To Live Like This

life

If you’re going to live like this, there are some things you should know:

You are going to fuck up. Often. People are going to question you. Often.
You are going to take their advice with a grain of salt.
You are going to prove them right. Often.
And then
You are going to prove them wrong.
And all you need to do is prove them wrong once
to emerge a hero, with a tale, a lesson, an experience that they will covet.
That they will exalt. They will tell the tale far and wide,
even though they were on the sidelines, giving their warnings  and crying foul,
because you fuckin’ did it.
You will be remembered.

You will have to fight against instinct.
You will refuse to acknowledge fear.
There will be fear.
And it means nothing.

You will not live to be scared.
You will not live to be proper.
You will not live to be OK.
You will live for the journey.
You will live for the tragedy and the suspense and the miraculous and the uncomfortable and the astounding and the unanticipated and the glorious.
You will live for the best.
And you won’t be left wondering.

You might not live without regrets,
but you won’t regret regretting
because, damn,
it will be amazing.

Never fall in love with a poet

poetry

Never fall in love with a poet

Things     get    too     abstract

Often too

hard to understand

Things    get    too    meaningful

Things    get    too     rhythmic

Too      beautiful

You should know what to expect

although

There may yet be a plot twist

In verse

If you try

hard enough

To read between

The lines

And spaces.

Not enough

concrete

Not here

Not immediate

Somewhere

In vapor

In twilight

In theory

The Pathophysiology of Schizophrenic Shrapnel

poetry

He asked the patient how he was feeling:
The patient said that the picture on the wall
Had a headache.
He asked how it had a headache
The patient explained that when a sperm and an egg meet,
There is an explosion of proteins and genetic material:
Nuclear fusion, but human fusion.

A genetic explosion—
Schizophrenic shrapnel from the father’s side.
Something went wrong.
Or maybe something went right.

The child emerged healthy,
Greeting the world wailing,
In a fit of tears
As we all do.

Schizophrenic shrapnel,
Once embedded, takes time to grow
And develop through
Isolated doses of objective reality–
Virus-like, reality serves as its host
Feeding it, the necessary input
For the eventual hostile takeover.

But this is only shrapnel.
The child wasn’t blown to pieces;
Its body will wrap it in scar tissue,
Preserve it for a while
Until it is dissolved.
Rusted away on the banks
Of bloodstreams.

The process doesn’t come without any complications
Of course.
The shrapnel glows at night,
A sickly green orb beneath the skin.

Remember those glow-worm dolls?

It can go on that way for many years
A decades-old beacon
Lurid
Lurid
Green

No serious complications develop
As long as the patient never looks at it.
Ignore the green glow
Suffocate it under the blankets at night.
Eventually they get used to it,
Sleeping with a constant
Palid-green radiance.
Eventually its light won’t keep them awake.

Take all necessary precautions
Should the patient glimpse the glow:
Breathing exercises,
All the coping skills they’ve learned
From the years of inevitable therapy.
Hide sharp objects
All sharp objects.
And most objects.
Those who suffer from schizophrenic shrapnel
Are crafty creatures.

It should be noted,
However,
That the mysterious glow
Is known to produce
Lucid fantasy
Worlds have been born within it.
A heightened intuitive sense
Typically paranoid,
Or wildly insightful
In roughly twenty percent
Of cases.

Therefore,
It is recommended
That patients be supervised and given
A notebook
And a pen
To write through their hallucinations
For the duration of their psychosis.

We use the term “snapshot-psychosis”
In cases of schizophrenic shrapnel
For the episodes are fleeting in nature.
Usually triggered by
A low-grade glimpse of green.

The episode will be over
In nanoseconds,
But the patient might be left
Rambling.
A brief apashia
Coprolalia
Or
Anacoluthon.

That is how the picture has a headache.