Bulletproof

Bulletproof means I can't die.
Bulletproof means it will still hurt.
Bulletproof means another chance.
Bulletproof means someone has a bullet with my name on it someplace.
Bulletproof means if not today, tomorrow.
Bulletproof means I'm going to need a gun too.
Bulletproof means defense.
Bulletproof means expecting problems.

I'm Bulletproof. Usually.
I'm Bulletproof. When you aren't shooting.

I'm Bulletproof. When you can't.
I'm Bulletproof. When I smile.
I'm Bulletproof. Right now.
I'm Bulletproof. When I'm Pure.
I'm Bulletproof. Because I'm a Joker.


I'm Bulletproof, when I know I'm not.

The Animus Locus

Slab. perfectly square. raised from the sand.
Blink.
Darkness. Pale, blue illumination. Twilight of the hypercerptive mind.
Thought. Question. Next?

Animus Locus Muto:

Slab, perfectly square, raised from the sand, in front of my feet, upon the slab, upon the sand. Three.
Blink.
Thought: Question: Path?
Blink.

Animus Locus Muto.

Slabs. Perfectly square, raised from the sand, in front of my feet, as far as the eye can see.
Plenty of paths.
Plenty of choices
Plenty of time.

Blink.

Crystal Ice Cloud Queen

I first spotted her as I rode by in a car. It's sunday; the long thing she was wearing looked like a dress, her shoes kind of strange, and her hair blonde and messy.
"Look a church goer."

Ensuing debate of "bathrobe" and "walk of shame" 2pm on a Sunday.

Exit: Car. Enter: 7-11.
Engage staff, and candy.
Exit: 7-11. Enter: Car.

Examine: The Junkie.

Detail: Orange "clog" style shoes. "High fashion" long knit sweater. Robe style? Shorts, blue t-shirt.

Detail: Marks on her face. Marks on arms.
Possible indication: meth use. Sores resulting from exposure to caustic chemicals, as well as "meth mites."

Detail: on phone: Conversation snippet: "just so you know..."
Behavior: turning away from prying eyes.
Behavior: arms wrapped across self. Defensive, closed, frightened.
Behavior: constant movement. Turns back and moves to have back against wall.
End: Phone call. Hunching down, staring at phone.
Emotional response: tired, hopeless, lost, frightened.

She used to be pretty. She sold her beauty for a hit or twelve, for that little extra euphoria, that little extra bit of self esteem, that little bit extra high.
Victim, and abuser, going to hell in her own style. Forsaking the life, for the high. A nihilist addict; nothing matters, not even the next high, but if I can get the next high, I won't care that nothing matters. Not even the next high...

I understand escaping into madness, to escape hopelessness. I pretend I'm crazy, and pretend I'm just dysfunctional and fucked up and just limping along through life. "I'm broken, and I'll still make it," is more comfort than feeling hopeless; "I'm not sure I can make it."

Frightening to look at an addict, and see something of them in you. To see their route of escape in a little crystal, in a needle, in a pill. Escape from hopelessness? Or into it?

Incredible compassion to look at an addict, and understand some of their pain.

Thank something I don't do meth...

Best wishes to you. Good luck, and may your pain abate.

Things I Need to Remember

I have the power to change.
The very notion of perfection, is flawed.
Do what is good for yourself, and if that happens to be good for others, so be it.
Self Sacrifice is not necessary to be a good person.
Bad Things Happen To Good People.
It is okay to be weak until you find the strength again.
Do not try to change anyone. Support people in their decisions to change.

Addendum:
Worrying about what is next, will make now mean less.

To be continued? If I remember something else I need to remember, of course.

The Dust

The Dust
Will continue
To settle
Long after
The building
Stops shaking.

Travel Light Manifesto

Standing outside the station of the grey dog, the station the color of the namesake of the hound. I'm not focused on the greytop. The stars hold my attention.

I was standing under a single lamp with my single backpack and single suitcase, music devices playing one song on repeat, as the star that's beat me to the ground today sets in the west. I stood there until the sky simmered and cooled.

There is such stark beauty at these hours. Alone in a nowhere town, waiting for a bus that might not make it. Ignore the news TV in the lobby I dropped into. A suspicious night manager eying me, like I eye them; weary and tired. I smile, to break the stoney glare. On a lucky chance I guessed the name.

My new friend in my nowhere town. I check out of a hotel I never checked into, with parting words and a promise of another day, some day. And if I never make it back this way, well at least there was today. I step out the door, knowing I've possibly said goodbye forever, and hoping with a desperate fervor it isn't.

But now, on the edge of a somewhere town, waiting for a bus that might not come, if the hypobox is to be believed, at this hour, as the lazy breeze blows beer cans down the street, after all the dust settles and the candy wrappers leave sight, I lose myself in the stars. It is beautiful.

I look around with new eyes when the wind picks up again. A little more passionate about its street cleaning duties now it seems. The pale sunrise, in my nowhere town, on the edge of this somewhere kind of road. Another sad sound of beer cans rolling away. It's all so sad, and beautiful.

Where will I go next? No where. Sharpie on the glass, scratched and bold. no where.

From The Edge of A Familiar Place

I can't really say none of this isn't familiar. I know I am mostly out of my element. But in so many ways, I am in my element.

But my element of choice is mind, and I guard it like gold. Perhaps that is my problem. Locked down and guarded. So locked in my own mind, I don't experience.

Tonight, I was surrounded by beautiful girls, and was with the girl I love. What was my experience?

I experienced a California Burrito. It was pretty tasty. What was the conversation around me? Some was about food from places like Rancheritos. I can't say I remember fully.

I experienced a lovely moment with the girl I love, sitting on my lap and giving me butterfly kisses, rubbing her face on my beard, and talking in a Russian accent. 

But mostly, I experienced not knowing where to go. Not knowing what to say. Not knowing what to do. I played on my phone, to distract myself from my social anxiety (which was better than some alternatives I could have experienced, yet in so many ways, so much worse).

I did experience lovely things on the drive away. Daft Punk at night, cruising the roads in a car that is not my own, experiencing quiet lovely words, semi coherently spoken, but driven with love.

But I certainly didn't experience much tonight. I stayed in my head far too much. A lurking shadow as much as a person at the party. If I think about my experience, I can't say I was accepted. I feel like I was barely tollerated.

And this is why I don't go out much.

Guard up, defenses up, no real sense of anything. Thoughts in the way of experience.

Over-thinking: the action that kills poetry.