reality

What’s real?

I don’t even know what’s real

And what isn’t real anymore

But the scariest part is

Just the simple fact I am even questioning this reality

Probably makes me more in touch with reality than most.

take care of yourself, take care of each other… have no fear. Peace & love. H

Gross Sticky Things (a poem)

What if we fall?

Oh Lord, this is hard

The dog barks at every moving thing

One day death will make it past the dog

And through the door

Who will save me

From this mediocre existence

Inside these walls

Where they told me not to move?

Pain and suffering is what you need, girl

Show God what you’re made of

I’m just blood and guts and bones and gross sticky things

And what if I fall?

I’ve got a child to protect

What if death….

Just stop

Know that you’re just a fool

Reality isn’t really real

To believe anything else

Would be foolish.

The Last Days Of Man

I dig the knife into the tree. Slipping the blade beneath the bark ripping it up so I can see the fragile green underbelly. Over and over again peeling away the skin. What I’m doing is perhaps cruel. That knowledge is there, but there is no feeling behind it. I should feel something shouldn’t I? Regret at destroying it. Exposing it to the harsh elements of this world. Ripping away the one thing that was protecting it. 

Why am I doing this? Why do I keep at it?I don’t know, but I don’t seem to want to stop. It’s something to distract me. To keep the thoughts away. These dark thoughts. I don’t even know if they are mine. They feel foreign. Like someone is whispering in my ear. Constantly telling me what to do, what to think, what to feel. And yet…they feel a little less foreign than they did yesterday. Like it was becoming a part of me. 

I hadn’t been the same since they “cured” me. 

I’m going to betray you.” I had said. And I thought I should care. I don’t want this do I? But I probably won’t be able to stop myself. Eventually that whisper was going to become a scream. It would take me over. I should fight it. I should care. 

She had looked at me, frozen in place. Pain tugging at her lips. Her eyes were the color of ice. “No, no you won’t.” But her voice broke. She wasn’t sure she believed it. 

It was then I picked up the knife. A small little involuntary gasp left her lips and she took a quick step back. I think I shook my head and laughed as if she were being ridiculous. She was not….Ah, that’s why I’m doing this. I remember now. If I didn’t take the knife to the tree it would have sunk in somewhere else. Perhaps her pretty pink flesh.. And I think I would have regretted that, wouldn’t I? 

What was happening to me? The whispering dissolved into a slow chuckle.

The Last Days Of Man

I dig the knife into the tree. Slipping the blade beneath the bark ripping it up so I can see the fragile green underbelly. Over and over again peeling away the skin. What I’m doing is perhaps cruel. That knowledge is there, but there is no feeling behind it. I should feel something shouldn’t I? Regret at destroying it. Exposing it to the harsh elements of this world. Ripping away the one thing that was protecting it. 

Why am I doing this? Why do I keep at it?I don’t know, but I don’t seem to want to stop. It’s something to distract me. To keep the thoughts away. These dark thoughts. I don’t even know if they are mine. They feel foreign. Like someone is whispering in my ear. Constantly telling me what to do, what to think, what to feel. And yet…they feel a little less foreign than they did yesterday. Like it was becoming a part of me. 

I hadn’t been the same since they “cured” me. 

I’m going to betray you.” I had said. And I thought I should care. I don’t want this do I? But I probably won’t be able to stop myself. Eventually that whisper was going to become a scream. It would take me over. I should fight it. I should care. 

She had looked at me, frozen in place. Pain tugging at her lips. Her eyes were the color of ice. “No, no you won’t.” But her voice broke. She wasn’t sure she believed it. 

It was then I picked up the knife. A small little involuntary gasp left her lips and she took a quick step back. I think I shook my head and laughed as if she were being ridiculous. She was not….Ah, that’s why I’m doing this. I remember now. If I didn’t take the knife to the tree it would have sunk in somewhere else. Perhaps her pretty pink flesh.. And I think I would have regretted that, wouldn’t I? 

What was happening to me? The whispering dissolved into a slow chuckle.

The Last Days Of Man

I dig the knife into the tree. Slipping the blade beneath the bark ripping it up so I can see the fragile green underbelly. Over and over again peeling away the skin. What I’m doing is perhaps cruel. That knowledge is there, but there is no feeling behind it. I should feel something shouldn’t I? Regret at destroying it. Exposing it to the harsh elements of this world. Ripping away the one thing that was protecting it. 

Why am I doing this? Why do I keep at it?I don’t know, but I don’t seem to want to stop. It’s something to distract me. To keep the thoughts away. These dark thoughts. I don’t even know if they are mine. They feel foreign. Like someone is whispering in my ear. Constantly telling me what to do, what to think, what to feel. And yet…they feel a little less foreign than they did yesterday. Like it was becoming a part of me. 

I hadn’t been the same since they “cured” me. 

I’m going to betray you.” I had said. And I thought I should care. I don’t want this do I? But I probably won’t be able to stop myself. Eventually that whisper was going to become a scream. It would take me over. I should fight it. I should care. 

She had looked at me, frozen in place. Pain tugging at her lips. Her eyes were the color of ice. “No, no you won’t.” But her voice broke. She wasn’t sure she believed it. 

It was then I picked up the knife. A small little involuntary gasp left her lips and she took a quick step back. I think I shook my head and laughed as if she were being ridiculous. She was not….Ah, that’s why I’m doing this. I remember now. If I didn’t take the knife to the tree it would have sunk in somewhere else. Perhaps her pretty pink flesh.. And I think I would have regretted that, wouldn’t I? 

What was happening to me? The whispering dissolved into a slow chuckle.

Thought Of Day

“It is easier to fool the people than to convince them they’ve been fooled.”

It’s a quote often attributed to Mark Twain and its been circulating through my brain as of late. I think there are a lot of things in life we’ve been deceived about. Exactly what all those things are I’m still trying to figure out.

Dr. Bruce Lipton said in one of his videos, “The Matrix wasn’t just a movie, it was a documentary.”

The reality is we can say we don’t want to be lied to. We can say we want the truth. But I don’t think many of us do. Most of us would like to live and die in the matrix and never know there was actually so much more to life. Because it frightens us. And we want the familiar. We want whats comfortable. Even if it’s making us sick. Or limiting our potential. Or even stripping us of true joy. Because to get there we’d have to destroy all the lies we’ve lived with our entire lives.

I recently watched a preview for some new HBO show coming out. I can’t remember the name offhand. But there was a quote I’d like to share. It won’t be word for word because I only heard it once. But here is the gist of it.

“I woke up one morning and realized everything I thought I knew about reality was wrong. And I haven’t even gotten to the strangest part yet.”

 

 

 

 

Reality

The weight of all of this

is crushing down on me

The coffee in my cup is bitter

soured by all the cruel words

spoken

and unspoken

I’d rather drink my wine

and tell my jokes

as if all of this was forgotten

REALITY HITS

He says to pack my things

the house is no longer mine

So I take all the photographs

out of their frames

and put them in boxes

That’s as far as I’ve gotten

For the weight of all of this

is crushing down on me. 

I know your story

I know your story.
I’ve felt your heartache, your violence, your joy, and your regret.
I’ve cried with you, died a little with you, made love with you, and even killed with you.
I know your black heart, your sorrow, and your secret desires.
Yes, I know your story.
And I dare not remain silent.