Thanks for leaving

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Thanks for leaving
nails in the wall
our pets without food
your panties in the hall

Thanks for leaving
your shit on the ground
dishes in the sink
and ants all around

Thanks for leaving
my heart out to dry
you promised forever
then skipped the goodbye

I don’t love you for leaving
like I loved when you stayed
but my heart holds out hope
for possibility days

Gone Again

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Oh, God, you’re gone
Oh, God, you’re gone again
Again
And my heart tells me to wait
While the world tells me to run
But my head sees no right answer
Just a path and choices on it

An Uncanny Valley

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Last night I arrived home to again find my little princess occupied with the torture and eventual annihilation of another creature. She sat poised, still as a statue of Artemis, her namesake. And like her namesake, she bore the same multitude of breasts and a look of death in her eyes. As had been my inclination near two months past, I stood watching her watch her prey. There are things you can learn from closely observing your animal companions. Like the mythic shamans of plagiarized past, I draw strength from my canine’s loyalty. From my feline friend, I learn the art of patience and stillness. And so it was with only the faintest of scraping against faux wood flooring that the beast beneath the cupboard drew our attention. Artemis moved first, lithely positioning herself to prevent escape like a goalie deflecting a hockey puck from the net. In the instant the creature made contact with her paw, I saw a flash of green. Curiosity piqued, I lowered myself onto hands and knees to determine exactly what type of being had found its way into this lair of death. Two eyes, absurdly large and unblinking, peered back at me from underneath the stand. Gazes locked, the creature cocked its head as if to question my intention. It was a preying mantis, three inches tall and verdant as a blade of grass. There was a haunting quality to the way in which it looked at me, as if my comprehension of its plight should be taken for granted. Frozen time was shattered by a flash of white as Artemis swiped her paw underneath the table, lazily trying to coax the bug into fleeing its temporary safety. Without any deep deliberation on the purpose behind my act, I quickly scooped the mantis into my cupped hands, murmuring a soft apology. Cat dancing around my ankles, I brushed her aside with my foot and slipped out the front door. Delicately, I set my new friend down in what I perceived to be the safest spot on my front lawn. Again, we took a moment to consider each other. Looking into this alien face I though I recognized a piece of myself. He moved his uninjured arm and head in a manner I understood to communicate thanks. We never saw each other again.

Sometimes the Gods cause the lion to falter, and in this faltering the antelope escapes as the lion goes hungry.

I don’t have TIME for your Mickey Mouse BULLSHIT

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This morning I awoke to discover that Artemis had caught a creature. I call it a creature because at first there was no such thing in sight. Still, she has a certain manner of standing which unmistakably communicates a transformation from maternal protector to arbiter of death. Eventually I heard a familiar scuffle and squeak, a noise which, to me, indicates the not-so-imminent death of a mouse. At the time, I did wonder whether it might not be a more normal reaction in this present world to feel at least a touch of sympathy, even if only under a quivering layer of disgust or perhaps even fright. As if in meditation, I simply watched this thought arise and then sink back into the nothingness from which all thought comes. Thinking back upon the incident, I do question whether a consideration for the level of intellect before me ever crossed my mind. I am one of those who readily attributes what I think of as intelligence to the world around me in places and quantities largely divergent from standardized methods of assessment. Truthfully, though, in my lack of sympathy this was not likely the case. This is not to say that I am psychopathic, or even very strongly sociopathic. The truth, and here again I attempt to force agreement between thoughts and words, is that you can only experience unpleasantness so long before it becomes either reconciliation or insanity. Long ago, I accepted that there are things Artemis is driven to do which I am not. And so, I did not merely let her have her kill. I let her play with it.

Sometimes the Gods allow the antelope to falter, and in this faltering the antelope dies as the lion is satiated

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If you give me your love

You will get

Nothing back

Cause that’s what

Love means to me

Why would I give

You mine

If in turn

We will find

That it meant

Nothing

To you

You just wanted

My trust

And I needed

Your light

But we give what

We can’t get back

So I’ll go away

For now

Yes, I’ll still be

Ok

Somehow

But it won’t be

The same

Without your

Smiling face

God I hope that

This Love

Wins out

And others are saying things

Much better that we ever could

As the quiet becomes suddenly verbose

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GgxrtnJnP9w&list=RD9Cl9cme-1xU&index=3

Same

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Every day the same, then every day the same, then every day the same.  I get home feeling like an unsocialized animal. Much like the dog at the park with nervous owners, but for some reason no one is holding my leash.  It used to be I thought people were afraid of the truth. Slowly, I have learned that most people are not interested in seeing the truth. If they could, they would be afraid.

The Cult of Self-Empowerment

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Recently I’ve been finding excuses to tell people that no, in fact, they do not know me. They do not even know themselves. Pretentious? Yes. Still true in many dimensions, a common theme in Daniel Kahneman’s book Thinking, Fast and Slow ( https://medium.com/@pashaps/highlights-from-thinking-fast-and-slow-parts-i-and-ii-d388b7ccded ). Though said in jest, my recent commitment to a meditative practice – in part because of this book – has made it painfully clear how true it is. This isn’t some deep insight from a self-awareness guru, merely a gradual awakening of senses I’d forgotten I have. To mitigate the risk of three paragraphs of side-notes on topics I’m not qualified to speak on, I will get to the point.

I do not like myself. I do not seem to like myself. The part of me that constitutes itself as an experience of I feels an energy pattern which relates to disgust which is an evolutionary byproduct of… Ok, enough. My life feels like a hodgepodge of all the decisions I did not make myself, every attempt at a step towards divergent roads more burdensome and less fruitful than the last. So I numb myself from the pain of reliving someone else’s life, and in so doing ward off the real potential that living differently would also mean pain. Maybe it is pain, all the way down to the turtles, but I am beginning to see it is the numbness that prevents me from potentiating. Or whatever.

I was never into the whole everything comes full circle business, but the older I get the less I care about what I used to think. My journey really started with an act of self harm, but life did not improve until a therapist taught me to forgive myself. I’m still spinning my wheels, but as I learn to disregard myself a small hope emerges that the moon is the limit.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Cl9cme-1xU&list=RD9Cl9cme-1xU&start_radio=1

101

I shake until I break
And then I wake
And then I bake
Cause I just don’t know how to take it
But I sure know how to fake it
It’s a riot, it’s a laugh
All these people passing gas
As they spread their lips to spray their words
They do not hesitate to curse
And though I know it sounds reverse
Their empathy just makes it worse
While words and curves and all their worst
Come raining down upon our berth
Of loneliness
This cursed earth

Insecure Dwelling

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I cross out lines in this tattered book

Like the web in my window where a spider once took

But no longer is he; my spider, my friend

They say all things come to an end

And now in his place an albino moth dwells

Bulging eyes that look straight out of hell

As I look and I write my pen runs out of ink

Each deliberation causes my body to sink

And give in to this pain, give in to this ill

I just wanted to sit and look at the sill

Where eight legs once fed on the living dead

And a beautiful web hid the hole in this shed

– MS