There is beauty in the absurd
In the ugly complicated truth of humanity
In that which we do not face
In the primal underneath the patina of civilization
There is beauty in the hard, the unspoken and broken
In the carnage and rebirth
In all it's gore and heart and glory
For there is beauty in life
We don't like to talk about it
No one wants to think about it
There is life, we are human
And there is beauty.
Repression.... what a strange and beautiful word, dark and binding yet freeing.
It offers you a clean slate, a new beginning. a chance to move on from whatever demons dance in your head and heart.
The thing is though, by it's very meaning, the word is a trap. To repress is to bury, to hide - hide from things you don't want to confront, to feel, to see, to know, to accept. You see, repression is a lie, and if you tell it to yourself long enough, it becomes your truth. " I didn't do that", "It wasn't me", "it didn't happen to me", and you move along life wearing your shiny new you. Never realizing it's not going to last, this faint patina of delusion that always fades.
In this universe, things have a funny way of not staying buried. What's hidden or lost is eventually found. Often not at the best of times. Instead, it's usually when you least expect it.
When it is found, that thing you buried....far away...in a deep dark distant place, that place you tried so hard to pretend wasn't there anymore.
what do you do then?
What do you do when it all comes crashing down? Those walls, that shield you so carefully crafted? Each shattering piece a stinging reminder of the parts of you that you didn't think existed. Not anymore at least.
What happens to an over stuffed box? It splits, cracks wide open and everything spills out. All at once. Everywhere. Your messy insides out there for everyone to pick at.
You break, again, maybe this time irreparably so.
Hopefully, you get to start over. Rebuild yourself from scratch. Something you probably should've done in the first place. Now, you have to tear everything down, dig it all up , look at every ugly broken crumpled thing up close and throw it all out.
Repression is a lie. An expired plan B with no guarantees. Don't do it.
Let it all out. All the nasty messy bits. Simmer in it. For as long as it takes. Then start washing it all off. Drop at a time, day at a time, till you're scrubbed clean. then move on and never look back.
Trust me.
I know.
I had a dream… I had a dream about a crazy homeless man…a
dirty crazy homeless man and I think it was in my apartment. He was hurt, he
had a bandaged head and arm and trying to tell me he wasn’t always like this.
He had a diary with scribbles and pictures. Turns out for a little while in his
life he was kinda famous, almost someone of consequence, at least as the world
saw it. I tried to peek at his diary, I tried to look at the things he’d
written. I could see the scrawling on the paper but I couldn’t make out the
words. He was a dirty crazy homeless man, and he was in my apartment…I think.
He caught me looking
so I scrambled to flip to the pages with pictures. At first, I thought they
were actual photographs like in a photo album, but when I looked closer, I realized
they were paper clippings that had been cut out and stuck on. Random pictures
of him posing for shots, doing things. It was a scrapbook of his life. For a little while he reminisced, he told me
how he used to be someone …someone of consequence…his words stuck with me…he used
to be someone of consequence, he mattered, at least for a little while. People knew
he existed, and he was real. Now he was a dirty crazy homeless man. He kept
talking… I kept looking at his diary…tracing the edges of the paper clippings
that he had stuck on to the pages of his diary. The pages were hard and
crinkly, like how paper gets when it’s been wet and then dried. I wondered how
this diary had survived with this dirty crazy homeless man.
Something flashed, I looked up. The dirty crazy homeless man
was standing by the window with his arms wide open staring at me. He had a halo
that was blinking in and out. I realized he had pulled down a light bulb that
was still attached to its wires and he was using it as a halo. He waved about,
opening and shutting his mouth each time the light blinked in and out. Like a
lighthouse in the rain. I noticed it was raining outside. I hoped he wouldn’t get electrocuted; I didn’t
want to have to call someone for help. Then I would have to explain why there
was a dirty crazy homeless man in my apartment. I didn’t want to have to
explain.
He must have seen it
on my face, he got embarrassed and started freaking out. I was scared and he
was freaking out. He knew he was a dirty crazy homeless man in my apartment. That
he was freaking out and I was scared. That it was not ok, he was not ok,
nothing was ok. So, I told him what I had been doing. I told him its ok, I’m on
vacation so it doesn’t matter. I told him how I hadn’t slept in 4 days, how I was
broke and anxious and freaking out too. So I had told myself I could have a few
days off. I told myself I could give myself a break. I could go on a bender if I
wanted. Just for a day or two, just a little vacation from reality. So its ok
that he’s a dirty crazy homeless man in my apartment and its ok if I’m tired
and hungry and scared. He stopped and looked at me, then he pulled out a foil
wrapped roll from his raggedy jacket and gave it to me. I think it was an old
burrito. He sat down and looked at his diary. He flipped through the pages, I looked
at the burrito. I didn’t want to eat the dirty old burrito, but I didn’t want
to hurt his feelings, so I looked for a place to put it down… you know, for
later. I sat down next to the dirty crazy homeless man. I was tired and hungry
and scared and he was freaked out. He told me he used to be someone of
consequence and I told him I was scared.
An odd coexistence this is …
Symbiotic?... Parasitic..? ..maybe both…
The instinct to break free is ever present
…a stubborn little light that refuses to go out ..
Everyday I crawl out a little further ..
careful ..furtive .. inching forward… For the most part the monster stays quiet
.. as long as I let him believe he’s won and I am his .. maybe not in
entirety.. not anymore … For I shall carry his poison in me forever .. so he
lets me be … Even loosens his grip from time to time … Letting me stretch but
keeping me beyond my perception of freedom.
It’s been quiet for a long while now …long
enough to lull me into a sense of complacency… Fooling me into thinking maybe
…just maybe I’m almost out… Maybe he’s tired of me.. maybe he’s taken all he
can …and I can be set aside for newer tastier prey…
I don’t trust it…the silence…it makes me
uneasy … But…maybe…this time..? I can walk away..? I turn and shine my light on him.. ever so
slightly ..poke him a little .. watching… nothing.. so I start to move away…
Holding my breath…waiting to exhale.. that’s when he strikes … always when I’m
at the edge…digging into me as a reminder of what my reality is… tightening his
grip till my breath chokes
There you are monster … I knew it wasn’t
over yet… , he retreats satisfied of my compliance and I am left alone ,
breathing again…I feel his poison wash through
me , almost comforting in its
familiarity … Darkness comes and I fall asleep , dreaming of another day …
another inch …
Drifting… dreaming…
In an endless sleep
The delicious warmth
The Myriad dreams
I am awake
But I yearn to sleep
And so I float and fly
Smokey rooms,
Strangers greet
Lustful desires, make two hearts meet
Probing eyes seeking my soul
Searching within for
secrets untold ….
Broken chipped a little ripped
Walk run jump and then I tripped
Scraped knee dented heart
I can’t seem to tell them apart
Rain and snow lots of sun
Days on end where’s the fun
Storms and winds I fly away
Where’s my rope to make me stay
Puddle pool or just a drop
Fall, bump, roll to a stop
Bruised battered achy breaky
Totter dawdle things are shaky
Swirling whirling manic mind
Must watch out they sneak up from behind
Breather rest sit relax
This tether’s been pushed to the max
Gather pick make it whole
All I've got is band aids on my soul.
