Pieces of a Person: 1/21/25

Everything I wrote on 1/21/25. Poems and prose but most important, vulnerability.

Poem 1

what does it mean to be a man

can i stay here or do i have to dance

do i have to change,

certain things in my brain i can’t rearrange

feeling as if this life is preordained,

running from thangs like prefontaine

oh so strange

the things i see when my vision strained

hallucinations born from too much pateince

i am a patient

of my own intimations

i been watching this for too long

can i change the station

steady pacing

well really not steady

the pace is all over the place

i don’t know if i even want to win the race

why i am in the race

why have my dreams been replaced

with society's

its obsession with saving face

with its refusal to face the shame

creates the shame

then calls it by a different name

hide from it

run from it

that way you can never be done from it

done in by the dumb dumbs

who dont want me to run from them

and i do run

but i dont

because its not running when you fall down slippery slopes

they tripped me with hope

thinking they would show up and i wouldn’t have to elope

with my dreams

high beams

illuminate night scenes

my dreams are crazy

if you listen to my screams

the pain deep down

the buried ones

i vary sums

adding life together like the numbers won

I just want to slumber son

i need it to preserve this life that's one and done

wisdom and knowledge

how dare they think its one to one

im soldiering on

all the smolders are gone

from the fires that came from a pond

or was that a lake

the hellfire they convinced me to take

everywhere i went

all in the mind

but didn’t you know

the mind ends up controlling the spine

and how you relate to the spine ends up controlling the time

you spend

and its dividends

riveting

when you fall in love with the pen

or out of it

I would like to tout it quick

but for that you need confidence

and thats not my schtick

self deprecation waiting at every station

all the 33 directions my vertebrae splay in

no gamma waving

disconnection on a voyage

wouldnt be the maiden

Prose 1: Spiritual Choices

many people trade spiritual stability for financial stability. they believe they have to choose. and there are choices to make, but there is a balance to be found. You don’t have to sell out your moral code in order to live, but you do in order to have more, more, more. And people have begun to confuse financial success for spiritual virtue, when they're not necessarily connected. you can make choices to get ahead in society, choices that put you behind in matters of the spirit.

misplaced priorities, built from insecurity and fear. maybe of being able to live, maybe of being accepted… distractions from the fact life doesn't have to be viewed dualistically. Need a father abandon his children to make a living? Does a mother need to abandon her children in order to protect her husband? These choices seem ludicrous when asked in plain words, but many people choose one over the other. They choose not to pour into their children, but into themselves. They then try to convince themselves and everyone around them, that they did it for their children, rather than to fill in the hole of their own insecurity and satisfy their ego.

to relate to being a parent through the lens of the ego is what we see in much of modern life. kids are props, objects, trophies to be displayed and manipuated as the parents see fit. there’s no thought for the child's development into a full and whole human being. only in that they appear to be successful to others, because that means the parent appears to be successful as well.

many of the children raised this way end up as shallow and confused adults. unless lucky enough to have a breatkhtrough in their own values, they end up repeating the cycle of neglect… One that doesn’t appear to be neglect, unless you know the whole story.

Prose 2: “Microglial” came to me during sleep

last night, the world “microglial” popped into my head at some point and remained there after i went back to sleep and woke back up.

i don’t recall reading specifically about “microglia” but i certainly recall reading about glial cells. maybe i came across the terms and don’t remember and maybe I knew instinctively that it made sense for the “micro” prefix to be affixed to it.

why this word? it didn’t cross my head when talking with my aunt and uncle yesterday but maybe arose becasue our conversation dipped into the neuroscience pool at some point.

given the mind-gut connection and the large amount of immune cells residing in the gut, do “microglia” also originate there, even if they end up in the brain or CSF? if that's the case, how do they get from the gut to the spine? is it a diffusion across tissues? a certain pathway from gut to spine? does the gut use chemicals to signal the spine?

Prose 3: Freed from blood ties

thank god for life , thank buddha for the ultimate reality.

here at my grandma house, thankful i have places to go, friends to turn to in my time of need.

i feel free. like i’ve broken away from my immediate family and their ignorance. their ego and their fear that makes them unable to truly listen.

it’s sad its come to this point, but i feel much happier and freer. i truly know and feel, that meeting of conscious and subconscious that births flow, that divine state of being that shows we are in harmony with the universe, i have done all i can, as best i can, for as long as i can. i wanted to save all my relationships and tried to do so. sometimes it felt like progress was made, while at other times i was bitterly disappointed by my family. frankly, i’m glad to have very concrete and legitimate reasons to separate from their ignorance and dumbassery. dumbasses in terms of emotional IQ… and frankly logic as well. there was no more ways for me to appeal to them without me feeling as less than. maybe it 's my ego, but maybe its just a fact that there was nowhere else for our relationship to go. i don’t trust their ability to love, trust, or to reason.

looking back, my parents abandoned me emotionally long ago. there’s no doubt in my mind they abandoned themselves emotionally at some point, just like I and many other humans had done, so they were never able to be fully present with me.

its sad their emotional immaturity made it into and through adulthood. I understand that it's a cycle of generational trauma that hasn't been broken, but no longer can I try to fix people. I don’t have that abilty nor desire. maybe i do have the desire, but im too ignorant to even begin to “fix” people. i don’t have the wisdom, i don't have the expertise, but one thing i know , is that i’m worth being listened to.

Prose 4: Poor and materialism

pg 4 in East of Eden, “ You can boast about anything if its all you have. maybe the less you have, the more you are required to boast.” Makes me think about the materialism of poor peopple due to their lack of perspective. Not necessarily their own fault. But only due to eyes closed by ignorance, not wilful ignorance but just a lack of knowledge or wisdom.

Poem 2

How can the hawk fly in the storm?

how does it…?

and how goes it?

your shrieks speak to me,

snow covered wings this scene’s only decency…

i’ve been going through it recently,

the puzzle of my life,

try to figure where the pieces be,

maybe where they’ve been,

my only sticking point the pen,

i stick it in and underneath the skin,

a heathen if,

you let these cult members in…

finding out I’m pretty normal,

i face the breaks that never reach the skin.

slavery cycles,

we got a beastwithin, so please beat your kin,

torture them in ways that society seeps within.

or let it flood

why weren’t these people saved by the blood,

jesus christ,

seems they’re worse off for your run.

Poem 3

They say God gives the toughest battles to the strongest soldiers

the wrongest solder that made my heart turn colder

when will god get the snow up

this sadistic bastard

am i seen as noah

or has this been the job touch

i don’t believe the hype

that god is not my type

one who punishes from spite

then makes us call it right

how could this be the god who is on call at night

a nightmare whos disrepair in regards to fair might ruin life

who is right

when god brings a man the flu tonight

sickly

prickly

where do the demons stick me

And how are they different from the god of job

is it gods boredom that made so many broken homes

who puts the final touches on the saddest

who broke the strings

causing scenes if freedom rings