those imprisoning the prisoners
unknowingly imprisoned
by the very premise and paradigm
of the prison they project
I mean, protect
when one’s life
is set up to encase time
it is just that
their very own time
which becomes encased
Inside
Where am I?
today I looked from my top bunk
and saw my position
an overhead lay out
of which I am stocked within
filed away
and my senses became hallucinatory
realization piercing this reality’s veil
and I honed in on my imprisonment
I felt stricken with confusion and grief
dizzying the sounds sights and beings became
I was in denial
traumatized by each second
as my mind wandered and wondered
unsatisfied with each place it landed
I became hot
more forehead poured sweat
I jumped from my bed woozy
beings around asked of my disposition
I tried to explain but couldn’t
I began to shake
my left leg having a nervous reverberation of its own
unceasing in its shakes
I left the bay area
seeking relief or answers
hoping for calm but I knew there was none to find
for I knew what I was experience
and it shattered me
my conception of self dissected
and reintegrated, and I felt the horrors of this existence
the lies and blindness uttered around me
the encasement of my being and potential
I was in shock
and this man saw me
he understood
a stranger to me, but he hugged me
and said I get it..I been there
I don’t know if he really did
but he reached beyond the veil of my comforts
extending his warmth
and I felt less alien at that moment
while still alien to this
this construct everyone seems content with
“I don’t belong here”
I said to myself
and that was all I could muster for reason
but even that had many meanings
or maybe mundane diagnosis can explain this
PTSD? Anxiety?
I think not, so I said to myself
where am I
but my senses could not answer that question
because I was never posing it to them
A Reflective Letter Sent to a Friend
hmm
I wonder if I have to say this or is everything existential and essential implied within the following sentence…
it’s snowing on Easter.
now that I’ve said that,
sharing a story…a quick one hopefully lol
on Friday I was called up for an MRI on my shoulder, so I got to leave the building and drive around the corner to the MRI truck, (as I’m saying this, instead of explaining, maybe the significance will be grasped and imagined in one’s own associative and empathic thoughts)
I took in the scenery from the very moment I passed the area you all come in and check-in, telling the staff how crazy something so routine and mundane to you is an adventure to me.
as I got into the car (an actual sedan, which I haven’t been in for almost a decade, a much smoother ride and less forceful than most transfer vehicles which align with the prison experience) for a short ride (three minutes maybe) and as I took in the world on my right and the prison on my left and the alien yet nostalgic smoothness of the cruise and my affinity for long car ride and haircuts (which I told the guards that car rides are like haircuts, it makes you want to nap, they laughed and agreed) tears fell down my eyes
the ride over, they observed asking if I’m OK, I tried to explain and they understood…up into the MRI truck for the next 30 minutes siloed into a machine tunnel, back into the world of subtle force, noises, and tight spaces, all to find a remedy for affliction… another prison
but I felt a freedom so pure, it drew no blood but tears
so I reflected in this noisy tomb, amazed at how powerful a car ride can be and now having a new thing to look forward to on the endless list of things missed and yet to be experienced which I have a hard time fathoming and imagining while inside of the prison of my temporary escape
sometimes you must experience in order to know what it is you desire most
as experience increases both imagination and knowledge
we rode back, and they told me I can walk slowly, we’re going to the same place, no rush…their way of saying, it’s OK, I get it, can’t do much for you but this, so enjoy and soak it up
even guards are humans…I guess, if you force my hand to acknowledge this truth that is lol
in a world of sides, I was forced to pick mine but there’s a place where we can all meet at those “fine lines” and find commonality
this said from a revolutionary who understands that that thought is unfortunately just that, revolutionary
and it snowed on Easter… maybe I should send this out as a writing?
Way
Mental Clockwork
time has a mind of its own
or the mind has a time of its own
or its own has a presence of time
or a mind full of time
or a time for a mind
when’s the time for a mind?
it makes no never mind
because my mind has been imprisoned for quite some time
soooo
Time
is but a conception of the mind to perceive itself
or a perception of the Self to conceive the mind
either way
it’s an invention
drawing the line between the real and unreal
and my eyelids represent the veil
Crazy Patience
I’m told to be patient
there is a mastery to be claimed hence
but what is it called
for years watching others obtain
the otherwise of this fence
acquiring a freedom
I’ve been so anxious to get
and each time
I’ve yet to throw a fit
clearly, I’m as patient as one gets
unless it’s called insanity
to which, and to wits,
I admit
Go Figure
I’ve been ready
ready to die
ready to die all my life
now
that I’m finally ready
ready to live
life is killing me…