Posts Tagged ‘recovery’

Give me back
who I was
because times
got tough going
got rough &
I can no
longer tumble
allowing truth to be
pinned to me
when I folded
down my sleeves.

Toys they break
from too many games
played for glue
same type of fixed
different tricks
never new.

Never knew
it ain/t true
this isn/t you
thought you through
you will not be
happy until
your lips turn blue.

Sit & finger
things that are
left behind
that I find
cause to remind
me of you
touch of scent
intoxicates
reintegrates
permeates
every moment
reality manifesting
memory reshaping
destiny
it is all in
the timing
of hurting

when it counts
do not think
nothing is special
different loves
at different times
I could tell
you that your smile
is a sun
following me

a dying star
illuminating
the dark day/ze
lightening between
pouring rains
heat making water
evaporate
I could say
that we are
sacred flesh
 imprisoning bones
clay of the earth
decayed
here to give birth
to what remains
of our pasts
I could scream

to hold on tight
while it lasts
because time
it moves forward
in a straight line
yet,
here we are now
struggling
with forever
wrestling
with each other
leaving us
with never
knowing we can
do much better
 dying to try
  to remember
our souls before
they were sold
down the river.

For if I change,
who here will change
their opinion of me?

The changing state’s
most difficult aspect
that sits heavily
upon this chest.

Forces
the shallowest breaths.

Weighs
upon decisions.

Cuts to bone
with surgical precision.

Further the blade
continues to sink,
to ease the pain
I like to think,
it never measures
against the sadness,
the broken promises
amid the madness,
I spread through
my bruised world.

Guilt from which
leaves one unfurled.

One way or another,
before we/re through;
we all with blood
will pay our dues.

The Moon At Night Shines Like A Sun

Posted: September 20, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: ,

SLOW

this morphine drip
her scent
comes through
in wisps
& time
stinks like a
coffin, the
red satin
fabric folded

ALL IN THE NOW

SO

from the past
we can flee
but when we
run we run
into the
future yet
again confront
the past
there exists

NO PAST PERFECT

THOUGH

this tangled
web we weave
will entangle
& seize
our right to
have a soul
have hope
stay changed
/till you can

ONE DAY BREAK FREE

 

Paid for the ticket

Did any body show?

We were far too busy

Casting out the first stone

Acting as if we know

Whether we’re alone

Like we’re not spinning

In a child’s snow globe

An abandoned exhibit

Overgrown thorn thicket

Where plastic flowers grow

Animated pin cushions

Terminally collapsed

Scar tissue…still pushin/

We all re-lapsed

Down, we all fall

Come one, come all

Claw & crawl

For the mysteriously ambiguous

Pretending to be pretentious

Poetic inventions

Of rationalized intentions

Too old to be precocious

Loose,

are the ends,
of the ties,
that we found.

 

Truth,

becomes scarce,
the further,
we abscond.

 

Sail,

with no wind,
can’t begin,
without fare.

 

Drift,

& just past,
the dead last,
in nowhere.

 

Smile,

stale crying,
just passing,
empty times.

 

Die,

for more life,
as we vie,
with these rhymes.

 

Birds,

when we fly,
staying high,
levitate.

 

Herds,

as we pair,
just to bear,
through the straights.

©2012 zenspeak9 publications un/incorporated

After getting the old,

You’re a really good writer. It’s just, your stuff is too dark. When are you going to write something happy?

for the millionth time, I decided to address this preoccupation with sadness.

I never had the words to articulate what I was trying to do as an artist, until I ran across an Aldous Huxley interview on YouTube. He was talking about how a person psychologically broken-down is in their most vulnerable state of suggestion and could therefore be more susceptible to having a new paradigm placed into their head.

Wow. Some inception shit.

So this got me thinking about drug addicts.

Stuff like:

How people fall so hard into AA/NA (good or bad).

Addicts that reintegrate back into society are doomed to some type of medical/psychological treatment for the rest of their lives.

The system is failing them. Rehabs and prisons are profiting from their agendas.

They are being given a false paradigm.

I stand at the bottom of this dark pit for a reason.

When my people hit the ground, the first face I want them to see is a friendly one.

Ya/ follow me?

This story is funny now, but it sure wasn’t funny when it happened.

Anyone that thought they had a handle on this addiction thing, only to find all hell breaking loose one day, those are the people often left with the question, when the hell did things get so bad? I was hanging out with a friend, Jeremy. Actually, friend is a very loose term in these circles. Let’s say acquaintance. We were partying at Jeremy’s place for nearly two days. We stayed up all night, shooting this and smoking that. Around three in the second morning, he went downstairs and came back up with a bowl of cereal. I kept staring at the cereal. When you’re on a long-hard drug run, it could be days between meals. He detected my interest in his bowl and told me to go down and get my own. I went downstairs and tried to find a bowl from the mountain of dirty dishes. I got one that wasn’t too bad and tried to rinse it off. I grabbed a box of cereal and as I turned the box over to shake out the contents, several gnats flew out the box. This caused me to take notice of the gnats that were everywhere in the kitchen. I looked in the fridge and found milk that was three days past the recommended date stamp on the jug. I lost my appetite. I was starting to feel nauseated. I dumped the cereal in the bowl into the garbage, and put everything back the way I found it. When I came back upstairs, Jeremy started drilling me with questions. Why did I take so long? Why was I banging stuff around down there? Why didn’t I get a bowl? I don’t know why I didn’t just tell him that his kitchen was nasty and the cereal had bugs in it and the milk was probably spoiled. I didn’t have the heart. I didn’t want the confrontation. I don’t know, take your pick. I just told him that once I got down there I wasn’t hungry anymore. Jeremy grumbles a bit more before heading back downstairs to dump his bowl back into that trash heap of a sink of his. While he’s down there, I hear cupboards slamming, dishes clanging, and the refrigerator door swinging shut. I hear him coming back up the stairs. He seemed to intentionally walk heavy. The tension was starting to give me anxiety. This is how it goes down when you hang with smokers. Now, I’ve been no angel with the stuff, but it just isn’t my cup of tea. People that smoke for extended periods of time, tend to be on nerves’ edge. It’s hard to relax around them in this state. At any moment, for no reason in particular, they might grab a butter knife and hold it to your throat and demand the thirty cents change from the pack of cigarettes that you walked to the store to get for them three months ago. So I brace myself as he walks back into the room. He sits down without a word. I start to think that maybe it’s cool. Maybe I was making a deal out of something that wasn’t going to happen. Should’ve known better. He starts drilling me with unreasonable questions again. He wants to know why I left the refrigerator door open, which I didn’t. He wants to know what I did with all the other cereal boxes, even though I only touched the one. He wants to know why I just emptied a bowl of perfectly good cereal into the garbage. He wants to know why I’d lie about something like that. He says if I’d lie about something like that, then what wouldn’t I lie about. After this small psychological barrage, I just snap. I tell him about the gnats. I tell him I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to be rude. He quiets down and I think things are turning back to normal. As normal as a situation like this can get. Should’ve known better. This peace lasts for about five minutes before he gets up from his chair and starts poking about his room. Here we go I thought. He goes to the dresser top where the pile of dope sits. He grabs a card and starts shifting the pile back and forth. He’s muttering at this point, but certain words are legible like, had more, that’s messed up. After a moment of this, I decide to clarify what exactly is going on and perhaps launch a pre-emptive defense before the madness ensues. I tell him I didn’t touch a thing. This sets him off to a new degree. He asks me why I would say something like that if I didn’t do anything.  Next, he’s yelling, telling me I have to go. He goes over to another dresser and pushes it over. It slams on the floor. I’m up out my chair now. I tell him I’ll just go. But he starts saying things like, sure leave now, after you ripped me off. I don’t know what to do. I’m in the middle of nowhere. It’s a little after six a.m. I have no one to call at such an hour for a ride. I have no money. Meanwhile, he takes a drawer that slid out the dresser he toppled moments ago, and smashes it against the wall. It splinters into pieces. I’m gone. I start walking out the room and down the stairs. At any moment I expected him to come running after me with a hunting knife. But he never came out of his room. When I walked out the front door I could still hear him up there shouting and smashing stuff. I’m not even sure if he knew I left. I kept walking and made it to Parkman road. I decided to go to my friend Chris’s apartment, but I still had a long way to get there. The quickest route seemed to cut through a few neighborhoods in order to get to Mahoning avenue. I walk idly through the neighborhoods because it was still early. and I wasn’t sure what time Chris got up. I didn’t want to piss him off by waking him. An unbelievable thirst began to grip me. My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t had a cigarette for hours. As I continued walking. I passed a tricked-out Z24 parked at the end of driveway. The car’s windows were down. I looked up at the house which looked secured and non-active. I walked past the driveway, looked back at the house windows and saw nothing stirring, and I turned around. I walked briskly up to the Z24. I bent down through the open window on the driver’s side. I’m going right for the change console in the middle, which is open and full of silver. As I’m collecting the silver I hear, HEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY CAR?! I’m halfway in the car, halfway out. I look through the windshield at a big black guy standing on his porch in boxer shorts and sandals. The porch is about twenty yards from the vehicle. I dropped the change I had managed to gather and slink back out the window. He starts walking towards me. I’m holding my hands in the air. As I slowly start walking backwards, I tell him, look man I’m sorry, I didn’t take anything. But he’s not having an apology. He’ll settle for nothing less than blood. He tells me to come over so he can talk to me. He’s closing the gap. When he gets about ten yards from me, he turns it up full blast. I follow suit and turn and take off myself. So now I’m running down this road and this black guy is chasing me about twenty yards behind. He keeps yelling for me to stop. I keep yelling back that I didn’t do anything and to stop chasing me. I turn a corner and there is a group of kids and parents waiting at a bus stop. Unbelievable. They watch me run past them, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with me. A couple seconds later the black man runs past them. I hear him yelling back to them, GET HIM! STOP HIM! CALL THE COPS! IT’S ONE OF THOSE CAR THIEVES. Some of the parents start in on the chase. Kids are running around in a frenzy. Parents are simultaneously yelling for the kids to go back while yelling for someone to call the police. This marathon of madness continues for a couple more blocks before we run past another bus stop. Some of those people join in. At this point I had half a neighborhood chasing me like I was Frankenstein. I was so tired. I thought I was going to drop from sheer exhaustion. But I couldn’t stop. I really thought this blood thirsty mob would rip me to pieces if they caught up with me. What I couldn’t have known, was that these particular neighborhoods had a rash of break-ins into their cars over the prior three months. I had nothing to do with these break-ins, but these people sure didn’t know that. This neighborhood was out to make crime pay and I was the face of crime that day. There was no way they were going to give up and let me slip away. They were taking the law into their own hands. I had to catch my breath. The cramp that creeped into my side was beginning to kill me. I veered off the open streets into the yards. I jumped a fence and found a small shed that was built really close to a house. I hid between the shed and the house and gasped for air. I was doubled over for no more than a minute before a kid spotted me and shouted, HE’S OVER HERE! HE’S OVER HERE!BEHIND THE HOUSE! Damn you, I thought as I darted out from my hiding spot like a wild animal. I decided that the darting in between houses was proving ineffective. I headed out onto the main street. But the street I came out on, ran along the Mahoning river. There was nowhere to go but forward. To the right of me were open parking lots to apartment buildings. To the left was a guard rail, and over that was a steep embankment which led down to the river. There was a bridge up ahead about two hundred yards. If I could just cross that bridge, my friend’s house was right there.  That seemed the most reasonable plan. But then, the crowd of vigilante neighbors came from around the corner of a house. Somehow, that same black guy in sandals was still leading the charge. I kicked my jog back to a full sprint and after a few feet my chest just gave out. Then my legs went. I had a horrible cramp in my side. But they were real close behind me now. There was no way I would be able to make it to the bridge. I took what seemed the best option at the time. Isn’t it funny when the worst idea becomes the most reasonable one? That says a lot about where you may be in your life at that point. Anyway, the best option I thought, was to slide down the embankment to the left, and try to wade through the muddy banks and across the raging river. I was still running full blast, but my  body had never been closer to collapsing. I never broke stride, never slowed down, I just leapt over the metal guardrail like it was a low hurdle. Like I said, I thought it was a good idea at the time. I began on the street, went over the guardrail, and landed in a deadfall of leaves and dead branches on the other side. The embankment was even steeper than I thought. I slid head over heels through the deadfall. I remember seeing the top of the embankment, the river, the leaves, then the top again. I landed at the bottom. My legs were twisted up in briars and twigs. My shoulder felt detached from its socket. My face was scraped all to hell from the briars and branches. I could hear the crowd gathering at the top. I could hear the black guy complaining that he had lost one of his sandals. I had no more fight left in me. Jumping into the river would prove folly at this point. There was no energy left in my reserve to fight the current. I surrendered. I yelled up to them that I was coming up. I slunk back up the embankment completely defeated and utterly embarrassed. When I neared the top, the black guy that started this lynch mob, grabbed me by my bad arm and my T-shirt and hoisted me the rest of the way up, before slamming me back on the ground. I would try to get up, but I just keep getting pushed from one neighbor to another, as they ripped through my pockets, and yelled threats. Right then the Warren P.D. rolls up. Some super-cool-old black cop. He gets out and sees these guys whipping me around and he also sees all the scratches and red marks on my face and he thinks the people were beating the hell out me. He doesn’t know that I just did cartwheels down the embankment on my hands and my face. So he dives into the groups’ midst, arguing on my behalf. Once he gets a hold of me, he throws me in the back of his cop car and tells me to sit tight because these people want to kill me. He goes back out there and argues with the neighbors for awhile before getting back in his cruiser. The whole neighborhood throws daggers my way as we pull off. As we’re going down the road he keeps looking at me in the rearview mirror and shaking his head. He asks me why I would do such stupid thing. I tell him that I hadn’t ate for a few days and I just wanted some change to buy a can of pop and get some cigs. He tells me he can’t help me with the cigarettes, but he’ll get me a can of pop at the station when he books me in. Let me tell you, I slept better that night than I had in years. Even though I was in the county jail. I like telling that story because it says a lot about the life of an addict. One day you’re walking and everything is fine and within a matter of minutes, sheer pandemonium breaks out, and you try to outrun it, but you can only run for so long before you wind up at the bottom of an embankment, and in the back of a police car. People often ask me what changed my mind so hard against drugs. Well, I can’t really say that I turned away from drugs completely, because I still get bounced back and forth between doctors and medications. For me, it’s a question of damage control. Choosing the lesser of evils. But for those still lost in the abyss; its difficult to say. Different people have different thresholds they’ll cross. Losing my friends and losing my family didn’t do it. Losing my license didn’t do. The fear of going to prison didn’t do it. I seen many go, twenty-seven to be exact, all real people that I knew in one way or another. In fact, both Chris and Jeremy are two of those twenty-seven. Something just changed in me. That life just didn’t do it for me anymore. I began to slowly see myself as something different. I always believed I was intended to do something that worked into a bigger plot. A bigger plot than just feeding the machines of the courts and the jails.

Thank you for listening, said Jerry.

©2013

 http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/deadBEATpoetry

The Search For The New World

Posted: February 13, 2013 in Prose
Tags: ,

        Some of us let our lives get really bad and really hard. No matter how bad or hard mine got, I just could not stop. It was as if a switch turned on one day and I lost it completely. One minute you’re running around acting crazy. Then crazy just becomes your life.
But there will be a moment, while living that life, when it no longer feels like you belong there anymore. Something is different. You have tired of it. You are still stuck in the mud, but for the first time in a long time, you are looking to get out of it. I’m not talking about that night you spent you in jail and swore to anybody that would listen that you’d never come back or when you were in that rehab and convinced all the doctors and your family that you were really done this time or that Sunday in church when you got up in front of the entire congregation and confessed with tears and silently prayed that if God could just help this one last time you’d never do anything like this again. The moment of realization I am talking about is real. It is unlike anything else that came before it. I wish I could convey it properly with words. The best I can do is that it is a belief in something bigger than you. It’s about believing that you are bigger than what you are. When this moment of realization does happen, you will definitely know. You cannot fake it, nor mistake it. It will floor you. Do not worry if you are not there yet. It will eventually come if you’re open to it. If you already have it, buckle up, because we are in for one hell of a ride.
Realization is an amazing experience that is worth a thousand words. However, it’s only half the battle. The other half is the ugly part. Next, is beginning to rebuild your life. This rebuilding process is difficult for many people. Especially those that expect to have the life they had before this tsunami of addiction swept over their lives. When rebuilding, it is not always wise to follow the preceding format. You can get it close to the original. But you may not be able to rebuild on the same property, or in the same manner, if you want to avoid the same catastrophe that toppled the original building in the first place. Don’t get stuck on some nostalgic standard that your life has to live up to in order to be considered a success. Nothing new grows in such an environment.
Not everyone is going to believe you have changed. Some people may never accept you for what you have become. That’s okay because there are people that will. Even that doesn’t matter much in the big scheme of things. What matters is that you believe in what you have become. People will judge you. People with lives way more twisted up than yours. All you can do is be friendly and remember how clouded your vision was at one time.
If you’re doing the right thing, you have nothing to worry about spiritually. All else will follow suit soon enough. A strong spirit eases the mind. A happy mind helps push a healthy body. Maybe you will be poor and alone when you begin this journey. Nevertheless, would you rather be addicted while dealing with the hardships of life? Life is hard enough already. It makes no sense to make life harder by your own volition.

Smiles and bruises my peepz,
Carl Paul Henneman

http://zenspeaknine.com/