December 5th, 2006.
do you ever crave to feel.
i am in a period in life where there is no time or need to feel. i am self-indulging in the superficial life. and it hurts. so i ponder memories from the past. i reflect on moments of intensity throughout my life. you know those moments when you really exist, know that you are really alive. i try to retangle myself in those intricately woven moments. i recall souls that unexpectedly collided with mine. individuals that caused every part in my being to to delve into superfluous depths of love and pain. but i cannot feel it now. so i put on the perfect combination of music and lyric to connect with me in the right here and now. i wait in the created stimulating atmosphere... wait to feel. wait to be gripped by talons of emotion that will tear at my flesh. all this just so i can ensure that i am alive. just to make sure that this is all real. but today even the music doesn't bring me back in its usual fashion. has my magnetism toward falsity finally overpowered my reality? have the last bricks been layed in my asylum which enables me to slowly deconstruct alone?
this lifestyle is not sufficient..
December 16, 2008
confession.
January 6, 2007
i have a little secret to confess. but i warn you, this could potentially terrify you as it terrifies me:
i know you. i know why you say what you say. i know what you want to say when you are silent. i know why you do what you do. i know every insecurity you mask. i know all your potential. i don't know how or why i know. i just do.
it haunts me.
i have a little secret to confess. but i warn you, this could potentially terrify you as it terrifies me:
i know you. i know why you say what you say. i know what you want to say when you are silent. i know why you do what you do. i know every insecurity you mask. i know all your potential. i don't know how or why i know. i just do.
it haunts me.
desensitization.
January 10, 2007
life update.
i have recently removed myself from the mainland and headed west for a little island flav'a. perhaps if i knew what the West held for me, i would have reconsidered: one person is not capable of beholding so much beauty.
i often refer to the rawness of the rising sun or the frailty of it as it grieves the day. i am easily enamoured by the natural state of creation. i am less easily enamoured with the natural state of man. my new job has released a freedom that exposes the human soul in its natural state.
i spend 8 grueling hours on a ward in a stingy old hospital. the cement cold floors chill more than your toes. death is a fresh fragrance that you never become desensitized to. but in the midst of death life flows through more than iv tubes. breath is regulated through the rawness and vulnerability of each individual.
each patient has a number. rarely referred to by a name. a number. today, number 616B arrived. a cat scan exposed a brain tumor that's tentacles have dug deep into her left lobe. the snake like burrowing of the tumor has made surgery impossible. 6 of her professionals sit in a team meeting. "has any one told her its going to kill her. no. the doctor said she might live. there's no way in hell. sad. yeah, too bad. how old is she. 30. she scared? not yet, we haven't told her its killing her. so how bout 616C?"... no one saw my tears. no one saw my heart shrivel up. no one new i wanted to run to her and trade my life for hers.
615D was a different story. she though it was the year 2170. for a moment i wondered what 2170 might look like. i pictured flying cars. warm hospitals. people being vaccinated for cancer and aids. new diseases still killing us at alarming rates. maybe for her that was reality and as i drifted back to 2007, i wished for a moment i could stay there with her. memory loss isn't as cruel as one would imagine, i continue to be fascinated at their imagination and creativity. memories hold us captive, memory loss sets them free. she was tiny. maybe 80 lbs. dying. we all are. i may be closer than her. we don't know. i may have a tumor growing in my brain, enveloping my center for cognitive functioning. none of that matters. the doctor should approach each one of us, and say, "Results show you are dying. life's tentacles are piercingly deeply into the core of who you are. there's nothing left we can do." its the way it is. its beautiful.
i saw 617B today. it was my first interview. no one liked her. she was demanding and needy. tried to run the show. once i got her in a little safe room. she began to weep. she wept because she was scared, because she was alone. she was raw, painful beauty.
i was leaving the ward late today. i was sluggish, tired, and overwhelmed. i couldnt' think anymore. as i turned to descend the grueling 6 flights of stairs, a piercing light scathed the corner of my eye. it hurt. i turned to face this terror that was distracting me from my numbness. the sky had split in to two as though a knife had sharply sliced through it. the wound secreted brilliant streams of light. the bright blueness laughed at the glistening snow blanket. the wound spilled forth beauty, and even seeped into the cracks of my melting mind.
beauty is all around...
life update.
i have recently removed myself from the mainland and headed west for a little island flav'a. perhaps if i knew what the West held for me, i would have reconsidered: one person is not capable of beholding so much beauty.
i often refer to the rawness of the rising sun or the frailty of it as it grieves the day. i am easily enamoured by the natural state of creation. i am less easily enamoured with the natural state of man. my new job has released a freedom that exposes the human soul in its natural state.
i spend 8 grueling hours on a ward in a stingy old hospital. the cement cold floors chill more than your toes. death is a fresh fragrance that you never become desensitized to. but in the midst of death life flows through more than iv tubes. breath is regulated through the rawness and vulnerability of each individual.
each patient has a number. rarely referred to by a name. a number. today, number 616B arrived. a cat scan exposed a brain tumor that's tentacles have dug deep into her left lobe. the snake like burrowing of the tumor has made surgery impossible. 6 of her professionals sit in a team meeting. "has any one told her its going to kill her. no. the doctor said she might live. there's no way in hell. sad. yeah, too bad. how old is she. 30. she scared? not yet, we haven't told her its killing her. so how bout 616C?"... no one saw my tears. no one saw my heart shrivel up. no one new i wanted to run to her and trade my life for hers.
615D was a different story. she though it was the year 2170. for a moment i wondered what 2170 might look like. i pictured flying cars. warm hospitals. people being vaccinated for cancer and aids. new diseases still killing us at alarming rates. maybe for her that was reality and as i drifted back to 2007, i wished for a moment i could stay there with her. memory loss isn't as cruel as one would imagine, i continue to be fascinated at their imagination and creativity. memories hold us captive, memory loss sets them free. she was tiny. maybe 80 lbs. dying. we all are. i may be closer than her. we don't know. i may have a tumor growing in my brain, enveloping my center for cognitive functioning. none of that matters. the doctor should approach each one of us, and say, "Results show you are dying. life's tentacles are piercingly deeply into the core of who you are. there's nothing left we can do." its the way it is. its beautiful.
i saw 617B today. it was my first interview. no one liked her. she was demanding and needy. tried to run the show. once i got her in a little safe room. she began to weep. she wept because she was scared, because she was alone. she was raw, painful beauty.
i was leaving the ward late today. i was sluggish, tired, and overwhelmed. i couldnt' think anymore. as i turned to descend the grueling 6 flights of stairs, a piercing light scathed the corner of my eye. it hurt. i turned to face this terror that was distracting me from my numbness. the sky had split in to two as though a knife had sharply sliced through it. the wound secreted brilliant streams of light. the bright blueness laughed at the glistening snow blanket. the wound spilled forth beauty, and even seeped into the cracks of my melting mind.
beauty is all around...
the damn I don't knows.
January 18, 2007
today i sat in a little room that had pale curtains for walls. my chair was hard. but not as hard as what i had to say.
language is something that comes naturally to most of us. we are competently unconscious of the complexities for forming a word. aphasia explains a condition where people's words are trapped within their neurons packaged within the brain; when they attempt to verbalize their thoughts, only muffled baby-like sounds are heard.
somehow, although typically not contagious, i contracted this disease. i found myself, sitting on the hard chair, knowing what i had to say, but physically unable to form the words.
the potential recepient was 35. from her charts all we knew was she had been diagnosed with ALS, a neurogenerative disease that would slowly impair her motor functioning: in two years her lungs would quit, and she would suffocate.
her clammy hand quivered as it raised to meet mine. her dark, hollow eyes slowly lifted to meet mine. mine stalled; hers remained patient, but waited. i didn't want to connect. i knew exactly what they wanted from me, and it was something i couldn't offer.
she, a tiny, quiet mother of three young boys, dying. me? i was god. her lips trembled as she softly reiterated the question her eyes had already asked. can you help me?
my chair was hard. but not as hard as what i had to say...
i looked at her sons. they were no longer 4,5, and 9. i saw them and they were adults. they were telling the story of how their mother died when they were young. they were telling the story of how much she loved them, how much they missed her. and their eyes would only glaze over as they had been exhausted of tears. when i turned to look again, they were 4,5, and 9, pushing mom around in the wheelchair, hoping to be the next in line for a ride. i wanted to tell them to hold on for dear life.
i know their future. the fear in her eyes tells me she knows her future. as I slowly let go of her hand, it loitered for a moment as though dangling between the grasps of life and death. again, she asked, with a soft desperation only heard in a prayer, can you help me? i was life to her. i was god. and to me she prayed.
it was hard to say. and in fact, i couldn't. i didn't.
it was too hard.
i know i get too emotionally wrapped up. that i see too much. feel too much. i know it'll eventually subside. but it's what i don't know that worry's me. it's the damn i don't knows.
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