At night at night at night…smoking pot adds to my struggles to not binge at night but, I will not blame the drug as, the fingers and the mouth are much more complicit than the chemical.
Worse is the stuffing. Why do I like big mouthfuls?
Damn, that’s some honest shit. When I typed that I got a very warm buzz go off around my face and shoulder which usually means that I nailed something good.
Enough journaling, must reflect and must distract. Good work Drew 
As a child we hooked into our particular neurosis with veracity and with safety intentions to protect the impossible conundrum of your parent and protector being unable to truly protect and mirror. Impossible situations like when parents can’t parent, lead to impossible choices for children and that undeveloped mind.
And then, for the next 30 years, we defend that position. We defend it because to admit that it is flawed, to admit that your world is based on that child’s mental construction is to admit that things are not working and to admit that it all has to come tumbling down. The other choice is to continue to live as this “adult-child” and letting this immature mind make all the choices and, basically “twist in the wind”.
Those little kids inside hate themselves. They never had a proper mirror of how they’re suppose to be; how to be happy, alive, content, strong. These kids boil with anger and like us all they make that anger about everything else. Deflect, deny, and disassociate…
These are Gen X, Gen Y, Gen Z…daughters of divorce, son’s of the latch key, welcome to the Fight Club, welcome to waking up, welcome to the end of disassociation and fragmentation. Thank you baby boomers for waking things up.
Last night I binged a little after a very modest dinner (usually my dinners are huge, enormous concoctions with plenty of carbs). I was very happy with the fact that I didn’t over do for dinner but after having a cookie I had a bowl of cereal. This disappointed me a bit and left a bad taste in my mouth…not literally.
This seems to be a specific pattern for me of eating before bedtime. I’m thinking maybe it has to do with the traumatic events that night would bring for me in childhood - think alcoholics going at it…drunken late night cooking…hmm.
seeing noticeable change in fat patterns around my middle and back…more to come.
A man stares
out the bathroom
Window and asks
The hill to make
up his mind
about nothing.
And he looks
in the dark
at mirrors full
of strangers
and wishes
to the hill, who
is he asking?
He could stare
In the mirror
Or window to hill
And find
Nothing but him.
And that’s the deal,
feel nothing, hear nothing,
a challenge of sensation
that has nothing to do
with mirrors or hills.
This is his chance to pound
down into his body; to feel
warmth, life, self.
I remember the old Gary, afraid to speak up, afraid to be ’seen’, afraid to make waves that might get me noticed…afraid to ask, afraid to upset someone; especially women
And I also remember (with much more immediacy) The angry Gary that developed when I got my voice and started to use it.
I remember one day I was crossing (legally) a busy intersection and a Porsche driven by a man almost hit me as he turned (illegally) - I remember flipping him off - I remember him stopping and waving his arm - I remember even less as I raced to the car ready for a fist fight! Me? A Fistfight? I would never have believed I could do it.
Of course he never got out and drove away from this demon that was hovering next to his car. And my anger was so strong I don’t remember going home… And I am still working out ways to express my anger more constructively and even before it becomes anger
and I still do Tae-Bo to relieve some of the anger and on some days I worry that I will
hurt someone and I am not advocating violence or anything but…But…
Deep down my little boy was standing with me next to that porsche and he was doing a little dance as I cussed the man out that almost killed me. The little boy was hopping around behind me happy that I was sticking up for him. And I think it is times like those, although extremely over-the-top, essential to the path that leads to self trust and self reliance.
Now don’t get judgemental, I am much calmer and cooler and it really takes a lot to get me to that state, but at the same time I am essentially ready to stick up for myself.
And I see now that the path of anger was necessary (and skewed) to teach me about me and to allow my feelings to be expressed. It taught me the extremes of emotion and how to release anger more readily…and from that I also found…kindness.
And now I am so much more kind than I could ever imagine being…there’s so much more room for kindness and so much less hate and anger.
You have them all-
the brick buildings in gray
days with broken windows sills
and strays in streets of space
for a place to sleep-
stoops, yellow halls
and that one at that end
the one where no one
left or went. Prints around
the doorknob.
We are, I am, it’s all about
the perfect, the power, the reverb of ideal and the small
as big and high as low. One is one and two, numbers
mean everything and nothing. What we are is
but parts in question and answer and saturated in ultimate causality, my autonomy, I responsibility and so I infuse that power, that law with southern-fried royal set of ultimate 3-D horror Truth. Know it,
Know it all and I am enough for truth sliding, being and I am affluence of having, of abundance, of total and more with the top split and flayed open for all is all and for all that is rolling and sliding and flowing from cause to cause. Because
I am, is all-
And we and I thank you and I am and we and I thank you We thank you - We you and the give and take In all fine things taken and all fine things given
And in all things - thank you.
You share, we are, the truth is what makes it.
It floats up like dust in sunbeams and you’re
there but not really permanent not really real.
You’re there but not really, but really so real but easy to let go,
so real, so you let go…let go!
So we are, I am what it is all all about.
And so, as it is,
it already was.
UFO in space, hurtling to earth, crashes and out exits the most beautiful, sweet, hot, smart, alluring, naked, killer humanoid-alien ever. She quickly assimilates without much detection, kills a guy but gets wounded, steals his car and clothes then heads for a big city.
She stops at a hospital to clean up a wound and cozies up to the Doctor, a young, naive, fresh from med school boy. She makes a date, he accepts.
She is stunning. He takes her to a Club after dinner. His new friends, the Doctors, greet him and his stunning date. These Doctors are slick and cunning; mysoginistic predators of the first degree.
Our Doctor is in over his head with her and these new friends and is starting to lose favor. The lead Doctor guy plays inteference as one of the doctors starts dancing with her…young doctor is frustrated, argues…a small scene and young doctor grabs her. She pulls him aside and dumps him. He is crushed. She goes off with one of the doctors.
Lead Doctor consoles young doctor, is trying to smoothe over but kid leaves.
A week later, the kid comes back to his Doctor group to hang and finds that the guy that went with her is crazy jealous of her and acting sickly possessive. Kid realizes that our Alien girl is with ANOTHER member of the Doctor group. New doctor and jealous Doctor fight over her. Leader intervenes. Jealous Doctor falls apart.
Jealous Doctor taken to loony bin. Kid tries to talk to woman..she refuses. He keeps pushing and she (alien hint) tells him to go away.
He starts to investigate her (hospital records, databases, DL) finds zero and finds that she is posing as someone…
Then it happens again…she moves to the next doctor…another fight ensues.
And the Doctor in the looney bin goes full fledge nuts. The Kid is intrigued.
What will he find, what does the alien want?
Pirate’s Wives ate their men, bones and skin
then went in the pool wearing haughty leather
basques to rust off the sexy chains
that keep them from breaking
into freedom. The poolside ashtrays are full
as their fingers dangle and speak of cool
in semi-automatic breath-skills and all
that aside, I’m still here to make you happy.
I’m the cabin boy of this tropical respite
when were not sailing and you’re the fat gay wife
I never had, holding a pirate baby in your petaloid
frilled lycra belly, drapes waving to me
for another drink and me my studs sunburst on touch-oil
leather, scrapes of skin run against nauga; sand
like ants, boots as hot as sand and I’ll marry you for this?
You were real girl for beating the male fist,
Left makeup in wake of beauty for style
In plain-boy fashion then retrenched
Girlie-girl in realist want of child.
So, you look for me now among
the searing white light specs and I’ll come running
with my collar on backwards,
My hands dried from chlorine heat - Wait!
I now know why I am really here-
Pirates and their cannibalistic wives accept me!
Inundationinundation
inundationinundation
inundation
inundationinundationinundation
inundation
The world is inundated
time is squeezed
without enough time
without enough time
but it isn’t real
time is an abstract concept
there is no lack of anything
there is no lack of everything
fuck time