Thursday, December 30, 2010

Verbally Constipated

I loved the book Catch-22 for the way it spins out the ridiculous contradictions of war.  People today say the phrase 'Catch-22' in reference to a no-win situation, but this use leaves out its absurd dimension.

I feel like shit.  Again.  Stuck in the hole where my life has no meaning because I can't work, because the only thing I seem to be able to do, art, is incredibly competitive and involves regularly putting my Self up for review and often rejection.

Sometimes I can write, sometimes I can't.  Right now I feel verbally constipated.  Stuck inside myself.  Too many feelings, thoughts, fears, frustrations, overfilling the balloon that is my head, and I can't find a channel OUT.
 Not being able to express myself at all well traps me in solitary confinement.

That other post I just made?  I wrote it weeks ago.

I have been having a really hard time lately with my father.  Again.  Been having a hard time again.
We go around these circles, sometimes coasting but more often scraping against one another like pieces of dull metal that don't fit together, shrieking, grinding, wearing one another down.  Some people say we clash because we're so much alike.  I don't know, I just know it's painful.
  I hope someday to be able to write about our relationship and see some humorous absurdity in it.  Maybe like a Catch-22.  Someday.

Compulsive Vehicular Slumber

the car/train/bus starts moving
it finds its rhythm and velocity
my head loses its own
some neuro-psycho-bio trigger connection
motor movement = danger
danger I can't control
tragedy I can't stop
so I
is this my reptile brain reaction?
can't control it, can't stop it, so play
in this dimension I fall asleep
I fall
photo by Manuela Bernasconi

each time I jerk awake it's a
new accident
new impact
new lost
new trauma

photo by Manuela Bernasconi