See the thing about grief and loss is that only the one experiencing the loss or the sorrow has the right to determine the length of time his emptied heart or his saddened soul can grieve, experience, or feel. And if he wishes to feel the emotions and thoughts that his grief produces, he can. For ten minutes or as long as he fucking decides to deal with his new reality.
It’s 2:56 am and I can’t sleep. It’s so disquieting listening to one’s own heartbeat in a dark and quiet room. Coupled with the jittery physical sensation caused by my new meds, and I’ve got my personal horror show with a rhythmic soundtrack provided by the erratic metronome of my heart.
Heart failure is a powerless position. I’m a problem solver. So I’m trying to figure out what to do. I guess the power is in compliance.
It’s so odd to realize a day arrives when your body works against you and becomes both the enemy and its torture.
Why post this shit? Because I can’t walk into the street and scream and the jitters are forcing the ejaculation.
And I know I’m running out of time.
Too soon my heart will beat me to death; too soon the sounds of my broken heart will become rote. How much longer before my heartbreak provides a soundtrack to a beaten path?
I start to write but it all seems so circus freak in the center ring. It’s hard being the star of the sideshow and the midway barker at the same time.
Can you stand nude in the middle of the room with your arms by your sides and endure the criticism of your manhood? That’s the cost of moral integrity. Cowards cover-up their shortcomings with holy books. You ate from the tree of knowledge – own it. Fig leaf / parchment it’s all cowardly covers. Saints stand in front of God. They don’t hide behind Him.
Daily I write sentences or paragraphs and tuck them in my cloud. I usually don’t want to lose the thought and I intend to edit the words or expand the concept. And then about once every couple of months I peruse the documents and delete them. Well, if I didn’t see the merit then …? I started this practice years ago. Then I scribbled and filed.
I found this piece tonight. I don’t intend to edit it and I don’t see the need to expand it. Yet I don’t want to abandon it. Because of all the cardiology things going on inside me, it resonates in a completely different manner now. I’m glad I kept it aside.
The heart is the most self seeking organ in the body. It merely gauges a personal reaction to an action. Consider the physical pyramid: the heart lies in the center but the mind is the pinnacle. A man’s most prized possession is his conscience. It’s the seat of his justice and the reminder of his obligations. If you want to offer humanity your greatest gift, offer your assistance. Don’t offer your heart; offer your help. The fundamental flaw of The Wizard of Oz is that they asked for all the wrong things. The yellow brick road led Dorothy back to where she began.
It’s been a long time since I felt about a woman the way Bette Davis felt about a cigarette.
I hate being put into positions. Well unless I’ve chosen them or I’ve been plied with alcohol and appetizers.