perzephone: (poppy)
Rainbow Serpent Woman ([personal profile] perzephone) wrote2005-11-15 08:46 am
Entry tags:

Wanting to Write

I've got a yearn for a blank piece of paper, but right now there is no poetry in my life. It's all pretty much crap. Just people at my job, hurting & wanting to hurt others. Ugly, emotional violence at every turn. All I do is sit, listen & dispense the least harmful advice I can, tacking on disclaimers at the end of every sentence. "It's only one person's opinion." "I have no experience with the situation you're in, but the way I see it is..." "I would suggest you talk it over with the other person who is involved & try to work out an equitable solution." "Don't let me be a buzz kill." "You asked for my advice, and I'm giving it to you free-of-charge - you get what you pay for." I could write EULA's & TOS' for just about anybody at this point. I am so non-committal I could easily become a politician or an ambassador. Hel's bells, I am an ambassador. Everything has 'may' or 'possibly' or 'potentially' involved in it - there are no finite terms when you talk to me. I always try to present several outcomes to any given situation, try to lend an outsider's p.o.v., and try to see situations from both sides (or all three sides if need be). Somehow I end up seeing the story from more than one p.o.v. anyway, because for some reason all the people involved end up coming to pour their tales out at my feet. Sometimes I imagine myself a spider at the center of a web, only the web has come to me. It all just adds to my disillusionment with the human race, my world-weariness, my cynicism and depression. Nothing good ever comes of letting people cry on your shoulders.

Coyote-like, I sit back & laugh. It's all I can do to keep myself from running away screaming.

There are times, like right now, when I wish I had a really good, reliable connection for some drugs. Strangely, now that my teenaged rebellious years have come & gone, I find myself wishing I could escape from reality for awhile. Even when I drink, reality follows me like a mangy black dog, drooling & stinking of garbage bins. Trying to rub against my hip, knocking me off my stumbling feet so it can lick my face w/its reeking breath. I smoked opium once, back a million years ago, in a Tennessee gazebo overgrown with kudzu. It was all green inside, smelling of leaf mold & river mist. For a few hours, it was all gone. I don't remember the dragon dream, but I do remember that for those few hours, the world went away. There were no pimples, ugly clothes, abusive relatives, no boys, no men, no hungry yearning in my crotch, no restless boredom, no frustration... it was bliss. Coming back to myself, all I wanted to do was escape again, or kill myself trying. I wish now that I had let myself descend into that lifestyle so I could be just now waking up, a different person or a dead person who had lived a little, instead of the n'zambi I am now.

Post a comment in response:

(will be screened)
(will be screened if not validated)
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.
More info about formatting

If you are unable to use this captcha for any reason, please contact us by email at support@dreamwidth.org