Real
I have licked the tears of pain and swallowed them with enthusiasm. I have held a broken heart in my palm and let it’s sharp corner slice me open.
Priests and the, the judges
Rabbis pay very well
We aren't really here 'till we've found a way
A way to die, a way to die
I’m overflowing with emotion. Feelings I thought were myth, sensations I believed to be folklore. Or worse, just simply imaginations of the more fragile hearted.
Tall tales of pain, hyperbolizations of hurt.
The human experience has been fertilized, set ablaze with growth.
I’m going to throw up. Yes! I’m going to let loose on this page and worry not about how choppy it comes out. Grab on.
Recently I’ve found myself gripped by what I would assume is Love. When I feel emotion, and I mean experience them in a wordless realm, I know they’re true and honest. When I think of emotion, I’m left confused imagining the quantitive approach to yours vs mine, his vs. hers. How happy is the emotional spectrum of yourself? Will, on my happiest day, I even touch the level you live in permanently?
Will, on the day my father passes away, I only experience a thimble of the sadness you feel when watching the leaves die every year?
There’s no way to know. This has been the greatest mystery to me over the last couple of years. I’m constantly stuck on the idea of emotional fortitude, how far can someone be stretched in feeling. Stoicism and expression aside; this can all be internal. You don’t have to be animated: crying hysterically, laughing like a maniac, to be erupting with emotion inside.
“it was an effort of the outsider to express emotions that wanted to emerge like bullets from a machine gun…”
Colin Wilson said this in The Outsider. A must read. A hard read. A worth it read.
Excerpt from Misfits and Chameleons
It’s why writings like Alive, Dead resonate so well. Post like that, of true and honest sentiment, get read a disproportionate amount. I believe it’s simply because people can think about what they feel.
But I’m abandoning analysis.
Forgoing ‘thought.’
You feel your level, I’ll feel mine. I wish you to embrace the world with a mouth salivating from excitement, ready to sink teeth in but you’re the main character. You decide!
Revert… snap back… yes… recently I’ve found myself gripped by … Love. Maybe. I don’t know. I think so.
It’s all new, a cold hearted bastard melting. Not losing his flavor but being electrified in a new realm. What comes with this is care, vulnerability, honesty. I’m jumping in fields. Diving into the open ocean. I can’t sit still, don’t want to. Everything is clicking and the foot is heavy on the gas pedal. Not only can I not find the brakes, I’m not looking. I don’t think they’re there. I think in the middle of the night during a moment sleep paralysis I removed them and threw them into the river.
It’s been full throttle. The windows have been down. I’ve not taken my eyes off the road to put them on to her. I’ve looked further through the windshield, watching the periphery, am I on the right path? Am I fit to care for a daughter of the most High? I’m asking questions I didn’t know where in my realm of wonder.
And then without warning the cars wheels slip underfoot, slippery road, we’re sliding into the ditch, I’m trying, pleading, using every muscle in my forearm to rip the vehicle back to pavements safety. There are still no breaks. Rusting in the bottom of the river. My only hope is to spin and spin, twisting until we lose momentum. Eyes wide shut and the muscle in my left elbow rips from exertion. It’s all so fast. Faster than fast. It happens in a blink and before I know it my entire life is changed. We’re angled down. Front of the car lowered into an embankment with the back off the ground, tires spinning the only sign of life.
Looking to the passenger seat I see Maria covered in blood, head lowered into her left shoulder with eyes closed. Mangled arms wrapped around the seat belt. Body compressed in two, folding over towards each other. The only sound is the beeping of the car. A death sermon. Constant. Maddening. There’s nobody around. I’m trapped, wedged between what feels like the folding forward seat and the unhooked steering wheel. I can see her. Trick myself into hearing fluttered breath. I can reach my fingers towards her and barely, just barely, touch the skin on her broken arm, feel the warmth of the blood.
With everything I’m trying to rip apart the steering wheel. Recounts of the rescue have stated teeth marks in the fabric. What they assume was a delirious response of trying desperately to get free, to check on Her.
Back to the, the Garden we will go… Back to the Garden we will go…
I’m suspended between can and can not. I’m on the outside of the bullet. I’m the shell case that pierces the head of a bystander but I didn’t pull the trigger. I’m looking up to God but my teeth are gnashing, I’m asking for help while cursing the need for it. I’m the wedding bells before they fall and kill the groom. I’m the good and the bad. I’m the here for you and the what can you do for me. I’m in the teeth of the beast and I want him to tell my how my flesh taste.
I’m watching Marias wounds heal. Looking at her I feel, in the dark blue bruises, the heavy eyelids, I feel the weight of all that is good. I’ve never felt sadness like this. I didn’t know it was real. I want to absorb everything from her, take away any pain she’s experiencing but we’re not given this option for a reason…
It is the duty of the experiencer to conquer the obstacle laid at their feet. There’s a leviathan that needs slaying and there’s a sword sharpened by God laying in front of you. It is our free will to lean over, grip it with white knuckles, raise it above our heads, cry out, and come down with full force.
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with love & a heavy heart
winston
souled idea
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claryifing stories takes the art away. But to avoid an influx of emails: there was no car wreck. Maria is physically safe. There’s been a death close by and for the first time I’m experiencing empathy through her pain. I’ve been shown God’s strength through her and her family.
Your prayers are appreciated. Pray for strength, understanding.
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
Ecclesiastes 3:4
back to our regularly scheduled madness tomorrow.
