A rebel without a clue.

Stood waiting - surely death must be frightenly cold. Such freezing of every emotion, body and pain. But what then? The Universe is inhospitable in all parameters except stars. The season's change makes it seem beyond a joke. We lie in bed and do not wish to lift our head. It creeps into every bone and nerve. Between toes it forces me to rock and fret. Bus home and time to descend into East India Youth.

My mind has been filled with beasts of absurd proportions and I was unheard among the cacophony of their blasted voices.  The space I was looking for was marginal and obscured to my sight. It was there but like the thin ribbon floating on the current of broken branches, spinning turmoil and helpless hopes heading beyond the steady shore in a forced drowning. Between the heaving, the rushing and the dominating of the presence I could find no means, no shore and no foothold. It was all lost for I. Now I stand, after nearing a suffocating end,  drenched and gasping for meditative air; peace brought lower to my soul beyond lungs like a spinnaker forcing and heart bearing a capstan fully wound-up under earthly pressures. It is relief to feel calm as the storm water retreats. After a purposefully felt mindful day (I had resolved to have yesterday evening). The bad weather gone and the demons drowned out at sea. Against the odds I stuck to this crazy confusing track with voices ...

Nothing I do is worthless It is a reflection of Truth Troth to being and equal not being Holy is the whole reality Discernible in pure view.

There is no hope. If I can't imagine ever finding peace, for all time, what real point is there? MOH is the worst head throbbing Four Seasons. The rulers have broken we with more need. 26 weeks. Half a year. Six Months: aeons. Time is pulling my teeth out. If I got a job how long would I last as another mere number ten digits long - vanishing. Should I just grasp oblivion prior to the end of this year? Who can I talk to right now about my absence of hope? Oh buck up your ideas boy - father I am sorry.  I was always sorry but it never made any difference. You hated my faults and you hated my apologies. It must be the poison running along my arteries. How can I connect if I fear leaving this damned bedroom in case I just end up drunk yet again, forget for a moment then running it all over again? What is this emptiness and bitter retreat?

Those forgotten happy thoughts And those elusive happy dreams That is the way out of this - I heard you say Or so it simply seems For those who can never see it I feel Glued to a simple seldom questioned singular thought. Alone? But I like alone: I think this yet reverse it often. Seams split and unpacking at extremes, truthfully. Can I tell? Why can't you taste this sourness? The body occupies a strip of land at the end of time, battered Assaulted without hesitation nor finger precious lingering This is 2014 so all falls foul and we are deeply mired souls Nightmares do guide; coming along this hideous way Death soon will lead me beyond the hatred in man. To think I actually thought I'd run away? But to find the truth ... And then return to rebuild Eden to discover only lies Antagonism of my self is the only result found Distraction doesn't come unstuck from the page Flames should burn it black and finally. Broken isn't...

Broken am I? Thinking not I ... Blank is last - Zero, I am. Not ready for what is next. Fear, so therefore can't leave. Waiting with loose bolt This final thing, anthing, A hand shakes and nerves hasten I can not do; more and more fail. No more chance; Is this the meaning of knowing? I flapped my wings too close This time with such descent Burned it beyond connecting true How nothing thou art, being! Why am I suicidal yesterday, today and tomorrow Eleven bells: are those deep breaths? Shallower now No joy for me means Inside a mist stretches my head A thick fog reaching over my thoughts. Dreams only disappear with a Cold cloaked foe leaning me Flat.

From what was an insightful point upon the Way, I seem to be losing my vision; blinkered or blinded, my eyes pulled out; plucked, gone. What has disappeared behind is too far to reach back and grasp meaningfully for: the branch hangs above my change as the gravity of 'now' drags me along without options of escaping. Embracing this revolution seems logical but it's left me unhinged; more tenuous than at any time before: and I am liable to get my self into deep troubles if these remodelings can not be assimilated, without madness clouding every point of symbolic interest, then it will only worth ending it before it ends me. The Source is beginning to be revealed and I don't know how to dump the old and accept the new with finality. It is possible I've asked for some help before, but that was help to be accepted; now I need help to be something I should always have been. Before I scream forever, at never ever finding this limb that could pull me out another reality, ...