Free Association Exercise: Silence is Death

There is a tickle in my throat, it comes with silence.  Not the kind of lonely silence that comes with being by myself, but being quiet in the presence of others when NOISE would scream INAPPROPRIATE.  That itch feels like a need, a hunger, an urge to break the silence and open up the room to NOISE once again.  NOISE is caustic but comforting, it is ever present even it our most hostile attempts to conquer it.  Our heartbeats ring out the tune of life though we ignore it, air rushes in and out of our lungs though we hardly notice the breadth of breath.  Our very guts churn with sluggish outcries to be heard.  We are never silent even in unconsciousness, and when we no longer echo out brash calls against boorish silence, we will no longer live. Silence is Death, silence is the end of all things, the darkness has a voice and it whispers with quiet soundless impotence.  So I’ll cough away the end of life and open my lungs to breathe and DIGEST every morsel of raucous lividity and tomorrow when I wake I’ll turn on the music again.

-Nowhere-

-NOWHERE-
I feel my analogies burning
churning like so much brew
I tip my glass to nowhere
and I empty it anew
to be an empty headed thing
a cretin, a bafoon
one more sip to nowhere
and I'll end the night at noon

new born needs arising
sighing with the coming dawn
I spawn from seas of tranquility
into fertile lands of siren songs
and nowhere calls my name
like somewhere i've been before
psychosis grows i know it knows
i'll be there before long

so when I count my pills at night
its with a heavy heart
for when my head is splintered
the shards glisten in the dark
and shine a light towards nowhere
where I need to bleed to be
ecstatic and amorous
in love with being me

cheesy potatoes

waiting for the other shoe to drop
i took a hammer to the head
wound up back here instead
thinking of the ways we use to flop
take a roll in the hay
that futon never strayed
and so I say
take another shot today
spread myself thin
wise crack a jolly grin
I wrap my arms around your neck
in dreams and daytime memories
so please
come to me
I slip my heart out of my chest
present it to your beating breast
and free
the love in me
I held back for so long
the waves crest with this song
so come to me
tonight I plead
I wait for you with yearning needs
My skin desires your breathes breaze
come to me
come to please
me

Letter to my brother I don't have to courage to send

Dear Brother:

I composed this letter in part in my head riding the route 1A from the Downtown mall to my apartment complex, and in part upon my arrival.  I feel I should preface this by telling you I have always and will always hold you dear, both as a brother and as a friend.

That being said, I am constantly filled with worry for you, both for your sanity and your safety.  The people you are associating with claim to be peaceful, but no peaceful man threatens violence however perturbed he becomes.  Your constant talk of race wars, the illuminati, and your paranoia about being spied on both in the safety of your home from your computer and on the streets from the roaming eyes of police and pedestrians has me scared for you and your sanity.  That being said: the threats you have voiced towards me have ME scared for MYSELF.

You seemed to be trying so hard to find peace, but I believe you have been lead astray.  You voice so much hate towards people these days, even strangers you've never had so much as a passing word with.  You are constantly preoccupied with people being racist, even though you know nothing of them or their beliefs.  I know this because every conversation we have centers around it.  You tell me of the people I surround myself with being racist.  Rebecca is racist because she associates with gothic people, and THEY are racist because they listen to gothic and industrial music, and IT is racist because you say its all from Germany, and GERMANS are racist because of WWII.  Gabe is racist because you believe he is a homosexual, and all homosexuals are sexual deviants and out to take advantage of people.  Of course they are also racist, because somehow their fight for the right to marry infringes upon an African Americans fight to free himself from prejudice and poverty.  You believe Rachael is racist because she is southern, and of course, all southern people are racist.  The overwhelming theme is this: they are ALL white, and all white people are racist.  You even believe I am racist, because I dress like a pirate and practice Wicca.  Wiccans are racist because they have Celtic heritage, and Celts are all Aryans which are all racist.  And as for my pirate clothes?  Pirates, you say, brought African Americans over in ships to be sold into slavery. 

All the peoples I have listed: the races, creeds, sexual orientations, and spiritual paths you hate on sight.  You hate people who have money and an education because they are "yuppies" and of course, racist.  You even now hate people that have TATTOOS regardless of the fact that you yourself are covered with them because, as you say, tattoos are expensive and only people with money can afford them, and people with money are racist. 

My point is this: you hate them all, regardless of their personal merits or even knowledge of their actions or deeds.  You don't know them, but you hate them just by looking at them.  This is the very definition of prejudice and bias.  You have become just as bad as someone who actually IS racist.  The only people you seem comfortable with are African Americans, and even some of them you dislike on sight, because they are "thugs" and thugs? Totally racist.  I'm afraid to even say this to you, but YOU have become racist, prejudice, and bias towards the entire world.  You have become the very thing you so despise. 

I don't blame you for what you feel right now, and in order to explain that I have to explain my feelings towards both hatred and violence.  I myself have always been and will always be a pacifist.  I have never been in a serious physical altercation, and have no intention of ever being in a fight.  I have been struck, by you and by others, and I did not raise a hand in return.  It is my belief that violence and hatred, even in retaliation, solves nothing and only makes matters worse.  It exacerbates already bad situations and causes even more of the same. 

Hatred is like a disease.  People that vent, that inflict violence, that verbally abuse, are infected with it.  Either by experiences they have been through or by simple genetics they turn PAIN and FEAR outwards and inflict it upon others, either in retaliation or to innocent bystanders to whatever situation ails them.  My belief is that the main cause of this disease is simple exposure.  Violent and aggressive and hateful people simply experienced far too much hate in there lives and became jaded, and thus: infected.  The disease spreads as follows: hateful people inflict there inner pain on others, and those who go through this too much often become, as there aggressors, hateful themselves. 

I'm sorry to say that at this time you have become afflicted with this disease, which IS a disease, just as much as alcoholism and addiction are diseases.  They way you treat others isn't your fault, you were simply exposed to far too much of the same over the long sordid course of your life, and now it is all you know.  The only way you know how to respond by feeling hurt or sadness or fear is to lash out.  I love you brother, I love you dearly, but this has to stop.

My only hope is that through bettering yourself by doing good deeds, surrounding yourself with positive people, and with what might turn out to be a LIFETIME of therapy, you can conquer this horrible affliction you have found yourself being burdened with.  Please know that I WILL always be there for you, as brother and friend, but I no longer know how close I can remain to you.  Your pain turned to hate is starting to have an affect on my wellbeing, and I can't afford to become jaded.  I'm niave yes, innocent, sure, but I still have hope, and I won't risk that hope for anything.  I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep my distance for a while, until you can get yourself under control.  I love you brother, but that's how it is.

Please take care of yourself, and be safe,
your loving brother,
Zak 

Mojo: Chapter Two: Brethren

My worker bee picked me up early in the morning and brought me down to the spca adoption center with the hopes of picking out a pet....

"You wont be taking one home today, today is just to look, to shop..."

As if picking a friend could be that easy, just go in and shop around for a while, get a FEEL for them. 

My heart twisted in knots as I stepped through the door, animals all of them, caged and wild eyed with anxiety or docile with jaded acceptance.  Every one of them desperately needing a home, some one to take them into there arms and love them and care for them. 

I don't know why I put myself through this... Going into animal shelters and pet stores and even going as far as to peruse the pet section of craigslist.  Kills me EVERY TIME.

Towards the back there sat a squat cage on a small platform, and inside where four young cats, all of them solid black.  Most of them came up to the cage walls and peered out, but far in the back one simply rested, the runt of the little with a small paper tag like a hospital bracelet reading "Mopsy".  As I approached her side of the cage she lifted her eyes to mine and what I saw melted me to the core.  Mopsy was not only the runt, but one of a litter of kittens that had come under horrible abuse.  She had gotten the worse of it, patches of hair had had to be shaved off around her under arms, her ears with thick with black gunk from ear-mites, and her left eye shone solid white with cataract.

"From an injury" the young female staff member said, and wouldn't tell me any more. 

When I extended my fingers to the cage she rubbed the side of her face lovingly against them and looked out at me, squinting and staring with that one good eye.  She had seen the wars, been through the ringer, been through hell and back, took a licken and kept on ticken.  Mopsy was world weary at the tender age of two, young even for a cat.  But something in the way she looked at me prompted me to ask that she be removed from her cage and brought to a small adjacent room for me to socialize with her. 

As she was lifted from her cage, she did not protest, simply went limp and allowed herself to be carried, though her eyes told a different story.  The good eye bloomed wide with terror and distrust of the woman who now held her and carried her along.  Her claws gripped her shirt as if expecting any moment to be tossed at the nearest wall. 

One in the room Mopsy was placed on the floor and saw me enter.  She starred up and me with that single eye and again her lids drifted into a mellow and relaxed squint.  A moment latter she rolled onto her back exposing her belly to me.  I got down on my haunches and stroked the fur there.  It was soft, like the inside of expensive slippers.  She purred with reckless abandon and again rubbed her face along my wrist and hand, marking me with her scent.  I decided right then and there that Mopsy would be my kitty, that the following day I would return for her, to take her home and into my humble home, and far more humble life...

Day of a Thousand Nights: Part Three: High Fashion

I arrived at fashion square mall to find gabe sitting quite awkwardly sandwiched between to people waiting for the bus near the smokers outpost in front of fashion square mall.  I could see him from the window as we made our approached and upon recognizing my handsome, rugged, and epically bearded face peering down at him he cracked a smile and waved.  Exiting the bus I met him half way between the ring of smokers and the stop, and immediately explained my plight.

"We need to GO IN, Gabe, I need to get change for you to ride back to my place."

You see, Gabe does NOT have a super convenient and super easy ada para-transit card as I do, allowing me to ride any bus in Charlottesville free of fair, and is still required to pay a pittance of seventy five cents for a single ride and a dollar fifty for a day pass. 

This required us to enter the archipelago of shops, high ceilings, skylights, and cheap chinese food that is... FASHION SQUARE MALL.  We of course bee-lined towards Gamestop and proceeded to browse, using the familiar atmosphere of cellophane wrapped video games as a cocoon protecting us from the surrounding hordes of mindless brain-dead slaves to consumerism that flock to fashion square on a daily basis, seeking the ever elusive "deal".

Stream of Consciousness July 18th, 2012

Days are drifting in and out of each other like erotic clouds.  the company of my friend gabe has become near stifling as he has found in necessary to be here far more often than I care for...  and every day moves one belt notch closer to August 27th, where my classes begin and the long summer of my young adult life ends.

I memorized the lyrics to popular and not-so-popular comercials, not intentionally just by sheer exposure.  you shouldn't let your money go out the window, on that we can all agree.  call 1-800-Next Window, and you will clearly see.  We are the window authority, we've got the best prices and design (for example...) any size white double hung window installed for $189.  Window World, simply the best for less...

I guess this might come in handy one day, say if I even need new windows.

She cut the umbilicus, for a while at least, again with dates... EXACT dates, august 27th.   prom...

I spout ellipses like and epileptic typewriter...

She sells sea shells down by the sea shore.  I needed help, and now I have none, thanks to one nights worth of drunken "indiscretion".  Every day around five thirty, six o-clock, i wonder why I didn't call the financial aide office, wonder why I'm neither excited nor scared of whats going to happen next month, wonder in an almost detached way if anyone will even notice when the time comes and I log into my psyche class for the first time.

Black witches robes made out of fleece,  colleen asked me a pretty decent question: why fleece?

Its comfortable, I told her, It's like wearing a big yummy sock.

She asked me how it is that I've survived this long...

A witch in yummy fleece robes, with a woman's romantic sentiments and a man's lack of hygiene.

I've taken up drinking with Gabe, when we can spare a little money for a cheap twelve pack.  He drinks natural light, so that's whats been on the menu.  Being drunk on cheap beer has its thrills I suppose...
I feel like a puppet in and old timey ye olden puppet show, like some one should be bopping me on the head with an over-sized plush club and shouting silly things at me.  It tastes foul, its all I can do just to keep from gagging on it, but once I get a few in me my head floods with pleasant fogginess and everything goes a bit numb.  my dad would be so proud...