Innocence Lost, Digital Box

Innocence lost, Digital box, all the drama I could muster, Spun on the calmness of nails, what I would have written on the mirror in anagrams, passed along with frustration, lack of sleep and the trail of pills. Oh they that bring me those moments, those moments before the blackness has me, of confusion, depression, manic bursts of creativity, all that I love and hate. Those visions of sprawled people lay victim of terrible twisted half-dreams that pursue me through most all of my waking hours.

Those waking visions I only can fall prey too, the over lap of voices my mind desperately tries to make sense of is where I am, you as another echo, I do see you, I do. Let your frustration ebb as I grasp through. Does it get old those moments? Those times I am lost. There will be another year or years where they will be blissfully gone. When we were new, I was myself new again, my mind was new again.

I drive, I walk, I see visions, of accidents, and what if I hit a pole, slipped and impaled on that stake, slipped caved my head in. What if that truck jackknifed, smashed my car flat. It is all just idle thinking, death is an easy escape, an easy relapse. I say idle thinking not as an excuse but as a way of classifying the moments, when they crowd in. Other conscious thoughts force them in the back, the back static of murmur voices. Quite comforting.

Our lives constrained by digital clocks, digital schedules, preplanned this, preplanned that. The least unannounced deviation to come wandering along to upset, to tear out digital box corner, wreaks havoc on our fragile schedule digitally constrained minds. The radio we listen too enforces this, TV, movies, the computer, school schedule, and most everything ticks to the synchronized artificial digital constraint. The strain this has on the analog mind trying to conform.

Minds turned on edge, suddenly awkward in our little box, sloshing this way and that, we splash outside those digital constraints. Seeing those water lines exposed suddenly, we gnash our teeth in confusion, this strain, this stress, oh what shall we do. This confusion, of things not in order, the chaos swirling around us, we struggle to manage the sudden of all this. To fit it again in those moments of innocence, those moments of vacuuming the spots here and there, the dingy places can be tolerated in their invisible spaces.

When it all can be reduced again to background noise, no longer visible, the days can pass, the urges to run pass again, that huge weight of chaos that exceeds rulers, rooms, brooms, wandering eyes, critical glances, can slowly fade again into the constraint of the time of yesterday. Only pictures remain, vaguely fading feelings.

Sick with whatever it is, wanting it to be gone, not wanting to embrace it, to see it as an opportunity. Thinking about that whatever brings the sudden retching feeling, the pressure in the head. One must tackle it now! Or whatever it is will become one, overtake the very being, perhaps depression will take hold. Thoughts will become clouded Decisions will become snap, just to make them pass, just to see them in the pass, just to feel the ecstasy of choice past, the height of it being done, then the steady plod towards accomplishment.

The thought of decision as type of masturbation, with ecstasy as the height of choice, the slow decent into happy glow the working towards that goal. That little treat; that elusive treat, if I can but only do this and that, make someone think this way or that, then all will be well. Seems if that is the recurring theme around me, happiness is around the corner!

Decent into self deprecation of course follows, what did I do that caused this to fail? Why did this happen to us, we are good people? Why did this opportunity present itself, why thanks. Nothing could have been more appropriate.

How can a person possibly just be, let them self be revealed to the people they are close to if they are afraid of who they are? Further more, how can we be honest with those around us if that is what we have lost with ourselves? Descending into ourselves, without being able to express to those closest to us anymore what it is that is we are going through? What is there then left to build on? Guess work, wondering what has so drastically changed that so often works as a wedge.

Cardboard comes to mind little cardboard cutouts, sloppily painted to represent the real things, behind each piece this huge elegant beast lurches, though all we can see is these little pawns. They dance around each other, little word balloons floating above their heads, jumbled words slowly reforming to represent a superficial idea of what is behind. Each in his own tub setting afloat these pieces in this sea, perhaps they reach the other, perhaps they sink and fall, slowly into the darkness. Disintegrating into nothing, words lost. Sometimes frustrated we shout in desperation trying to bridge the wandering gap. Straining to hear those words that sometimes tingle in our ears we paddle desperately towards the other, slowly closing the gap to only descend into frustration and exhaustion.

Most people around me bug the ever loving shit out of me, in particular because most of the time I have a very hard time interpreting facial expressions, or what exactly they mean, unless they speak in logical terms. Sometimes I have "bursts" of understanding where I seem to pick up on people around me like they are transparent. What they speak becomes transparent of meaning. They swirl around me like phantasms, thoughts floating in their heads; I seem to be able to read them. Then in and instant all gone, everything foreign, lost in the familiar, people a ghouls, laugh and gnash their teeth at me nothing can be interpreted as not directed diabolically towards me. I hide.

I answer then with totally inappropriate remarks; I become angry, angry at myself, angry at them for not being logical, for having twisted faces. For not speaking clearly, for thinking it is my problem, for society making me take pills in effort to pursue that terrible goal of being normal, of fitting in. Of having the day after day of standard responses, of seeing that which I watch churn inside myself slowly chained down, twisted under the weight. Some of me seeks it, some of me kills that part, those parts kills those others, again they all grab for attention. I grab all those strings, kick them all in the face, drench them in chemicals, all legal to some extent. Those doctors all guessing, grouping myself into some major percentage, pouring some money on the bunch dancing a fucking jig, feigning interest I suppose. I will give you something to write about wenches.

Oh wait the time is coming, the reality is full of thick dusty emotion. Then I wonder is there emotion? Or is there only reaction, basic want, the itch, the proverbial itch, that only needs to be scratched. Is there no longing, no wanting, no needing, no daydreaming, is your mind not full at times with me. With my mind full of you, all of you everywhere, crowding out everything else there, crowding out even me.

How do I say that, there are many parallel me's, there must be, that is the only answer. How can one thought be taken as rock, only to be dashed, by another, then dashed again. They liked me as I was before. Who was I before, what was I before? There I change, those things lurk there, I believe in them all, dragons clawing raw inside me, shouting, laughing, cacophony them all. I heal after each gains and looses control, only to have another open those same wounds, those same pathetic squirming masses waiting to unfold into a new reality in my mouth. I see them all stretched behind me, as I spin in my mind sometimes I see them as leaves on an always twisting tree, a lovely tree, ah the smell of its bark. I don't think I can ever let them go, whatever they may be.

If only to wrestle with myself, and leave myself slave to these things. Let them tear through me; let them have hold of me. Confront my demons again, this time in a non-triggered environment. Trigger myself; enjoy the decent into my madness. No danger, no one trying to plot against me, no one trying to attack me. Seems weirdly glamorous, resetting my head, letting the chemicals drain away. Leaving nothing but myself to rebuild, some foundation a proper doctor can work with.