somniare.

sometimes, my head explodes

climbing to fall May 20, 2009

Filed under: from the mute to the deaf,hell is other people — somniare @ 12:17 am

I’ve aged a lot lately.

As I anticipate another night of stifled silence, I make plans for contemplations.

My life in boxes and sentiments bagged with the refuse out in the cold. So many deaths I tally in tears (how versatile that word really is) and all of the forms it manifests in… like a metastatic cancer ravaging my every cell.

The words I hold dear to me like the serrated edge of a rusted butter knife in my hand, gouging irreparably into the tendons and ligaments… rendering my grip useless and utterly futile. Nothing more than the thought of strength and best wishes for everyone who let me slip.

How I can love with all of myself… and learn about all of the things I’ve earned in return that even my strongest of pessimism could not predict.

My repellent sweetness in a garden full of perfectly ripened fools… and the slippery trails of invertebrates making their nightly trysts as if I didn’t exist. Perhaps it’s better this way… myself as a rotten fruit or poisoned flesh… a polytropic will to decay where I fall regardless.

I’ll think of equals and less thans. The long fight that I lose to spite myself. All of the many ways I wrap myself in cedar and light my box in flames. My skin beneath the sun and the scars of many burns. The years of solitude and lessthanlight that I would eagerly return to now.

Another night melting beside heat that isn’t mine. Pressing my bruises tighter against… molding my broken bones around… unyielding, ceaseless, merciless agony. And wonder if I love every moment… or if I don’t know any better… any more.

Somehow, beneath it all… it doesn’t seem quite over yet. That’s a shame.

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time-out October 8, 2008

Filed under: from the mute to the deaf,hell is other people — somniare @ 9:50 am

I’ve been absent for a while now. The world around me just seems quiet. Everyone speaking in whispers amongst themselves… leaving me to read lips from my place in the corner.

When my time away becomes apparent… it seems to be forgotten that I wasn’t the one who faced me to the wall… I wasn’t the one who placed hands upon my shoulders, turning me to hear nothing but my own breath reverberating off of the cold paint.

I steal glances of moving lips when no one’s looking [as they so often aren’t], then shh-quick, resume my sentry position monitoring the movement of molecules as I move the air with my rapid blinking and slow exhale in the dark. Swallowing sobs before I draw attention and get in trouble. I wonder where the light goes in this corner… it seems to end at my back… a broad shouldered eclipse.

 

ejecta July 15, 2008

Filed under: hell is other people — somniare @ 11:35 pm

A series of excerpts. That is my day. I sit down and reflect by default alone and recall only segments… a day summarized by moments. Today my excerpt is reminiscent of debris.

Rarely does a day go by where any second is more special than the last… essentially all that I encounter becomes a pile of steaming garbage with the occasional glint of light off of a rusting soup can or the overpowering redolence of the nearest discarded infant diaper.

Anyone with true rummaging experience (admit it, you’ve done it), knows that there is the occasional gem to be found amidst the waves of decaying waste. A twenty dollar bill, an invaluable antique only mistaken for trash, a seemingly untouched piece of furniture discarded by an obviously fortunate individual with no need to be reimbursed upon refurnishing their abode. This takes much time and effort to achieve whilst sifting through wreckage and refuse… and one would most certainly walk away exhausted, filthy, and reeking of shame. I have to admit, I am a garbage picker of humanity.

The sad fact is that I often walk away empty handed. After a long day of interactions and social endeavors, I have nothing more than a sigh of defeat. The equivalent of the multilevel disgust I would feel at discovering a litter of dead kittens in a broken down cardboard shoebox.

So much stupidity… so little energy to paint it the cutesy color of naivety. Idiocy has one shade… and it is shit brown. Ah, hell with it, I’ll be generous and offer the second and third options of sewage green or flesh-rot gray. Make a note of that, Crayola.

 

science is ignorance June 23, 2008

Filed under: hell is other people — somniare @ 8:34 pm

I really struggle when watching or listening to anything regarding life outside of our planet. As I sat in my slow decay on the couch watching endless documentaries on National Geographic, I decided to punish my inner theorist by watching a 2 hour report on UFO sightings… which apparently increased in credibility due to being told by none other than Peter Jennings *insert dramatic eye roll here*.

First of all, I found the documentary to be way higher on the bullshit meter than any of the recollections made by people experiencing sightings. The main reason for that not being because of the efforts to disprove the sightings, but more because of the blatant display of human ignorance and egocentricity that only increases as we “advance” as a civilization.

Back when UFOs were the talk of the town in the early 50’s, minds were a lot more open due purely to the fact that our technology was too primitive to supply even so much as the illusion of being able to prove or disprove any documented events. The more people attempted to rationalize and investigate though, the more they effectively squashed the ability to see an event for what it was.

What the bulk of humanity qualifies as ignorance is exactly the opposite of what I actually believe. Theoretical physicists seem to be about the only research professionals with even a fraction of a clue. We discount otherworldly encounters and other supernatural phenomenon as smoke and mirrors and sleep disorders… claiming that the people detailing their experiences are ignorant of the realities of SCIENCE.

Fuck science.

We only know as much as we’re capable of comprehending. We live in a box outside of our own design. There are walls containing us that can’t be described by ignorance alone. Why spend so much time increasing the strength of these barriers by attempting to validate mysterious claims with the likes of our feeble technology?! How is it possible that so many people believe that we’re ever going to be able to discover life on other planets trying to pick up radio signals or deeming planets lifeless due to the lack of water or the chemical levels in the atmosphere or the extreme climates and wind conditions? I’ve heard on countless documentaries that most expeditions and studies for life are based on a search for water alone. If this is the case than we’re not on a search for “life” but on a mission to find another planet just like ours. The chances of THAT? Slim to none.

What we need to face is that we may never possess the technology to discover other life forms because we simply can’t comprehend intelligence so vastly different from our own. There is no logic behind assuming that any planet has no signs of life. Hell, our own sun could be absolutely teeming with life! Just because we can’t see it, touch it, or even understand it doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Seeing is believing for most. Some of the most steadfast skeptics and dedicated scientists have been uprooted from the constraints of what we know due to having their own supernatural experience. I wouldn’t discount the behavior of foil-hat-wearing “lunatics”. We may not be able to read thoughts with anything we have, but who’s to say that in the entire universe, nothing else can either. We may not find enough credibility in stories to break through our own skepticism, but if this civilization is to be anything other than infantile, we’re going to have to think outside of the box.

I’m sorry, scientists… this is just outside of your scope of practice…

 

validating logorrhea January 22, 2008

Filed under: from the mute to the deaf,hell is other people,my evolution — somniare @ 1:45 pm

If it hasn’t been blatantly apparent, Life As We Know It has been consuming me in ways I am struggling to cope with.

This morning started just like any other. I woke up at the relatively late time of quarter to 10, stumbled with my half vision into the bathroom, then trudged down the stairs to get my son his breakfast- Lucky Charms of course, due to his obsessive cereal phase and crippling fear of trying anything new. All the while feeling miserable due to having lost my most productive morning hours to the waste that is sleep and thinking about how much I didn’t want to go to work in 4 hours. It then struck me, “Oh yeah, I have the day off today!” Let the games begin.

I sat down at this glorified heap of excrement cleverly disguised as “technology” and proceeded to work feverishly on my newest piece. I had to abandon working further on it last night due to that “something is missing” feeling that creates quite a frustrating block. As I worked, I felt the familiar squirming of repressed words deep in my belly. See, I can’t even take a hiatus without failing.

Being a writer is a lot like being pregnant. The incubation time of a worthwhile body of writing can often be even longer than the seeming eternity of 40 weeks that it takes to develop a new human being in the womb. In my experience, a good piece of written work is more useful than most children anyhow and much more worthy of the painful duration of gestation. Don’t get me wrong, I am a parent and love my kids but children are parasites until they can fend for themselves. Like it or not. Sure they come with many joys… but let’s be real here. I’m not going to recant my statement for the fragile-minded who now see me as a heartless woman who should never have been given the privilege of bearing children since I didn’t start this paragraph with the intention of disparaging the importance, worth, and satisfaction behind rearing children.

The truth of it is being that I have the experience of pregnancy, I can create an educated comparison to writing. It’s no mystery to those who know me (and even those who don’t) that I can be exceptionally moody. It seems to be at it’s worst during long gaps between fervent writing. When I can’t seem to find that enthusiasm to release the rampant thoughts circling in my head, they seem to fall into a black hole… a void of darkness… and they take my mood down with them. It’s just one more of the many vicious cycles I find myself in. Without the release, there is no hope for my mood… but with the negativity comes the lack of desire to exonerate the verbal effluence.

Then I get to this point where eloquence turns to nothing short of logorrhea. The conscious effort has to be put forth to not sound like I’ve never had a solid day of education in my life. Though, I suppose if it were effortless, I would be a prodigy of sorts.

In these recent months, I have been becoming an increasingly feeling-centered personality. My block prior to the creation of this little blog was the product of laying emotionally dormant for the better part of 3 years. Even before the mass levels of coldness set in, I was still lacking in many of the sensitivities that had long ago been a part of my natural makeup. I believe I’ve pondered that subject before, so I’ll avoid redundancy there. The point of mentioning it comes in the fact that my moodiness is creating hundreds of mini blocks a day. I’ve paused and resumed this one entry a half dozen times and turned what should have been 15 minutes worth of writing into 3 hours. It’s almost as if Life as I Know It changes drastically in short increments of time. Most likely due to the way moods alter perspective and our vision of life is all we really have to base our existence on.

I suppose I may still be on hiatus from exposing many of my personal thoughts and feelings to a world that really only absorbs one or two sentences anyway. The fact is though, I do it for me… maybe even to be reassured that my vision of worldly ignorance remains unchanged and will be validated by your multitudinous misconceptions and skewed analysis of who I am and where I stand. We all need validation in some area of our lives, no matter how insignificant.

 

the last straw January 20, 2008

Filed under: hell is other people — somniare @ 6:18 pm

I can never win. Ever. Everything I do and everything I say is always wrong… to everyone. I’m tired of people only appreciating me in reflection. Apparently my lips move, but no sound comes out. Why even bother screaming?

Apparently, my knowing nothing makes my opinions and attempts worth absolutely nothing. In fact, regardless of my attempts to care about anything, decline is imminent.

My resolution? Stop giving a shit about improving anyone’s circumstances. The people who have given a damn about my feelings have also never made me feel useless and insignificant.

Maybe I’ll be able to care a little more when I stop having to ask people to consider me. One day there will be room for me. At some point, I will be accommodated without resentment just because I needed to matter.

I’ve lost my inspiration and until I can find it again, I’ll be on hiatus from divulging my thoughts and feelings publicly.

 

dumping some mental sewage December 20, 2007

Filed under: hell is other people,my evolution — somniare @ 1:23 am

I have typed and deleted a total of 3 massive entries to get this anger out of my head now. All I’ve been doing is finding myself tangent ranting in bitterness when I know my words will fall only on those who have managed to not contribute to the apocalypse that results from human interaction. For you few, and you know who you are, I ask you to disregard this as it is not directed to you.

I am full of colorful analogies to depict the imagery in my head as people destroy my hope. Imagine bitterness as a plugged in toaster. Now picture someone you once trusted launching that crude weapon into your bath water. Now imagine bitterness as razor wire. Then picture the hands of a person you loved once laying it carefully in a circle around your bed while you sleep. I could go on and on. My more hopeful and peaceful emotions lately have been no more than buzzing flies around putrid, scurrilous garbage. As I find myself once again ensnared in the morbid web of bitterness, I must unleash bits and pieces before I strangle myself with them.

I have finally, after many wasted years found a path. This road is literally paved in land mines. I’ve been making huge leaps and bounds to reach what was previously thought of as unattainable. There are times I wonder if I am doomed to suffer the consequences of poor decisions and misled actions for the rest of my life. Then there are also moments I appreciate the struggle as bridges to avoid a few of the land mines I may find along the way later on. That is far too optimistic for me at this time I’m afraid. I shoulder the blame for my own circumstances as a general rule but I’m sure as hell not going to blame myself for being the victim of shameless sadism. I mean the twisted joy that people get from watching you eviscerate yourself the second you wake up in the morning, climb out of bed, and find yourself tangled in that razor wire they camouflaged so nicely.

You like my bitterness? Does it make the sun shine a bit brighter in your life to watch me die inside? Congratulations. Enjoy it while it lasts because when I take the sun out of the sky and cram it up your ass, you’re not going to have any reason to wonder why the lights went out. Eventually, after I’ve pulled my disfigured body from this wreckage, I will make you as meaningless as you would have been had your father’s seed been nothing more than a stain on your harlot mother’s sheets. I will lay here, seemingly helpless, but the second you blink your eyes, I will scrape your face from your skull with a rusty spoon.

True bitterness comes without shame. It rises to the surface like pure black oil on the toxic salt ocean Regardless of the turbulent nature of the sea and all external effects, anything haplessly falling into it will perish. Self preservation comes before all else… I’m simply feeding off of it. While the laws of this world save such flesh-wastes from my actually living out my morbid fantasies, there are many much more creative ways to lash out. No need to dedicate your life to watching me suffer because that is a lost cause. Just as I would never dedicate my life to seeking retribution. Nothing pains more than trying and failing over and over. I’m not failing, merely struggling and as I find myself with at least one tangible piece of true happiness, meanwhile those that opted to inflict their idiocy on me will be able to tally yet another fail on their prison walls.

Oh yes, there’s always hope… there’s your optimism.