Sitting in front of the computer for the last 20 minutes,
Rehearsing and then rejecting posts.
I do not want to be a broken record
Or a collection of memes and one-liners.
Is there a purpose to my life, a meaning for my suffering?
Will anyone remember me, when I am gone?
Like a well-oiled scratch,
I pick at this virtual scab,
Hoping it distracts me from the persistent sores
Up and down my body...
I do not want to brag, I do not want to puff myself up.
I would hope that what I share is worth some joy
To someone - to lift them from their despair.
Yet, I post about sadness and morbidity,
And the dark clouds upon my brain,
Fostered by "recovery meetings", again and again?
I hear the praise from my supervisor
After returning to tutoring,
And I hear the deafening silence...
Makes me think I'm pressed flat
Into a shallow math man,
Like how they cast me as the Count,
At a Christmas party, way long ago.
Could it help? Would it help?
If I was more vocal
About what I like and dislike
All about me, in this mixed-up world?
Should I rattle my saber and shake my fist
And take some sides, just to try to fit in?
another pause, wondering where I'm going...
another sigh, wondering where I've been...
Do I even pick up all my broken pieces,
When I suspect I'll just fall of the wall, again?

"Jet Trash"

I am a friend of convenience,
An associate easily tossed to the side,
Like that "used piece of jet trash"
Because you fear no repercussions,
For I am also nothing but smoke, in your eyes.
...or am I Carlos?
(some bits lifted out of "Frank's Wild Years", song by Tom Waits)

Pondering stuff, maybe summed up as "reality versus expectations"...?

watching another thread unravel,
as people treat these screens as walls -
throwing gelatinous napalm to see what sticks?

I am not pure and I am detached...
So easy to start a war
With words wanton and unwise.

Having worked in an inbound call center,
I can attest that phones are not much better...

Off on a divergent tangent,
Making assumptions on physique or speech
That lead some minds to debasing slurs -
Another simple screen, yes -
That's got deadly hidden roots
In simplifying the complex.

After a few setbacks and criticisms, I have felt a bit threatened.
I called the insurance company on Friday to set up a payment plan to catch up my insurance; and was told that the partial payment would reactivate it - this did not happen and I had to call back multiple times over the next 4 days before I was told of the official policy: “Suspended until paid in full” I ran out of meds, which quickly led to a fairly severe mixed episode. (I was able to get the meds refilled, and I now feel some return to normalcy...)
I took my trench coat in for some repairs; and it was returned with missing buttons and missing zipper teeth for the inner liner, making the liner unattachable. I tried to argue for some customer service or recompensation for those damages, but to no avail.
I once again was reminded that my budget can easily fall apart, if I do not keep a tight rein on it; and yet I fret over the lack of fridge and freezer space that I have available to me, at the new housing... which, in turn, stresses me out immensely about not being able to pay rent on time (and possibly being asked to move out)
I have not tried yo make it out to any Christmas festivities. Part of me wants to, while part of feels immense shame at not being able to give more of myself or my time.
“Yadda yadda yadda” ... you might be saying, “same old squeals, change the record”... I feel kind of traumatized by my current circumstances. I still do not think that I have a good social support network built up around me (partly because I do not put a lot of effort into interjecting myself into your lives - a weird “respect for privacy”, as it were?)
(A couple of rejections, and I think, “it does not make sense to stay in that scenario”...)

I am not making great progress towards most of the traditional American measures of success... (loving partner, family, household and vehicles my own, rewarding and satisfying career, ample retirement funds, excellent health)
Most days, I’m like, “whatever...”; but there are some days where the poverty, insecurity, and isolation this can cause tear apart my mind.
I think some would say, “focus on the positive! Be more happy! Attract the things you want! Make time and energy for what really matters!”
It’s really tough to present a happy face, though, when envy starts to sink in, when I start to want some mythical dream life that’s been paraded in front of me, all of my life, through our media. ...Or to project an appreciation of what I have been given when the engineer in me thinks he can sees ways to improve upon it.
Not sure how much of that makes sense, because I’m not trying to write a novel on it.

I'm exhausted from "trying to keep it together".
I'm panicking from not being able to meet my expenses this month... So much so, that I'm posting about jumping off bridges (scroll back in my wall, and you'll find the post), and "begging for help in passive-aggressive approaches". So much so, that the vital bills are lapsing, putting me even worse off with other expenses (the medical insurance saga)
So, I try to keep this off facebook, because i have weird projections on my part of how people will say "Oh no, not again!" ...or seeing the same responses from the same people; and thinking, "why do you keep saying that!?" ....worse of all, seeing no responses; and just getting more and more frustrated and angry.
It's like I'm screaming inside, "God, help me, please!!" and yet trying to project a happy face to be polite... or being honest about my situation and getting blank stares and confused reactions.
i'm probably blabbering like a rabid dog to y'all, now.... and I feel that most everyone has made no attempts to reach out, to suggest they could be helpful.
Honestly, just driving me battier and battier...
And it paints everyone claiming to be available and willing to help as hypocrites, if you ask me. (but then i have to keep remembering that i'm not at front doorstep, begging for pennies - because that's what it feels like to get through to anyone, anymore...
So, that is my rant, I guess. I feel helpless, I ask for help, and I get nothing. (and my mind turns ever darker...)

To add insult to injury...
Jack Brown Cleaners jacked up my trench coat’s winter liner, in the process of patching it. I am now missing both sleeve inner liner buttons, and the zipper popped out two teeth.
I know the coat is old (Christmas ‘92 gift from my mom)...
I tried to point all this out to the staff, but they were saying that i’d have to take it up with the manager, when she got back from lunch.
“Thanks for such lovely customer service.”
(Is it worth a yelp? I do not know... at least, it’s worth a phone call later...)

Pushing back against this impulse
To dive off an over-pass
Into a highway’s late-night traffic -
That way, the cars would be going fast,
And maybe, just maybe,
I’d leave my mark upon Texas...
“If you see something, Say something”
Just broadcast over the bus intercom...
(Perhaps you should call 9-1-1)
I push back against that thought,
Predicting too much harm caused to all...
Yet, so many doors are closing, locking -
And a frenzy is upon me, Dark and heavy...
Another thought -
Just now, while roboting my way
Through another painful appointment:
“Why not return to ASH?
At least, it’s 3 hots and a cot;
While my world crumbles away
And the ashes of my life
Become dust on the wind...”
A wind is blowing,
But it is not born by angel’s wings -
No angel is here to save me,
No miracles await me..

So, I see all those posts
About removing toxic people,
Beyond “your white picket fences”...
...and I wonder to myself,
“How’s my chemistry?
Am I a noble gas,
Or a caustic halide?”
Then, I see this other dialogue,
Claiming I need to be open
About all my life’s troubles,
‘Lest I slip into suicide’s silence...
...and now,
My faltering, fractured mind,
Can’t make sense of January,
And all the duplicity
Amuck in society.
I wonder if I speak
From an abandoned soapbox,
“Because we want to be entertained,
And not taken to task
To help those in need!”
Like the Beatles, but parody:
“I am Scrooge, You are Scrooge,
We are not together...”
Taking hostages,
Hoping for a quick fix -
Branded a lunatic
And scorned and avoided,
Like all the mentally sick.
Waxing in weird ways
And laying it on thick...
Drowning in a sea of anxiety,
Thinking, “what’s the use, anyway?”
And getting ever more morbid,
Hoping Death might me whisk away
From all this pain and turmoil,
So that I no longer need to
Be aware of the deafening silence.
Oh, I am going out to meet and greet?
“Let me put on my happy face...”

courtesy of my dad's joke files:
-----
When four of Santa's elves got sick, the trainee elves did not produce toys as fast as the regular ones, and Santa began to feel the Christmas pressure.
Then, Mrs. Claus told Santa her Mother was coming to visit, which stressed Santa even more.
He went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two others had jumped the fence and were out, Heaven knows where.
When he began to load the sleigh, one of the floorboards cracked, the toy bag fell to the ground and all the toys were scattered.
Frustrated, Santa went in the house for a glass of cider and a shot of rum.
In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider jug, and it broke into hundreds of little glass pieces all over the kitchen floor.
He went to get the broom and found the mice had eaten all the straw off the end of the broom.
Just then the doorbell rang, and an irritated Santa marched to the door, yanked it open, and there stood a little angel with a great big Christmas tree.
The angel said very cheerfully, 'Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn't this a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?'
And so began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree.
Not a lot of people know this.

I see both a mania and a depression bubbling to the surface of my consciousness...
and I see the (possibly environmental) triggers, aggravated as hell, with no "easy solutions"...
...and rational Bean is screaming in terrified agony at how helpless he feels, at how much damage is building upon the horizon, at how "life is heading straight down the toilet, AGAIN..."
...and so, the suicidal thoughts start to crowd in, and so the desire to escape or run away pulls at me, and so the urge to drown out my sorrows in addictive behaviors around food, sex, gambling, and drugs come rushing in -- Just throwing distractions at my life, while my mind crumbles and caves in, which is really just expressing the mania..?
...the frantic racing to find some easy solution, the grasping at straws in the hopes that one will give me breathing room, again. Yet, as the neurons burn themselves to ashes - *SNaP* - and now the brain wants to turn away from the world, to rest and recover and try to regain strength. Unfortunately, it's still burning away, obsessing over the problems, even as I cower under the bed covers.
Looking for excuses, for explanations, for escapes - some sort of hope that it could all be fixed away. Looking for some sort of support, as my world crumbles away. But, there is no easy solution presenting, "No fucking manifestation of my desires"...
Hoping the switch doesn't flip, where, instead, I look for oblivion.

my brain hurts
my ankles hurt
i think they are over-extended

Stealing this from David Jackson:
HOW TO BE UNHAPPY - BY EMMET FOX
Sit down quietly where you are not likely to be disturbed. Relax the body - and begin to think about yourself. Every time your thought wander to something higher, bring it back gently but relentlessly.
Think about the past. Think over all the mistakes you have made, going right back to childhood. Think over all the opportunities you have missed and the time you have wasted. Especially think of all the occasions upon which you have been badly treated.
Think about your body and wonder if your age or your job or the climate isn't beginning to tell. See if you cannot discover a pain or an ache somewhere.
Think about finances and if they are going well now, insist that this is probably too good to last.
In any case, think about yourself, that is the main point, and if you will keep this up faithfully for fifteen or twenty minutes, there can be no doubt about the result.
"Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? There is more hope of a fool than of him." (Proverbs 26:12)

I find my mind in a really dark place, this morning.
"It's like I have the Cacas Touch - everything I touch turns to shit. Honestly, I can't seem to "get it together", to actually succeed at life, for a change..."
...perhaps fueled by being isolated from my family, in the current times of need and times of joy. Seeing the family game night posted, this week, (with me absent) is like a rusty nail, pounded into my heart...
In some twisted concept of being helpful, my mind thinks, "Perhaps I could go somewhere, where they could end my life, painlessly and peacefully; and then harvest my organs to help those who could better use them." I'm reminded of the blank spot, when under anasthesia, during last year's colonoscopy...
"You could just send the cremated ashes and any proceeds generated to help work down my debt, and hopefully help out my family."
(There was a more sinister variety of this particular morbidity, earlier this year, when I wondered how easy it would be to track down a snuff film, in production, on "the dark web". Not that I'm aware of any connections I might have to that, but... similar sentiments of "just process my body, like a cow, and be done with it.)
-------------
I can not see the hope and joy, in my life, right now. It's not that it's not there - it's just that I'm in this ever-constricting tunnel vision that's focusing in on the pain and isolation and immobility and fucking oubliette that I'm walling myself into.
It's an intense anxiety that has me afraid to get out of bed - it took me half an hour of paralyzed crying there to muster the courage to write this... afraid to get out and do positive things, because I'm not certain that I won't instead do something incredibly stupid. "oh, sure. 512-472-HELP" ...but I'm so tired of "being processed by our mental health care system"...
I can not see the help being offered, if it's even there. ...and I try to step past the very real boundaries and limits that keep that help healthy, if those are there.
now, i'm just rambling and making excuses, and trying to "dull the blade"... I keep piling more poo upon the pile.
because i want to talk myself out of the pity pot I'm in? because I want to lash out, instead of trying to run away?
i don't know. i really don't know.
when i turn to face reality, I hate the grotesque mask of fantasy that peers back at me...

an ounce of prevention, right...?
...sure, eating healthy and exercising and reducing stress now help lay the foundations for reducing serious health complications down the road....
...but why does a "Healthy lifestyle" have to cost more than an unhealthy one?
...and why does healthcare have to cost so much to begin with?

Gods! I'm in a funk, this morning... "Ozymandius Syndrome", perhaps?
The ennui is thick, the pointlessness is all around. ...and the blame is getting thrown around like an abandoned doll caught up in a cat 5 hurricane....

It's like I'm not one of the main actors in anyone's movie, but my own...
just a character sketch brought in for comic reflief, or perhaps tragic effect...
Do I have any visible development, which others can easily see? ...or am I some strange "man of mystery"...?

I wonder if I got all twisted up
Because no one's taking the time
To help straighten me back out?
I miss the honors floor,
And swapping massages and hugs -
Some grungy P.A. spoke, saying "No more PDA's..."

What madness takes me,
In the middle of the night,
That casts strange profiles
Upon my friends, out of sight?
Why must I believe I am all alone
When - sooth! - I am simply, at home, cloistered?
Alas, the strange signs of deadened silence
Only make my flimsy shadows bolstered...

some collection of words that try to convey how disrupted the sleep is, how the joints are aching from lack of relaxation and the stress is ever building higher...
or another group claiming such bleak isolation, self-imposed perhaps...
or that choking feeling at the top of my throat - like food wants to come up, or mucus can't go down further - or maybe it's just words that got stuck
all these little complaints, all these little wishes - to be comforted, to be comfortable, to break out of this watery cell, to climb away from this dirty earthy mud-slinging.
ah, to be grateful! to realize there are loving friends and family out there (but they are not here, now)... to realize that I ate twice today... to realize that I can attempt sleep in shelter from the rain...
to be grateful that there is still some luxury, or else I would not be typing this rambling rant, listening to the Rolling Stones, and
yet,
i court death and regret

I hesitate to write,
On this cold, rainy day,
As I do not trust what...
Secrets I give away...
Perhaps, I do not trust all of you -
Unable to predict, how you use...
Where could I bury these seeds?
Where, while winter does not cease?
That they may be kept warm and safe
To blossom into grand debates...
A hint, as he likes speaking -
Alas, his heart is leaking...
Strange and bizarre, I want -
Hopes of astral travels,
But with such a long jaunt -
Will our minds unravel?
Now, I would be run out of town,
Derided as an insane clown
Lost in visions, from minds unbound...
And left to grieve, alone and down.
what strange magics are at work?
what laws do not bend?
What perplexes, now and then?

is it a prison sentence,
imposed by my laziness?
my body rebels,
and tries to slip away into sleep
at weird moments of the day...
my joints ache and shoot out
spasms of pain
the drudgery of trudging,
the horrible and inconsequential
feeling that nothing matters
...that i'm locked up in this,
this karmic cycle
where i can't see how to break out.

A door has come open;
Through which, distant spirits commune...
As reality’s fabric tears asunder
And “delusions” claw their way
Through the subconscious veil...
I am left babbling,
Grappling with outlandish claims
And bathed in the colour of space.

A compulsion to write
..or... speak, even converse..
all these strands wanting to connect -
the little neurons afraid to go it alone?
pfft.
my heart is aching
because my brother's heart failed him,
and the futility is intense,
trying to connect to Kansas
from deep in the heart of Texas
while sinking...
i thought i heard voices,
as i tried to sleep on Monday -
calling me to come to the other side,
to forsake this vile and bitter life.
Thinking of the Tibetan "Book of the Dead",
My mind casts up a story
How Death's first visitors
Will keep us here,
Locked in cycles of reincarnated suffering...
I could be silent, or
i could whisper within my family -
yet my mind is in turmoil,
screaming that "such solace is not enough...!"
crying in my bed,
and praying novenas each day -
all in the hope that my good brother,
for a few more years, is here to stay...
and, hopefully, both of us will find good comforts, soon -
for it's hard to torment each other,
or roast each other's follies over turkey dinners
if there is no turkey to be had,
or bissful dreams to enjoy
Perhaps its an ominous warning
That the stresses we create
Build up hearts and blood irate -
And, when least we expect it,
Something gives, something bursts
Oh, to chase those voices in my head,
To give up this coil,
and sleep deep in fertile soil.

Minds over-saturated with sickly sweet dime-store fantasies,
Fermenting into full flight from our bland realities...

I am extremely grateful for the times that I get to spend with friends, because this roller coaster that I call life reached the top of the tracks on Sunday night; and I’m just getting whipped every which way on the downhill plummet that appears to be the next two weeks...
I’m being vague about details, though, because.... of fear? Of privacy concerns? Or maybe just not much faith any more in Facrbook as a medium

There’s this discomfort in my brain
That wants to bitch, whine, and complain -
“Oh, no, Jody! Not that, again!!”

Part of me wonders
If that’s strengthened and fueled by
All the anger and injustice
Posted through my friend’s’ feeds...
“Do your soapboxes clean up the Earth?”

Yet, I do not want to be thankful,
Just because it’s today -
“Why not be grateful 24/7, year-round?”

...and I do not want my head
Wrapped up in phone apps, all day...
Will someone unwrap me,
And whisk me away, to play?

It’s 11:54 p.m., and I want a friendly conversation, yet I do want to be an imposition.
Hell, I’m not very sure what I want to talk about... maybe just babbling and blathering... and hoping that some strange magic falls into place and gives me a clear direction for navigating these holidays?
I want to voice these doubts, these fears. I want to be vulnerable, but I doubt 5 minutes would suffice. I suppose part of me wants clear validation that I am wanted... I suppose...
There’s some guilt, I suppose, in questioning you, as to the last time that you tried to honestly connect with me (beyond our Facebook likes and ha-ha’s, which so easily get lost in the shuffle)... there’s guilt, also, in reflecting the question, and asking myself, “when was the last time that I tried to honestly reach out to you?” (I know so much of my life gets sucked into big media, including all the bells and whistles of the internet.)
I know that I downplay what I could do, excusing it through lack of transportation and lack of finances. What, for many of you, is but a five minute trip in your car, becomes at least an hour trek for me, walking and bussing. What, for many of you, is a $20 purchase, without a thought, becomes the dilemma for me of paying that or paying for rent, but never able to do both...
So, now, I’m talking with myself, whistling the blues in the corner. Why does it have to be s conversation? Because it’s so much harder to gain a third-party perspective on my life, when there’s no third-party present?
I do not know what I’ll do next. Prudence says that I should just sleep it away; but that sure does sound like procrastination, too.

I laid down. Now, I regret the nap, because I feel...
“Cooped up in my house”
...without a car, and living 20 minutes deep into a residential zone, I feel suffocated by suburbia - like I’m cut off for the evening from friends and merriment, from variety through eating out.
I want to be distracted. I want to enjoy the evening. Instead, I have electronics or chores.
First-world problems...
I saw a great video about how we’ve become enslaved to our electronics, but then, it became a commercial for an electronic writing pad. My sense of betrayal was rather rough...
I feel like I’m pounding on my high chair, demanding that someone whisk me away tonight. I feel that my boredom is trying to kill me.

There’s some desire to get out of the house, to go to any one of multiple activities, tonight. Yet, I’m daunted by the trek, the possible costs...
And a piece of my soul that feels utterly defeated, that would rather cause harms to myself, or waste away, curled up in a fetal position in my bed.
I feel terribly alone, even in a crowd of thousands.
Yet, I’m also terrified of actually talking with anyone about the ambiguous anxiety... and so I remove myself, one space, and write about it, here...
And I leave my phone silenced, as I crawl under the covers...

I want a purpose for my life.

I want a purpose for my life.

I want to believe that my words and actions make this world a better place for all.

So, I try not to base how I interact on race or beauty or gender or age... all the protected classes that really say that our outward appearance has nothing to do with our inner selves. (Well, except people DO respond and start building their lives by how they’re treated by others, whether it’s adored or scorned.)

I try to remember to recycle, yet I also take measures to reduce my material waste. So, I would rather eat fresh produce instead of canned veggies, I would rather eat on a plate than have to deal with take-out bags and wrappers...

I do not claim to be holier than thou - I can see how I easily slip on “this or that issue”. I can especially see my deadening, my growing indifference to the “Big Issues”... a despondency born of hopelessness.

Yet, returning to the ground, what can I do, in my daily works, to spread happiness? Some say, “take care of thyself, first!” - meaning unhealthy lifestyles just help to propagate an unhealthy mind, a cynicism...

I heard today that “it’s important to entertain people”... I see a lot of tangents off that nugget, with some good and others bad. I once thought that at the heart of all comedy is some sort of harm. Yet, stories are such an important tool for people; because our ability to communicate some extremely complex ideas is probably at the heart of our ecological dominance - not tools, but telling how to use tools. For the time saved through instruction, especially mass instruction creates time that can be used in extending and exploring what the instruction means..? (Waxing philosophically, perhaps)

I want a purpose... I want to rise above the quests for food and shelter, and I want to nurture prosperity. I want to know the my friends and family (and neighbors and even unknown strangers) are benefitting in some way by the things I did today.

I do not want to be dragged by addiction, or left abandoned and scorned, or branded a lunatic who is best to be avoided... because all of that puts walls between you and I. The fear becomes tangible, as we fail to comprehend each other.

Yet, I see, laid out before me, so many scripts and so many models of living that I have to watch which script I read; if I don’t want to be cast as old-fashioned, or dangerous, or boring ... like all those before me who chose some subset of that set of scripts.

Simply: different people expect me to behave in different ways, when facing the same situation (because that’s how their father/boyfriend/etc did it)

In the ideal world, I want to greet each day with enthusiasm. Instead, I have constant anxiety.

Really. My soul is getting ground way by the sands of time...?

As of “right this moment”, “everything appears ok”.
Yet...
I create terrible futures that are crowding in on me. (One might claim they are my mind attempting to motivate me...?)
In the darkest, I have no control over this world; and we march steadfastly into authoritarian regimes raping the planet of every last resource, just to add a penny more to the bulging pockets of the wealthy few. Or we neglect our collective duties as custodians of this Earth and cook all life off of the planet, in just one generation.
Or... our collective insanity keeps growing by leaps and bounds, as we fear do not have “enough for our comfort”. The mass shootings keep escalating, the hatred and intolerance of “the others” (or quotation marks) keeps growing and getting expressed in harsher laws and more sinister bullies and harassers. We would push each other off of the cliffs, like lemmings.. ..just to secure our temporary peace of mind?
Fear is not a rational process. A threat reduces us to animal responses - the fight or flight, so often touted.
When faced with death, our mind grieves for itself, going through those stages of denial and anger and all the other ways it tries to cope with finite mortality. Our mind struggles to understand what it sees.
When I think of the world, at large, I get overwhelmed, and our approaching end seems so complete. So, I would deny it, and avert my eyes from the world problems, and try to come back to my 5 feet of space, around me.
And yet...
My skin keeps breaking out in bites and boils. My bank account keeps dwindling down to days of pennies. All of the bedevilments talked of in AA are snapping upon my heels. I see no prospect for a love leading to a family, no companions to care for me as my body begins to fall apart.
I stare at the bathroom mirror, in the morning, dumbstruck that I have to face another day of this slow time-bomb of death and decay...
I trudge through the workdays, serving hot dogs to the homeless in the past, or explaining equations as best I can, in the present.
The futility of it all. The desperation of drowning in our pool of half-consciousness... “nothing really matters”, for we have trapped ourselves -
When joy has left life, and there seems no joy in or beyond death... then the weight of each waking moment becomes truly terrifying.
Walking across an overpass, the desire to plummet over the rail...
The bewilderment, that I entertain these thoughts...!
The nihilistic frustrations that this life has no meaning... the horrible attempts to communicate how the fears can choke the joys out of the present moment.
Because I do not want to forfeit this fleeting joy to some foul circumstances that make my mind and body suffer so.
I do not want to be some casualty of our collective insanities...

I’m waiting for my weekly counseling; and I realize that I’ve given up hope, these last few years, on reaching out to talk with people outside of my day-to-day activities.
Way back when, I would spend most afternoons with my nepighbors, or write multi-page letters to distant friends. Every once in a while, I’ll get on the phone for an hour, with family members...
Still... having seen so few “results” or “reciprocation” from those efforts, I’ve just drifted into this mode of “long missives on Facebook” that gather only a couple of comments (even though part of the idea is to hopefully mass communicate)
Ah, vell... off to counseling...

“He blew his brains out, in the car -
He hadn’t noticed the lights had changed...”
(My attempt at quoting Beatles, from memory)
...for me, this evokes the image of someone committing suicide, even though the stressors in their life are no longer present. Considering it’s on Sgt. Pepper’s, in the late 60’s, the stressors could be eluding to the changing national politics of the time...
But, then, this could entirely be my attempt to create my angle on the story unfolding in the song. (Where we also have “woke up! Got out of bed. Dragged a comb across my head...” and the images of rushing to get ready and get to a job... [so no need to assume the lights are such grandiose issues like civil rights and the war movement...could be just a mental snapping at sitting in traffic too long]
—————
Yes, our elections of late may not have as dramatic of results as those on the polar ends would like; but they also have been swinging back and forth, as different marginalized segments exert their power to vote. Unfortunately, politics is rarely fast and rarely dramatic, when it is working sanely. I wonder, though, if we can still claim sanity for our current politics...
Then again, I could be just giving voice to the analysis claiming that our politics are becoming more and more polarized, leading to the alienation of the centrists.
—————
Not entirely sure what’s prompting this writing. I guess a feeling that anger and outrage, even if it’s believed to be justified, does not lead to good changes and solutions, and that governments move better by millimeters than by miles (because we don’t know what happens when millions are left in the dust)
——-
Not sure if that makes sense... still drafting this, as I write...

(Open Emote: Depressed)

I have been “shutting down”, since Sunday...
All the usual suspects: allergies, financial instability, lack of social contact, poor job performance(?),...
I can’t explain how or why I got to this dark place, or see a path to serenity - the fears are a choking cloud, making my mind dark and murky.
Last night, thoughts of self-harm and suicide plagued me, keeping me from a restful sleep. Today’s maybe a smidge better, but so many activities have already been discarded.
I’m tired of the constant hustle and struggle. I’m tired of living in unfulfilled wants and needs.
I’m tired.

"Altered States"

Writing in the dark? that's how it begins...

Fears crowd me in,
Into a corner -
Where I lash out,
Like a cat..?

Nine lives, I say!
Or a million....
Or billions...

Spread across time and space -

Such strange nonsense,
Such surreal sensations...

As each day, I awake,
Anew!
Past days are drifting into a fog -
Hazy recollections of happy, sad -
All these sensations!

That the mind demands to understand,
And theories are tossed out,
While others are cuddled close, and kept warm
From the deadly winter
Of cold, empty space.

"Theorize this!,"
Men model -
Or is that women,
In our strangely skewed societies?

I KNOW THAT
this is nonsense...

----- or an intro...? -----

Imagine, if you will - just imagine, that we awake in new manifestations, that may or may not be the same body which we were in last night. If you are aware, while you sleep, do you get locked in to one vessel? Will your hairs grow grey, and your wrinkles grow deep?

If you dream, are you in this world, or another? Yet, I can hear the naysayers, scoffing, claiming "Astral Projection Bullshit!"

I doubt that shifting consciousness is a novel idea. I imagine some philosopher, some where, has entertained it in the past. We even see allusions about it, in such movies like "The Matrix" and "The 13th Floor"; and it is often dismissed as mere delusions...

Yet..! What evidence against? What evidence for? ...and who's to say that the scientific models can even capture the full reality of our lives. Hell - electrons don't like to settle down to one position, so why would our consciousness - such a grand gathering of electrons - feel constrained to stay in our heads?

Oh, but another "bizarre Bean theory" - who's to say that our consciousness only exists in one point in time and space? I might well be meeting myself, multiple times per day - refracted as I was, through the lens of the universe. But, of course, that's all musing speculation, trying to make sense of "Deja Vu" (Black cats?) and common reference frames and complexities that I can only see a micro-sliver of, in this brief life laid before my feet.

---- and a change -----

I've heard it said, that God speaks through other people. I've also heard it said that God is deep down, inside each and every one of us.

...and 30 years ago, I tried to cast God as a great diamond, possibly fractured, where each of us was one of the myriad facets - we were all God, and part of God. And, I would claim, today, that God is not omniscient; but rather, trying to make sense of how It came to be; wherein we are It's tools and sensors. (Perhaps the imagery is flawed, that's the weakness of models)

Us humans are strongly shaped by societal forces. We have been telling stories around the campfire, for time immemorial. We want this frightening universe to make sense, desperately. So, we create mythos, and we create archetypes, and we create dreams - trying to bring order into the chaos of lights and sounds that we find ourselves embedded in. A little bit at a time, we develop a huge set of scripts to act out our lives by, hoping that behaving in this or that manner will bring solace and relief - or at least prevent our neighbor from whacking us over the head with a stick.

-- another aside ---

There's a big, old iceberg in our culture; revolving around sex, essentially. I want to drill into that ice, to cast out some taboos, to challenge the notions... or at least, acknowledge the dialogue we're telling ourselves. ...and yet, I feel it strays wildly, like my mind is apt to do. "Sex has normally been the path for propagating humanity." Yet... as aware beings, is that what all of us want?

---- brain's puckered out, for the moment. might come back to this, one day. for now, it is a first draft sketch... ----

In 1982, I was in a bad car accident, where I wasn't wearing my seat belt. I hit the windshield fairly hard with my forehead - at least, hard enough to leave lots of tiny glass shards in my forehead that were dug out over the next six months.
I always have assumed that I came back to consciousness after that event... or after several other losses of consciousness that have happened since.
Still, a delusion, fueled by the various simulated reality stories put forward by the media: "Is it possible that I didn't regain consciousness? ...that I'm caught in some strange simulation, designed to keep my mind stimulated, while medical science is working to find a way to bring me back to health?"

I'd like to post a happy post, from my life, but it's difficult...?
I did make a great batch of spaghetti today, and I fed two of my house mates in the sober house!
My finances are seriously freaking me out, though.
I'm looking for suggestions about getting financial and/or bills and/or rent assistance, especially when one's already employed part-time, in a job they enjoy..?

(Note: this showed up in my blog feed as 1/31/20... but I'm not in a sober house, today. totally guessing at date, now - probably a duplicate)

I'm in the depths of a dark depression - but what else is new?
- bills piling up, unpaid
- hiding under the bed covers, avoiding responsibilities
- paranoid that nobody wants my company
- afraid to ask for help, as nobody has asked me for help, in the past
- grasping at anything to distract - "but I'm still sober!"
...changes in sleep and appetite, irritability, difficulty focusing, delusional thinking...
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I feel like an invisible man, and that people think that I'll just disappear, if ignored long enough. Written off like an Alzheimer's patient, who already died to them, years ago...
I feel so trapped by my circumstances, locked away "in a pestilential prison, on a dull, dark, dock".. Unable to succeed because I don't have the right resources, social skills, or coping skills.
Chided by friends and family that I never have anything positive to contribute, never attempt to create any change in my life, not willing to try their brand of recovery...
_______________________________________
So far, I haven't started crying (in frustration) yet, this time. "Got to be strong, got to tough it out, got to pull myself up by my (flimsy) bootstraps..." More unrealistically, got to clone myself a dozen times, to be able to follow through on all the ideas and suggestions that people throw at me. ("there's some wall-building, eh?")
It's been said, over the last couple of years, to quit writing on Facebook. Ok. So, I write in a private journal. Will that create any feedback or conversation? ...or... I talk to someone in the real world. It still feels very difficult to gauge when and where, to hold serious discussions... Everyone seems tied to their Facebook or their texts or their TV's or their activities... I don't think most people, these days, want to make time to converse (unfortunately, myself, included)... Then again, I minimize what I may contribute in conversations.
Still, got a little bit away from Facebook... found myself drawn back towards it (lack of social skills, remember?)... still not very happy with it. I considered going through a crisis line -
used a text line, briefly. I've increased my AA attendance again (with reservations, still)... I just don't know who I feel comfortable with, asking for help - aside from government services. (Part of me thinks, "it's not their problem" ...? Could be pride, too, or lack of trust, on my part? ...or... Is there ever a good time?)
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I went to a food bank Monday, I was approved for food stamps on Tuesday, I talk with a social worker tomorrow (Wednesday), I have an appointment with DARS in February... and I have some part-time work coming in as a tutor - just not enough to catch up and get ahead of the bills...
On the other hand, the gaping hole of isolation tears apart my soul, in these times when self-reliance is failing horribly. I go grasping for escapes, like games and movies as entertainment, or testing the waters of the dating world, or over-eating... So, I struggle to do group activities, and get partial relief there... but those are focused conversations, that only somewhat touch on what I wonder about...
We won't even talk about how fucked up the government seems to be moving, this election cycle. (non sequitir, but it's certainly impacting my anxiety levels)

I’m getting Various advice bits along the lines of “talk to a doctor”, “talk to a therapist” - I’m saddened that This sounds like “i have to pay someone else to be listened to”...
Is it really that much of a wonder, then, that people are turning into shooters, more days than not? (Or rogue drivers, or all sorts of other violent crimes?)
Just wondering aloud...

Blindly walking any which way
Through a media maze -
Walking dead, day after day...
Eyes open, stare out in a daze.
Try to take a step forward,
And I'm cut to shreds, to very tatters,
With brain brambles and tangles
Clawing at truth's threadbare shirt.
Every past phrase, tossed off, now batters
While a fog of rumors mangles
My body, my vision, my soul -
The three, a bleeding out corpse.
Cuts amass, when pieces aren't whole -
Every past deed leaves today warped.

I must trust,
Not shirk work...
In these hours,
Fear devours.

I'd like to post a happy post, from my life, but it's difficult...?
I did make a great batch of spaghetti today, and I fed two of my house mates in the sober house!
My finances are seriously freaking me out, though.
I'm looking for suggestions about getting financial and/or bills and/or rent assistance, especially when one's already employed part-time, in a job they enjoy..?

Try this again...
I am separating myself from the Facebook wall. I will try not to post anything else here, and I will try not to read anything else here, in passive scroll...
I will still try to keep up with my notifications, and event invites; and messenger... but I wish to retreat from the public forum, until further notice.
Not sure how long I can hold my tongue and avert my eyes - yet I am very tired of this beast.
Thank you for the last 10 years,
Jody

I was getting suicidal an hour ago.
It had the feel of vengeful suicide: "You guys won't pay attention to me, so take that!"
Part of it also had that feel of public broadcasting: "I don't know what to do. Please help me! I'm going to kill myself to force you to help me." (There have been thoughts, in the past, of doing a live video on Facebook, where I stab myself in the heart...)
Maybe it's just a call for help...
I thought about calling 472-HELP... not sure if that's still a working number for PES
So, now, I spew on Facebook, telling myself that I'm outing myself to try to take power out of the suicidal thoughts.
If I wanted to succeed, then I wouldn't tell anyone, right?
sorry to be a little Grim, y'all...

Maybe it's pride, yet I do not want to ask for help from people, or even friends. I do not want to feel indebted. I do not want to impose. I definitely do not want to make demands.
Perhaps it's pride, or maybe paranoia... or just fear of being vulnerable, and possibly rejected.
There's also some concern, that the help received would not be competent, useful help; and may actually cause more harm than good. (I'm especially perplexed by how **I imagine** some of my friends may try to "tough talk me out of suicide" or perhaps unwittingly "belittle my bipolar")
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Yet I would overwhelmingly like some help, right now. I want to feel cared for, loved, appreciated.
I would value "time in person" the most - probably why I so enjoy going to group outings. It would be nice to have extra hands and extra eyes, helping in the constant career search - I hear this is the power of networking...
Although I'm pitifully poor, this week, and I still have a lot of unresolved debt... I'm not thrilled with the idea of getting money; partly because I don't know if I'd spend it wisely. On the far horizon, I'm horribly afraid of what I'll do for income when I'm no longer able to work.
Food? Meh... I have lots, but it's not a good mix. I know about food banks, and I've tapped them in the past.
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There's some deeper concerns, I guess.
Feeling like I'll be single forever, because I can't seem to improve or change my situation to where I become attractive.
Feeling like I should get out of Austin, just to be somewhere different - oh, a geographic change! (How many people love to travel, and why? What is it that's intolerable about where they're at?)
Staring at my phone and the utter lack of calls from friends and family. A bit of myopia, there, assuming all people will use all channels of communication, all the time (I certainly don't do that)... What ever happened to house visits, too?
Wondering what I can do to get better transportation, better house, a better career... also wondering if i should just abandon it all and go to a Buddhist monastery.

My myopia is trying to tell me, tonight, that I'm unvalued, helpless, and alone.

This might be the post where I tell everyone that I'm taking a Facebook hiatus... might be...