was the Canadian portal fot aspiring movie stars, and dialogue heard anywhere was mere researsed from a script. I mean, there really was two distinct groups of people amongst the Montreal population. One was the televisiin-like perfectly happy and upbeat, well dressed all in high end brands men, usually almost always accompanied by a crew of swooning bubbly models or porn star or something equally as flawless, sporting fashion only bodies in tip top shape could pull off. Here I was, running through crowds of rich and beautiful French people in gross second hand baggy pants and mediocre blouses, sporting a baseball cap, with the set on believing I was simply a business woman getting off work rushing to meet her husband at work. So that they could drink the tips he made all away.
I couldn’t keep a job in such a state of health. Most interviews I had miserably bombed anyway due to the irrational thinking. I spent my days as a lost, restless ghost, unable to rest for more than a minute at a time as I hiked up and down the city built on a hill. I don’t know what I was. If I had to give it a name, it would be, solar powered robot running on nothing but beliefs that the more I go go go and the less I ate, the better the outcome of privileges such as alcohol, my boyfriends attitude towards me, and amount of goods I would pull off stealing.
So anyways this belief stayed with me in the hospital for a very long time until towards the end of my 40 day sentence part of my spiritual self seemed to ease its way back, the first meal I ate was the best meal if my life after consuming nothing but liquor and morsels every few days, also provided me so much energy I was like a child experiencing a sugar rush. Then I started loving food again but hated myself every time I ate. Pooping felt foreign and disgusting.. To this day I still wonder how I went so long without table food, I miss the satisfaction of denying even my favourite food knowing I’m getting thinner everyday. I just don’t miss the lack of the loving spiritual being I once was that came with the lack of health in all other human areas. I made a fine robot though, feeling nothing but the need to look good, fulfilling nothing except the made up games and challenges I made up in my head. I thought I was in a higher realm of existence, where negative emotions didn’t exist because emotions themselves didn’t or barely existed. We were spirits doing the same routine everyday and life had no purpose but to compete with one another based on our physical appearance and materialistic item had been on a path of spiritual ascension and awakening for at least a good year .. During this time, countless events took place that shaped my beliefs, transforned my mental and physical health positively, provided me a great sense of understanding the unfortunate life events I endured, the lessons learned, acquiring more knowledge and sharing it as well as the phenomenal events associated with spiritual ttansformation became an exciting new priority. There was no literature, no adventure nor human interaction boring enough to withhold from people alike.
My life finally had meaning – once stuck in an abyss of lack of motivation, interest and happiness, I couldn’t understand why my life was on a path that from viewers standpoint can be seen as destructive, lazy, and lacking in morality – 20 years old, no job, high school drop out spending her days on a road to absolute nothingness.
I guess I was just doing some of my usual casual internet reading when a topic sparked my interest and it was as if this article was speaking directly to ME in what I had at first perceived to be extremely eerie. I furthered my reading and I remember sitting against the wall when I began crying, an overflow of tears caused by many mixed emotions. I had no idea what this meant and what was in store for the rest of my days – once repetitive, meaningless and emotionally numb, now fulfilled with amazement, curiosity, and an extreme sense of wonder. A hunger to learn more and more washed over me. As I continued to expand my knowledge on the topic I finally found this whole ordeal to be – spiritual transformation – phenomena and unusual occurrences began to take place. Anyone on this path knows what I’m talking about. Those not so coincidental things that send shivers dlwn your spine, or make you feel as if the world and your surroundings are not even real.
I rarely went out during this time of my life due to my anti social manner andsevere anxiety, unaware this was key to spiritual transformation. And so once I started and discovered this realm of what seemed like an unworldly, surreal, sometimes frightening as hell, what felt like death was around the corner and sometimes imaginative, challenging but fun, once I got the hang of channeling anxieties and fears into humorous, uplifting thoughts or beliefs of myself, including my capabilities and my duties I after some time finally identified.
By the constant output and demonstrations of love and kindness,I was able to turn around or escape many hostile or even evil situations, spark changes or even healings in a number of lives, which caused immense emotional satisfaction. My life was far from one of the social norm, family relationships were lacking but my calling to serve my purpose to transform and teach was not one I wished to dismiss. Being the black sheep middle child of the family, this level of rebellious behaviors, including being away for weeks or months at a time, jumping ftom place to place wherever my journey would take me, and my ability became effortless, automatic, as if I were doing exactly what was meant fkr me to do at that time. I felt blessed to be lead by something greater than me although unseen and unheard, the sense of knowing that my spirit was under constant protection even in the most demonic environmen, that I had guidance and purpose too great to put into words…. Looking back it seems like something out of a movie, novel or dream.
The climax of these events came to an end and my focus moved towards drawing, poetry, and then finally turned to an technology and internet stuff like data and other crap I’m not sure if I even understood or if I was completely out of my mind. But I could have sworn I was up to something, although it was career or profit driven mostly from what I remember.
I believe I mentioned this took place in a year but my recalculation imposes a course of three or four years – starting with immense fear of the unknown, mystical and supernatural events, more fear, isolation, then magically an explanation for it all, leading to actively participating in this newfound… What would I call it ? Hobby? Way of life ? Or what felt like at times even, a wat between good and evil, dark and light, heaven and hell.
When I moved jb with my boyfriend, all the fairy tales came to a halt. We fueled each others alcoholism, he was a mean drunk and I plunged into a world of never ending drinking, booze, self hatred, and then took on a whole new extreme when I entered a world of extreme psychosis that lasted weeks.. I believed I was on my death bed. My life consisted of terrible hallucinations, straight fucked up delusions, inability to sleep due to nightmares so severe and so real every night I swear I was killed. So I became dependent on this guy I called my boyfriend, I could no longer sleep alone or get out of bed unless it was to drink or sometimes I would eat but then I quit that altogether too due to harsh criticism from him.
One day during one of his outbursts of rage, he trashdd the place we were staying at destroying most of my things and whatever else he could reach. So we quickly moved out, slept on the street for a few days before spontaneously hopping on a flight to Montreal, all the while still in a deep psychosis, believing the sun was about to reach earth and burn it whole, while an Apocalypse underwent in the meantime – I believed there was little to no food available and human meat was now being served everywhere. In such a state of extreme feari didn’t care where I went as long as I didn’t leave his, sometimes loving side.
Now, seven months later, here I am, writing again with that natural flow of thoughts and words I so badly missed all this time but every time I tried to create, even just a short poem, no thoughts or ideas would come, any content had to be forced and lacked any depth, talent, or even mere interest in that sole moment.
My spiritual growth not only ceased to continue, but it seems as if a death occurred altogether. I became the very Hunan being I once could not stand. I was racist and sometimes mean, judgemental materialistic, sometimes my ego was enormous while other times it was completely destroyed by my partners negative insults and comments, the thin and beautiful French Montreal girls partying everywhere with seemingly perfect lives didn’t help my extreme low self esteem. I starved myself for months while drinking everyday, needing alcohol to function physically. I would get blacked out drunk and go around this stranger city shoplifting any chance I got. Anything, anywhere, to serve as the very little excitement and self gratification I had the capacity to feel at that time. Suicidal, empty and often angry, I went to jail a handful of times due to charges of mischief, theft and assaulting my THEN piece of shit boyfriend with a lamp to his face.
My reality while living in Montreal could be described as empty, emotionless, like my soul had been destroyed. I can’t put the feelings into words.. I either felt like I was on the brink of death, or I was in some afterlife as a ghost. Even visually, lighting seemed bright and dream-like. Like it were the final moments of my life in the dream state right before you fully check out of life. I was destroyed spiritually, mentally, and physically was on its tail end as well, so severely that I bled. Everyday. Out of everywhere. But alcohol, and getting dressed up to go stealing was my one and only pleasure. I couldn’t even stand sex anymore or anything to do with the infividual that moulded me into this disgusting, dying human being. I guess it was a blessing in disguise when I was arrested for shoplifting and got put in a jail hospital claiming I was mentally ill. Which I totally was, just not how they perceived me to be, which was schizophrenic and hearing voices telling me to do things – which I actually did have at times but not at the time of my blacked out stealing. I thought this hospital would beat jail, and I also thought I’d have to serve less time if deemed mentally handicapped at the time of my arrest. So I put my best acting skills to use, furthering my delusional belief that certain individuals in Montreal are simply just actors and not actually credentialed whatsoever for whatever position they pretended to hold. Either that, or the very good looking applicants get hired to sit there and look pretty and aid in the decline of every girls self image in hopes that girl attempts to better herself physically so that Montreal will rank one of the top cities for physical attractiveness, needed due to the mere fact that almost everyone just went out acting all day in public while getting paid to do so. Sort of like a fake city consisting widely of fake personalities, but Why, you may ask? Oh my delusional mind came up with many reasons. One was that the best actors get hand picked and shipped off to L.A. to become the next batch of celebrities. I genuinely thought that Montreal was the Canadian portal fot aspiring movie stars, and dialogue heard anywhere was mere researsed from a script. I mean, there really was two distinct groups of people amongst the Montreal population. One was the televisiin-like perfectly happy and upbeat, well dressed all in high end brands men, usually almost always accompanied by a crew of swooning bubbly models or porn star or something equally as flawless, sporting fashion only bodies in tip top shape could pull off. Here I was, running through crowds of rich and beautiful French people in gross second hand baggy pants and mediocre blouses, sporting a baseball cap, with the set on believing I was simply a business woman getting off work rushing to meet her husband at work. So that they could drink the tips he made all away.
I couldn’t keep a job in such a state of health. Most interviews I had miserably bombed anyway due to the irrational thinking. I spent my days as a lost, restless ghost, unable to rest for more than a minute at a time as I hiked up and down the city built on a hill. I don’t know what I was. If I had to give it a name, it would be, solar powered robot running on nothing but beliefs that the more I go go go and the less I ate, the better the outcome of privileges such as alcohol, my boyfriends attitude towards me, and amount of goods I would pull off stealing.
So anyways this belief stayed with me in the hospital for a very long time until towards the end of my 40 day sentence part of my spiritual self seemed to ease its way back, the first meal I ate was the best meal if my life after consuming nothing but liquor and morsels every few days, also provided me so much energy I was like a child experiencing a sugar rush. Then I started loving food again but hated myself every time I ate. Pooping felt foreign and disgusting.. To this day I still wonder how I went so long without table food, I miss the satisfaction of denying even my favourite food knowing I’m getting thinner everyday. I just don’t miss the lack of the loving spiritual being I once was that came with the lack of health in all other human areas. I made a fine robot though, feeling nothing but the need to look good, fulfilling nothing except the made up games and challenges I made up in my head. I thought I was in a higher realm of existence, where negative emotions didn’t exist because emotions themselves didn’t or barely existed. We were spirits doing the same routine everyday and life had no purpose but to compete with one another based on our physical appearance and materialistic items. Empathy and ability to connect emotionally with another being that wasn’t self serving was not capable. It happened once in the hospital with this big muscular staff member who was so humorous and pleasant to be around. I miss that awesome character. He provided me with laughter and humanity in the worst times. Other than him, girls were catty and conceited, no one was friendly. Guys were either sexually or for ones own entertainment to pass time. Possibly polishing up their acting or comedic skills as well.
I cant say it was entirely torture. But being a soulless anorexic delusional schizo whose emotions either fluctuated dramatically without any reason, or were nonexistent altogether, or perhaps a lab rat being heavily medicated on all sorts of antipsychotic for the entertaining research purposes these Québec monsters were conducting on broke prisoners because the rest of the population could afford the best lawyers and most certainly would not undergo such drug experiments just to have people laugh at you for having a mental illness.
Hospital? This was an institution in hell, hades, where so called nurses not so discreetly talked shit about you. Where they are most likely testing new warfare gases they pump through the vents, which would explain the extreme weakness, tiredness and zombie like feelings.
Quebec is beautiful, but everything existing in it is either ugly or deceiving. Being so disconnected from myself and reality at that time, it feels like its just some memory or story that never even happened. I wish I could say, Yeah !! Montreal was an amazing trip ! But it feels like all a dream. After my release my father flew out to bring me home to Manitoba. I envisioned the return to be a lot like heaven – I’d eat without criticism on all the best food my parents kept in the house, I’d be safe from the citys tiresome pressure to keep up with the rest of the born and raised elite, the grips of their cops and legal system that I kept falling back into due to extreme loneliness and depression. But home turned out to be even worse than the city of hell itself. Although my boyfriend remained in a Montreal jail, his voice overtook my thoughts and I heard the same two sentences he always used to say over and over like a broken record. My mind was corrupt, I was suffering from complete apathy. I couldn’t drink while living there so I truly was a numb zombie everyday desperately finding measures just to pass the time. That’s when I decided it would be in my best interest to return to my boyfriend so that I wouldn’t be jammed up clock watching all day. But the joy that overcame me upon his return proved I had missed him indeed. I had a newfound feeling of appreciation for him and all his efforts and doings while in Montreal but moreso in events to come. He has his moments of being mean but so do I. I’m not sure what caused my very existence to almost decease entirely but I cannot blame it all on him. Truth is, we were both addicts and toxic for each other, and obviously both very insecure .
So here I am, were together, again, but I can’t help but notice the lack of my once heightened spirituality, creativity and curiosity that occurred as soon as our relationship began. Have we been too busy drinking, neglecting priorities and promoting importance on our next bottle? Has he somehow stolen or destroyed my soul? Our relationship has improved!, immensely, but I am still not the same in terms of spirituality or personality. I now exhibit a tinge of bitterness and egotism, and until now had absolutely no desire to write, read, or share.
I am no longer the lost ghost I was in Montreal. My well being in all areas are almost back to normal ! I Spent hours in the library engulfed in books on topics that interest me, including the once lost and now no longer forgotten, spiritual transformation. I want to be full of unconditional love for all things again like I used to be. I want to do things that please me spiritually again like I always used to do when I was single. I’m not sure he is on a path of any sort, although expressing interest for God and Church, it is not of interest to me. When I am in my zone and read or write for several hours on end, he gets insulted and thinks I’m mad at him or ignoring him, thus serving as a distraction as I can feel so much foreign negative vibrations from him while I serve my own intellectual desires.
Anyways. Its been so long. I am so thrilled I got to feel this way again even if it won’t be as much of a regular activity as it once was, but now that I am spiritually aware again I definitely want to dive right back into it, although I know it simply does not work that way, even if time permitted. Somehow I need to balance physical, mental and financial health again while finding the time to feed my unique spiritual health. While my boyfriend has been currently away I am just basking in spiritua glory as I read and write again,l feel again, my very favourite hobbies are enjoyed again, I hope long term rather than momentarily. I sort of feel like I’m back to square one on my path, and I’m totally okay with that. Unsure of what it takes to regain total connection with the physical world while prancing around t the city feeling nothing less than angelic while my every little interaction consisted of so much selfless love that even the grouchiest of the grouches couldn’t help but smile and respond with friendliness. Even being taken advantage of for my kindness by those whom I considered a friend alike, numerous times, never could kill the love and light that dwelled inside of me. I was just no believer in anything BUT love and kindness.
Today, I am still a friendly patron of society. But my spark has sizzled out. Although not a complete numbed out inhuman species anymore, I still am missing something, if not, a few things. I suspect this could be due to my relationship, we are together almost 24/7therefore this constant exchange of energies is subconsciously the focus. Although I enjoy my mate, my other half, he’s my best friend and person I’m most comfortable with.I’ve adapted to this life of always being together that I am usually wishing he was present with me when he is not, with this exception of great flourishing of the soul that can only be conducted in solidarity.
My personal interpretation is, I was meant to be destroyed. The dark forces of the universe found the perfect opportunity to strike when I was already down.Now, I forcus on the process of spirituality rebirth. Reading, journaling, and poetry all once tugged at my very soul and creation was what made me feel whole, and escaping reality into the minds infinite creative abilities was what I wanted to do. All the time. Losing this, now as I rediscover, is pure bliss.
Jump on the coocoo Train
[I booked a night on the wild nut nut train
And got an extra night free.
I hurried home to check out just what I landed me.
The package deal quality was not one of the finest. But seeing what was included, it must have been more than modest.
The railroads were so pretty, glistening and sparkling in the light. Crystal icy snow tracks, I could not wait to ride
And when the train starts moving I make sure I don’t miss a thing. The train gives me such a rush I feel like a million bucks.
If it starts to slow down I take another road and it speeds up again. Boy, was that a fast one. I’m so thrilled I walk in circles trying to decide what form of entertainment to engage in.]
I railed another line of the fine crystalline powder, knowing it was the last. Today flew by so fast I have no idea what I did all day. Speedy speedy. And life’s so easy.
[I thanked the conductor. “Oh, don’t thank me.”
Sad it was over, but eager to sleep and be fresh.Thrilled he got away with the train in the house. No one batted an eye. This is good but I’ll be plunging back into consistent train rides in no time.
What the God damn fuck am I writing again? What a shitty metaphor. I am ashamed of this lame story or whatever you wanna call this. HAHA OH WELL
Time flies…
Apathy
She don’t feel a thing no more,
Emotions have run dry.
A beautiful soul with so much light
It all has seems to have died.
Raw and real, life of the party
Turned superficial sad, dull and quiet.
All she knows is vanity. Looking good saves her sanity.
Suddenly it dawned on her that she wasn’t so special anymore. With no more spark she became just like everybody else.
A cold hearted, materialistic boring average girl.
Pretty and numb
Gave up on love
Days go by slow
With nowhere to go
When the amusement train rides the crystal railroads once in a blue moon only, hey, conductor? Update the schedule will you? We seem to be eager to ride and ride and ride as much as we can get away with….
Should I eat today
Another morning
Another glance at the mirror
Another breakfast she will skip
Another lie she’ll have to slip
Another workout to lose the hips
Another battle in the kitchen
Stomach growling but she won’t listen
She wants bread but sips tea instead.
Another walk through the city.
Another boring afternoon with coffee.
Another restaurant that teases her hunger.
Another smile knowing she’s not eating and getting fatter
Her little body moans and groans for dinner.
But her mind is always there to stop her.
She reaches for the lettuce instead, it’s so much safer.
She grazes all evening until she gives in.
Just one little snack to ease this craving.
Then another and another until there’s no escaping
She’s trapped in a hell and its called binging
And she reaches the toilet to fix her mistake.
Hoping she rid of every calorie on that plate
Throat is sore, but she lights up anyway.
Cigarettes are best after throwing that stress away..
She swallows her pills, finally this nightmare can be over.
And in the morning, relief..
She weighs herself. The scale. Her best friend the monster.
Lost more weight. Down with the pounds.
That evil number decreasing is her happiness and power.
All time low. In more ways than one. She waits until she can feel again.
To live In apathy with very little dull excitement is such a sad thing.
For now she hides secrets that keep things interesting.
Accessorize with collarbones. And hip bones make quite the comfortable hand rests.
p.p.s.
But if you are not with me I do not want to be here.
And if I’m not beside you I do not wish to dream.
& If you’re not with me I do not want to leave.
Without you I cant even sleep… Just hold me…
ice cold glass dreams 