Hyperspace

I've had enough.  I have to get out of here.  I can go anywhere I want.  The problem is: I can't think of anywhere I want to go.  

love and madness; fear and loss; pain

you are always there, from the moment i awake. and you stay with me, all day, every day; you never leave my side, not for a moment.  it seems as though you have always been with me, though i am able to recall days when you were not.  but now you are with me all my waking hours.  only when i sleep, am i without you.  go away, pain.

today i saw my dead father. but he wasn't really dead.

I saw my dead father today. He was in the living room.  They were keeping him fresh--Lazy Boy and all!-- in a huge body bag that they had fashioned out of thousands of plastic sandwich bags.  

gonna hurt, gonna hurt, gonna hurt, mate.

Think about it first, mate.
It's gonna hurt, gonna hurt, gonna hurt, gonna hurt, gonna hurt, gonna hurt, mate.
Sorry- dunno how y'gonna do it, mate.
It's gonna hurt, gonna hurt you, mate.

Who the fuck am I?

How many years ago did my father die?  Where is his body buried?  I should know the answers to these things, but I do not.

I am Daedalus, I am Icarus.

• ok. i am a licensed general aviation pilot. i minored in aviation at uni. at uni our aviation fraternity owns several aircraft, which are used for flight training and practice. whenever we felt like it, we could check out an aircraft and just go flying. One day my buddy and i checkedout a Cessna 150.; the VW Bug of aircraft.
  
  We flew to this grass runway 'airport' to practice landings. We took turns in left seat (pilot-in-command, PIC). that day there was a vicious gusting 70kph crosswind perpendicular to the 'runway', so we were doing touch-and-gos on the taxiway instead. With my buddy 'Bill' as PIC, we were on final, flaps @10'. ~30 m. off the deck, BIG headwind;
  
  ‎45MPH gusting headwind-- suddenly, nothing. Bill calls go-around; SOP. He puts in flaps and full power, begins departure. Aircraft won't climb. Fuck. Departure stall, a.k.a., Kiss Your Ass Goodbye. I slam down the stick (steering wheel sorta-- C!50 dual controls) to bring the nose down, but aircraft snaphooks. All I see out windscreen is lovely green grass. At that moment i didn't THINK i was going to die. I KNEW I was going to die.
  
  I had not the slightest fear or 'bad' feeling whatsoever. The only thought I had was: "Ohh... So THIS is how it's going to happen."

the view from my airplane

"I'm doing the best that I can."  That is what she said.  And I know that it was true.

poet in snowy woods

From my window, I saw three grouse, digging a hole in the snow to find some seeds to eat.

Then I realized that they were actually branches of dead leaves.

I changed them back into birds.

haiku canoe

despair comes creeping
the killing frost of autumn
unbidden unseen

despair comes creeping
envelops me like winter
my despair for her

eyes blue like glaciers
ringlets dancing in her hair
dance with abandon

insomnia of love

love insomnia
no need to destroy just go
take care of yourself

self-abuse of my soul, ad nauseum; mi vivo haha! [see also:"betrayal"]

i have been to the Edge many times; if i tell myself the truth: each time was likely my own fault.  oh--of course: 
i took myself there.  
a poet once said "love is not loving." -- whoops!   and--and-- a magical wizard once said "A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others."  that's it--i'm screwed.
but: "there"--every time, so far-- i have somewhy paused on my walk. and with toes sticking over the edge of the Edge, i have stared unblinkingly at forever, frightfully sick, afraid--yet too sick to feel fear. too sick to feel anything that might exist outside of my sickness.
how many times have i trudged, sans the slightest coaxing, to my gallows?  ten, twenty, a thousand...?  and how many times is too many times for one life?
yet it can't be too many; i am still here. "Cogito ergo sum.";  "I think, therefore I am."  blah! more like "Debatuo ergo sum."; "I fuck, therefore I am." [hahaha, that's still funny.... ahh..., the benefits of a classical education!  for it enables one to toss out clever-sounding--even pithy-- latin phrases, assured of having denigrated any plebes that might be present. (they know who they are... [notice my dismissive ellipses.]   of course... what we attempt to say in latin is rather limited: either achingly trite phrases, or unimaginative profanity, which we originally learned in eigth-grade latin.  ha  [we remember nothing else!  but--happily, we are also excellent at faking it!]  sadly, i am not fucking at present, but I am at least thinking...  maybe i still am.  so i haven't gone to the Edge too many times.  [ponder. ponder. ponder.]  still, though... 
maybe i'm just dreaming.
my resolution for 2011:  i shall be more conscious; and whenever practicable, shall not drag my sour soul to the Edge [without first giving it a little thought...]  <one thing is certain: if i continue to go there, i will fall...>
so, i guess i'll see you tomorrow, huh?   the usual place?  haha!  [he stated flaccidly, trying in vain to make his pathetic on-sleeve despair seem flippant.]

happiness... bang bang, shoot shoot...

some people are unhappy.  they are stuck down in an "unhappy" rut, unable to veer out over the banks on the right or left, to where happiness is.  there is one very peculiar thing common to all such people.  they can tell you all about their unhappiness: the people who are making them unhappy, and the unfair situations into which they are thrust against their wishes.  sometimes, when such people are on a roll telling about their unhappiness, it's hard to shut them up. but, the thing that is peculiar is that, if you were to ask them to describe what happiness, for them, looks like, they are unable to.  either they make unrealistic, childish statements "Well, first of all everybody would just leave me alone!", or they fantasize "I would be living in a houseboat on a canal in Amsterdam...", or they just refuse to answer altogether.   if such a person is able to become conscious enough, they will experience a profound realization: that they do not know what happiness for them looks like!   

The solution is easy: such a person must sit down and write exactly what happiness for them would look like: real and realistic thoughts regarding their school, family, friends, work, health, spirituality, place in society, goals and methods for achieving them, etc.  

Only when a person has done this in a serious and thoughtful way, can she begin to learn and grow to be happy.

i wrote this with love for you, maisey b.

love, dada