On the night of Christmas...

    I knew that I had to leave, and soon. I felt a precursor of embarrassment coming on. Not that it was me that cared so much; but I just may embarrass him. Why? Because I am often more outspoken; more silly, than he is. So, I gathered myself and went outside to have a smoke, or two. let the December wind lash my face, and perhaps sober me up a bit. 

   

We were out in the country, far from most everyone else. The falling snow was perfect in some spots. Glistening, and untouched, glittering under the light of the moon. I felt that i should take a picture. Instead, I finished my smoke, my drink and walked back inside; hoping that I didn't give away too much of what I was thinking...

Copyright 2010 K. Anne Smith

Unsent Note to A Random Person...

 ****************************YOU are not as good as you think you are. You are extremely average, insecure and troubled; just like the rest of us. And I cannot attempt to help you help yourself without you acknowledging this.  ***

And Yes, There Was A Day 3 of Mental Health Day...should have declared it a Mental Health Week...

9-9-2010  


 Day 3 of "FUCK".
Simply put, that's it; "FUCK".
Tired of being broke, tired of not sleeping, tired of feeling worthless, of not having someone to balance me out; help to motivate me.
And I need a cigarette.
Oh, wah. Listen to me.  Passing shit off onto other folks.
Jesus, what is going on here? I feel so unbalanced -
in life,
In everyday.
In the brain.
Fuck.



Copyright K. Anne Smith

A DAy Late, and A dollar (or more) short.

                A DAy Late, and A dollar (or more) short...

I've declared today as my own personal "Mental Health Day".
I remember dog-eared pages in a book;
sent to me by a person that
I have never met
(in person)
Maybe my fate will be the same.
I'll get famous when I am dead.
It happens to the best, that way....
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

BUKOWSKI
Had his own way of putting things
into senseless, yet priceless lines.
The sky draws in a deeper, darker color of blue, white, tinged with red.
Like a suction canister of body fluids, from an operating room.
Tinged with blood.
Breeze, like breath, and the colors move into deeper shades; closing in on us like a fist. When the fist closes, it smashes down and makes thousands and thousands of pieces of glowing shrapnel that we call stars...
And at that time, when it comes - I hope it brings a sense of calm -
and silence -
and nothing else.
_______________________________________________________________________________

Mental Health Day Notes, cont.


I've sat in this spot
most of the day
And I think
how amazing
that someone, somewhere, was doing what I have done all day
But made something out of nothing
And I've got nothing to show for it.



Copyright K. Anne Smith

The Doh-See-Doh swing...

Two Step;
side step
You're avoiding Life (and my eyes)
So I think it's good
That I Leave for awhile
So I can turn up the music
and drive as I smile
And leave you to your misery
Don't understand why you
don't appreciate little things
The sun in the sky
The beauty of ugly
and birds when they sing


Copyright K. Anne Smith

You BEST Remember, Lord - You Can't Break My Broken Wings...

Sometime in the A.M. on May 15, 2010:

Hold my breath in deeply
And the stabbing  pain of my existence
Hits me

This house, is no longer my home
It is an asylum for tainted memories
Every hole in a wall
Is a different memory
A fading glimpse
Of the way life used to be
This house isn’t holy
This house
Is only a memory

Mama struggling
Battling my demons
Bound by some chains
I wish to break free from
These possessions are all I have
Nothing to show
This disappointment, is just that
These things , they mean nothing
And I don’t know what to do
Don’t know where to go
I am never happy in this home

Something to escape
Insanity has given me a taste
Left with nothing but ‘things’
Remember Lord,
You can’t break these broken wings
Nestled comfortably inside my hell,
My cage; unlocked -
These demons to quell.
Nothing to tell
I have nothing to say
I only think when I write
And want the rest to go away.

Years of being trapped
Years of being dependent
Mama’s on the brink now,
Think I’ll always be co-dependent

This place is a wreck,
Very much like my HeAd
Push and push things away
But they remain; they stay

This place is no longer my home
Now it’s time to make a move -
To drag all this along.
So worrisome, so consumed
No relief from this mess
No more pills, only booze
And I fall into a category 4 hurricane
Have these thoughts that I keep inside
Made me more insane?

Wasting my time with words and paper
Wondering if my kids will understand
Why I can’t make the bankroll


Copyright K. Anne Smith

Praying for Rain (1,000 miles deep)

JUNE 5, 2010...

Early in the A.M.

Strange silences fill weird gaps, and thunder rumbles overhead. The sound of persistent rain taps and pours and my soul is open, again.
Drowning out thoughts
As they spill all over this page
As I sit, I squirm
Because there are 3 thousand thoughts
Within the brain

The feeling of being desperately overwhelmed
Is subsiding
And I’ve put all my energy
Into wanting and trying
To make you feel happy

I’ve needed this rain
To wash away the old memory
To rinse away the residue
To water new seeds
To start again
I’d love to steal you away
And leave your worries and your pain
Outside to be cleaned in the pouring rain
Lead a path to a place
You’d find perfect
Strip away all the hurt
To find the beauty you hide inside
And leave myself open and
Let you consume me…



Copyright K. Anne Smith

ApRiL brought Madness...

April 16, 2010

Why don’t you just
Hold me
Keep me
Don’t hate me
Even if it’s
Not easy
Call me your beauty
OR deem me your beast
It don’t hurt too much,
Not to say the least

I’ll swing through and
We’ll doh-see-doh
And when I leave-
No one will find peace

So don’t follow
    That would leave you hollow
Don’t strain your eyes
To see what I mean
If it’s anything -
        It’s an all-night thing
A two-step, moving through the night sky
Riding on a magic carpet
I smoke rare leaf on this ride
==============================================================================

APRIL 15, 2010
9:44 p.m.

    Thinking of doors. The band. And actual doors - ones that close in your face (Thanks, Dad) and ones that open to opportunity and also…
The ones that open to a big
                Pile
                Of
                SHIT.
(A pessimistic day, indeed).

            -end-



-TUESDAY APRIL 13, 2010
2138 HRS. (9:38 P.M.)

    It is nightfall and the routine of madness has ended. The kids are in bed, finally. Tears were falling from my  blond haired blue eyed daughters eyes…
She, is genuine.
And, she is worried for someone that cares for very deeply..
My children; I see so many things in them and it is  ONLY then when I am able to understand what it means to love, unconditionally.  I know how it feels to create such a powerful, hard-wired-thing.  These little adults - more humane than most humans. The children of this world are where we should be betting EVERYTHING on…
But most will just pass them off as merely ‘only a child.”.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Exhaling smoke as I furiouslY scribble this random pattern of thinking…
I stare above, into the black of the night sky.
I’m glad that there are sTaRs that are visible to my eye tonight. My eyes follow their patterns; their invisible lines that they draw in that vast, outstretched night sky.
    My shadow grows longer as I stand, but I notice

        That it seems to be larger
            Than it should.
    As if
It were almost…
        Growing.
“Really?? Hmm, it seems to me that my ego has grown.”
It exceeds me,  the shadow, that is.
Then, I think to myself that Perhaps -that is not only my shadow.
Maybe it’s the boogeyman that lurks behind me; follows me everywhere. Doesn’t let me sleep. Makes me annoyed -
                     and-
                    Is the very fiber
                        Of my existence.

These beings are around me everywhere. I see them, amongst the mess in my basement; in the toy pile. Over my shoulder. Right in  my face.  Waiting, in the chair; in the corner of m y mind.
    I’m either just beginning to imagine - or maybe I am merely subconsciously {more like unconsciously} following suite with the ’typical stereotype’  of a writer.
  Awake through most of the evening hours,
Drinking or smoking .
Always smoking though, with or without the presence of alcohol.
A cigarette dangling from either my hand or my lip as I scrawl in a notebook or hover over a keyboard, tapping away at the keys. Or bury my face in the pages of a book, or even, sometimes, several books at one time - at times.
Copyright K. Anne Smith

Desperate Times, Always call for Desperate Measures...and Alcohol.

=================================================================================


April 4, 2010
Sometime in the afternoon…


    Sitting amongst the trees, opening blooms to the wind;
 A blue sky outstretched overhead
And consuming everything under it’s cloak.

I am smaller
than I was yesterday.
A speck, on the back porch steps. Small in comparison. My flesh tones, camouflaged in contrast to the massive tones of earth and sky around me.
    I am here, merely as an existence. It is up to my conscious thinking- what it is that I give of myself - that decides what my existence will serve. I may as well allow my existence to serve ME with opportunity, with a  chance to learn, a chance to embrace, An opportunity to make choices. I choose, to coexist. I am not any greater or any lesser than those elements that surround me.
Simplicity is fine, in it’s finest form. Deviation leads to complication.
Normalcy is molded; a concept; not a factor. A consequence, not  inevitability.
             =============================================
***Words stretch out across this page, they pour from a reservoir of inner thought - although I don’t think it to be
My sanctuary. Not nearly.
Sanctity is questionable.
Solitude is often. Loneliness can consume your soul, even when you are surrounded by love and people and things which you hold love for.
    Something tears a ribbon of trust away from the box inside that stays locked. It’s as though some shavings remain under the lock pad, as if someone attempted to break in, but couldn’t endure the work.
So they walk away, leaving a partial footprint and a mess to clean up.  In every sense of those words - is what happens. When a void opens, something has to fill it. The contents are always different - it depends on the person.
Different pains for all f us. Different vices; various poisons to numb the pain of having that gaping hole.
Maybe it’s food, maybe it’s drugs. Gambling. Senseless, emotionless gratification. All the while, still leaving the hole;
Still
Abandoning hope
And still feeling the need
For More
Or Less.
Or nothing.


Maybe anesthetic will make it disappear
At least
From your constant waves of thought.



    Envisioning a person; on a dark beach
Waves crashing and threatening to swallow this person whole
And give their soul
To the ocean.
Standing, facing forward this person’s  hands are full with their own entrails.
Guts and :
Total disregard and helplessness…
Standing bleeding in the sand
Moments from dying
And fully liberated a
And accepting that the end
Is near. IT is over
No more pain
Or, at least-
        We Pray.

--- Break in thoughts….---

    IT seems that I have gained the company of peculiar, menacing little people.
They are without features, but they are definitely there, watching with hollow eyes.  They live amongst the crevices and containers in my basement, they wait until I am alone, and only then do they make themselves known. They sit and wait to catch me off my guard. These things, once very unnerving to my mental well-being, I now welcome, because at least they entertain my mind. And they keep me good company, in the times when I need the company the most -
    Most of the time-   
            The most desperate of times -
                (All the time).
=====================================================================



Copyright K. Anne Smith

All that is left...

APRIL 9, 2010

1219 a.m.

Feeling like feelings are numb
Cut at the bone;
Choking on my home

Walls don’t surround me now
Only my one guarded wall
Will protect us now
I force myself outside, to be able to see in…
There’s no fear
Only blood and bullets;
There is you
And I
And
Blood and bullets.
Leaning shadows;
Mine and another
Find ourselves
        Face to Faceless…

Copyright K. Anne Smith

Mother Earth; One Pissed Off Lady.

March 22, 2010
11:14 p.m.

Wondering who will survive what is lying ahead, further up the road.
A small, surprise package of catastrophe waiting for the right sucker to come along and open this; Pandora’s Box. How quiet the nights will be when there is no one left to hear?
Or will there ever be night on this planet that we somehow strangely invaded - pillaged, violated the sacredness of the land in tearing away beautiful pastures in trade for Wal-Marts and Targets, restaurants and housing ‘projects’ (heh heh). We have become accustomed to the convenience of having everything at our fingertips.
There ARE few that can still honor and appreciate this land that we have somehow come to occupy.
There is little respect for this worldwide mother - her name is Earth. Perhaps it is now time for her to exact her revenge.

Maybe -
    All the hype over politics and an impending doom that lingers over us to serve as masques.
OR maybe -
    Nobody really, honestly, truthfully knows what we are bound to embrace.
Hold your family tight and have them all help in digging a hole that goes way beyond the standard of six feet.
    You’ll all need it and you will all need one another.

“Prepare.”

One word.
Two syllables.
A third, and final warning.
The fourth horseman appears on the horizon. Behind him, the other three stand poised and ready.

Are YOU ready?

-fin-





Copyright K. Anne Smith

-Random, undated squabble:-

A turntable spins…
    The broken record plays…
That damned man, in the chair
In the corner of my mind…
        “Fail.”  he says.
Maybe, just perhaps -
    Something is blinding my eyes from seeing clearly.
Not sure if  my thinking is clear
            Or rational
            Or selfless
        Or self-centered
When I offer myself,
        My actions, my hospitality
            My Love
            My help
I expect it to please someone
And maybe it does….or not.
This is all that’s left.
Words and thoughts….



Copyright K. Anne Smith

Buy the ticket....(take the ride)

7-13-10
Falling faster from grace
Pillows and sweat and regret
Covering your face
Salt the wound; dig the knife deeper
Intent on destruction
Feeling worse
As time passes
3 day sleeper

The boat has rocked
Best has passed
Now is the only time
To stop
This is the destination
Hope you have your ticket
You’ll need it again
To reboard this ride

Isolation and despair
I can’t fix it (I guess)
Only wanting to help
I suppose I can’t
I suppose I have to
Shut the door
And leave off the light
All I know is
This is not life
Not the way it was meant
Helpless now ( I feel so)
 

Copyright K. Anne Smith

Why I do this...

WRITE WHEN:
you’re right
When you’re wrong
When you can’t scream
And it’s not appropriate to do

Much of anything

WRITE WHEN: You want to share
Or you want it all
To yourself
When you want to sing
But don’t have the words to do so

WRITE WHEN: You’re burdened
Or restless
Or hopeless
Or ecstatic
Or you think you’ve nothing to say
When you feel like running away
When you’re vocal opinion
Doesn’t matter….
And the words don’t form, except for with a pen
(your only friend)
WRITE WHEN: You’ve lost your patience
But aren’t ready to tell anyone
Just write
WHEN you’ve been pushed -
Choose your battles
And release your energy
Through Ink
WRITE WHEN you get broken
And don’t feel good enough
Forget it and pen it
Fuck it; let it fly
My spirit, with ink
Is always free
And I feel good about the soul I’ve become
Even though I’m not always at Peace
(especially when I see someone else in such misery)

WRITE WHEN: You can’t admit outloud
That someone else was right
And now, you understand why
Try to forget it
But you just can’t let it
And even though you no longer speak -
You remember why she said goodbye….

And it’s haunting
And everything makes you think of the things she’s said
You try
To be the bigger person
But only end up wanting
Peace for your head
And you realize your own observations
And they seem to scare you now
And you sort of want time to turn back
And to change
Something
From myself
And this, is why I tend to write
Because I quit speaking!!!!!

-IT, for now! -



Copyright K. Anne Smith

"For eVery Evil" For every evil under the sun; There is a remedy, or there is none; If there be one,seek 'til you find it; If there be none, never mind it." -an old nursery rhyme that I Read in an old book..that I Cannot remember the name of.-

Old Facts, and Nothing Has Changed...And Not an ounce of Hatred exists, really...

 I hate.


And I don't even hate.

I hate this spell that you cast on me

Years past, it's been so long.

Time has slipped

Time has changed
Yet
You still hold me  in your gaze

Hate that I loved you

And that
I love  You stilll

So still, I raise up
this bottle of schwill

cheers to the memory
Cheers to time lost

ANd salute, to the fact.

We've never been lost.








2009 Sept. (original date) Copyright K. Anne Smith

And I am up for hours after our speaking

                       And it doesn't seem fair

That I can't take you with me

                      When it's time for sleeping...  

MenTaL HeALtH Day: Duex.

Sept. 08, 2010...Morning time...MenTaL HeALtH Day: Duex.

A nerve or muscle, whatever - twitches near my eyes, near the center of my brain. I can only feel it because I keep holding my head in my hands; trying to catch my breath.
I wake, and I cater. I drink coffee; smoke most of my cigarettes, and pace the same 15 x whatever-foot-space.
I wait, for something to happen. But I never know what I am waiting for...
So it never comes.

(continued)-
A stubborn and selfish person
Can never be satisfied with any love from anyone
Because there is no one that can do it " correctly"
And after failing constantly
You give up.
But the one who ends up miserable
is never the one who's failed time after time
(or so my inner demon told me)
_________________------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Incessantly complaining
instantly excludes any chance
 to appreciate anything else
But the sound of the silence, and your voice, echoing inside of it.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Copyright K. Anne Smith

A Bukowski-Type Take on Life...

 September 07, 2010
10:30-ish a.m.

Sometimes
the best thing to do
is keep your mouth shut-
Your eyes open
and stay tuned in
to the clues people give you 
without speaking.

But then , it's possible to
run the other way
And say too much with your eyes
And stay silenced in your voice....


Copyright K. Anne Smith

Rest In Peace, Mr. Bukowski....

Sometimes, I Wonder...(Why I write Stuff DOwn)

09-04-2010
5:17 p.m.

Mentally mind-fucking myself. I am freaking out. Perhaps even over-reacting. The anxiety  today has heightened the longer I am awake. I wander....and I wonder....
 I think I am such an asshole that I don't even realize it most of the time.
Whoops.
I said something fucked up; again. No surprise.
 I hope this drug calms me, as it is supposed to. My inner thoughts are torturing me;  my instincts are telling me that something is amiss in life.
Years of being talked down to and cheated on; run off from, ditched for drinking time instead of family time, has fucked my thinking up. That's normal I guess.
Instinct or intuition, whichever it is - is telling me that something is wrong.  The crazy-insane mad love we had for each other at the beginning of the web we tangled has seemed to start fading. He seems annoyed, distant and dare I say - cold. This man, that was supposedly SO upset when he thought he might have lost me and my friendship - the tears he said he shed - I don;t know if that feeling is the same. My picture at his bedside has been tucked away into an out-of-sight place now. I wish he would TALK to me about what's going on with him, what he's thinking...
I have begun to feel that he has regrets in asking me to live with him. I am only trying to help him - make a nice house; good food to eat...I put him before myself, most of the time. I am not seeing any appreciation for that lately. I feel that I am making his life miserable. That his regretting the way things have worked out. I want to give him his space, but some very strange, seething jealousy washes over me. Which is very strange, because it is not typical for me to feel that way, at all. Probably I feel that way because he seems to avoid my eyes; ignores my questions and is generally crabby and distant when it comes to the "guy time" thing. Whatever. But it makes me wonder if he even likes me at all anymore.
(NOTE TO SELF: I don't want to type all this bullshit out anymore, So I stopped right in the middle of it. )

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 

Copyright K. Anne Smith

09-04-2010
1:15 a.m.

Early Saturday morning. Myself, and the dog are awake.
We are
the only ones.
Today's word is: survival.
And with that, comes recognizance of things said, and done.
I'm sorry.
I've drug my past into my present, though it was without consciousness. Fuck.
This beautiful, talented, and heavy-hearted soul across from me -
I am sorry that I said some things to him that he did NOT deserve. I love him, and I think (know) he is beautiful!
He doesn’t try as hard as I anticipate. Yet, he does try to deal (with ME)! And that, is not always easy.
 I want nothing more than to be able to be of some sort of help to him. But I don't know if I am a good influence - alot of the time.
I want to take him, and ravage him, but, at times, he doesn't seem to want that. Which is strange. Probably a misconception, but I always thought that men wanted sex every day, maybe a few times a day.
I love him, so so much. But at times, he makes me so fucking MAD!! Insane-Mad, not angry. I love others more than myself at times....

_weird ending_



Copyright K. Anne Smith

Last Day On The Island...Coming Home

8-27-2010
1:39 p.m.

    Last day on the island. I am worrying about finding a surgeon to mend the wounds in my fAcE and am not having much luck. These people, that have been referred to me - are WorthLess!
I've decided that I should write about something different, fromnow on, I suppose...
I guess it's time to quit moaning and re-reading the moaning, and write things that I'll find at least mildly amusing when I gain enough sobriety to look over them.
My skin seems much thinner and whiter now, more than it was before I left. I see alot of green, blue, purple...reds... Bruises.
All over my legs.
And face.

Ladies; gentlemen-
I've found that it is a bad idea to down a liter of vodka then try to do stunts on bikes.
It ruins clothes.
Breaks jaws and teeth.
Puts stitches in your face.
But I can, still and will always -
LAUGH ABOUT IT.
Even when it hurts to smile, I will be laughing, quite hysterically.
Because it's stupid. And funny.
NOW, my only mission, before anything else is to plug in my phone to see if I got some good shots of the ground as we came together and kissed....Probably not. Then, the next step is to find some drugs, just so I can better deal with, well- life.
Thinking of selfish things now, and I am nearly positive that my other half is thinking selfishly as well. It seems pretty routine for him.  I want a beer, some medication, and some cock. And THIS time, I actually want to be pounded into until I scream and can't take it any longer; collapsing into a satisfied pile, with a cigarette and a drink.
But I forgot - almost- that life is around the bend, we're almost there; the gap between there and here is closing. It's back to work, back to some type of responsibility, and that sense of despair. Hopeless hope.  I only hope someone near me has a huge, fat joint to smoke.

The End.



Copyright K. Anne Smith

Yes, The Beach was inspiring...or maybe it was the alcohol...

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June 15, 2010

11 a.m.to Noonish

Surrounded by souls in limbo

I can’t level out my thoughts

Don’t want to stay here

I only want to GO

The fear; the lump in my throat

Choking me; choking on the wishbone

Furiously scribbling

Ready to stab my frustrations into this notebook

Can’t keep up; my fingers, slower than the whirlwind in my head

Some fury builds by the second,

And second guessing my own self

Won’t ever happen again

Because I’ve FOUND MYSELF

AND WHERE ARE YOU AT??

Miserable in Misery

Misery loves company

The resistance is lessening

Tolerance is wearing thin

I’ve opened myself to the beach breezes

Pulled my head from the cloudiness of repression

Watch these waves crash on the sand

And I think of myself

My soul; endless, just like the sea in front of me

Crashing hard, knocking down the weak

Who can’t stand on their own two feet

I’m stronger than you think

You think I’m some kind of addict

But you aren’t without your own bad habits

Being a pessimistic, pissy-ass outlooker

Everyday

Hate it all

But things won’t change; they don’t go away

I’ll embrace

The way I am

And you can’t change

ANYTHING

About that

Again.

_{++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++}

_{OH NO!!!!!!!!!}

Looks like this will be a battle

Of who can be the biggest asshole

I think I’ll take the winnings on this one

And one, I am - with myself

-at times-

But no under scrutiny from people who are supposed to be

On my side

My family

Mi familia - so strange; foreign to me even.

Carrying different energies

I don’t need no one to hold my hand

Or tell me what I need

And what I don’t

I’m in charge of my own karmic wheel of fate

No intervention

No shit - bullshit, I don’t need it

It’s never too late

Not changing anything about me

For anyone but myself

Never have to please anyone; not NOW

I channel my energy into dust around me

It will illuminate my spirit when it’s my time

To be held to the light

And I’m not see-through

I’ll shine on

As a crazy diamond in this sky. I’m not laying down to die

I’ll never do so willingly

I’ll never be

What you think I should be

Fuck THIS.

I wonder - is today my 15^th birthday ?Or maybe a not-so-sweet sixteen?? ‘Cause I feel like I’m grounded and hiding behind a smokescreen.

Hmm….wonder WHY I need something to stay CALM and collected…

Let’s just watch as the

obseSsiVeNeSs gets worse

and the ComPuLSiOnS grow stronger …

And my hair becomes ThiNnER

And my eyes become strained

And my soul is stretched from one corner to another

And I’m wearing thin

I’m wearing out

I’m getting sick to myself

Living in this crawling skin

The Cortex is malfunctioning

Brainwaves inconsistent; not predictable, like the ones (waves) I see in front of me

Hiding behind clouds, is the sun

I try to remember that it’s always there…

But NOW, I don’t want to be strong

Don’t really want to CARE

I’m rambling, and don’t know who listens

Or cares

Don’t care either

Ready to roll into north bound mode

Or drown in the sea, and wash away these things :

that won’t be forgiven

That no one takes the time to listen to

Waste of time

And breath

Wasting away

Geez, yah, you’ve cracked that beer and poured that drink

Awfully early today

Who needs help?

I’m your little mold, remember? Your cookie cutter kid

See, you made this mess

By only being yourself

Now, fucking DEAL WITH IT

“No one can save me, and you know I don’t want the attention…”

So Leave me be

To burn

To learn

To seek and destroy

Time for intermission

Time for Me

To lay it on the line

Time is running out

And patience is running thin

And I’ll unlock the door

To let myself OUT

The day you’ll let me IN.

Ahhhh, the feeling of the ocean air...my head gone numb, and sweet, sweet insanity!

June 17, 2010

3 a.m.; on the beach in North Myrtle, S.C.

Sitting on the sandbar

Sipping on some relief-bearing drinks

This endless ocean in front of me

When will these waves swallow me whole? Or will they at all?

My eye on the north star

In fluid thought, fueled by fluid

I’ve floated rather far

Sand beneath me

And sky overhead

The stars, they guide me

The lightning; my light

(this is a night for my head to be cleared)

On this beach -

I could live here

And die here

But I need you with me FirST

The air in my hair

This vast empty darkness in front of me

So full of life, unseen

Insomnia has me, once again…

Drinking; again.

But awake.

Wide awake. Not wanting to miss the night.

The night, and it’s silences

Are my companion,

My guide,

As always…

3:35 a.m. Still Beachfront, sitting in front of the Atlantic Breeze Hotel…

Vodka, gone.

Two beers down.

Tokiin’ over the line (sweet jesus).

….Sitting here in my solitude

I have my music (now listening: The Mars Volta - Televators)

I have  nearly everything that I’ll ever need. So I wonder - if this precise, singular, solitary, isolated and personal moment -

Could REALLY be good enough for me

Som e of m y favorite things in front of me-

I have m y crutches ( my hang-ups; fixes ,fuck-ups, etc.)

Here with m e

I can finally  unleash my inner demons

They’ve been pent up

A ll day.

“Pull the pins…”

                        (save m e)

“…..save your gra ce…”

                     (may I be redeemed?)

“…mark these words on his grave…”

                     (or will these crutches trip me and put those words                                            in  stone?)

I’m thinking that the only point of being is the pursuit of the sanctity that I have searched for countless times before.

My companions - my:

                           Music.

                           Pen.

                            Paper.

                           Crutches.

                           (god damn these crutches)

I’m not standing out

I’m trying really hard to blend in. One with Earth and Nature.

Respectful of it, and appreciative.

That’s how I want to blend in - mesh together with the sand and sea (night three).

I’m glad that I’ve gotten this opportunity

To basically make sweet, passionate, hot, sweaty LOVE

To myself.

By pleasuring and reconditioning my very soul;

And drenching it -

Actually - completely submersing it

With alcohol

And cigarettes and the weed (the weed, man - it eases my soul)

And the sounds of the sun, and a portal another world, all in front of me.

I am completely oblivious to anything else besides being calm and feeling drunk (satisfied) and not giving

                                         2 fucks

                     About who’s around me

                     Or what they’re doing

              We’re merely passer-bys.

At last, (actually, once again) I sit alone and feel completely ALIVE

And revitalized.
COULD this be

What the beginning of peace feels like?

Darshan.

“Ultimate contentment” in Hindu…

Is it possible -

At all -

That I have begun to reach a point of satisfaction that results in my happiness?

Sure.

Of course!!!!

I give thanks and great praise to our mother; nature - Earth, for allowing the solitude and peacefulness that brought me to this place.

I have now officially separated myself from well, everything -

And had a total spiritual thing  with nature.

And myself.

I’m beginning to learn that our shortcomings all weigh out along the way. They are the result of other emotions, turned to stronger emotions, which will often lead to misunderstandings

And complex, weird

       Utterly overwhelming

       FRUSTRATION about those very things- the shortcomings of others.

It’s all cake at the end of the day….

              ******************************

                           ***************

This notebook is damp. Moist from the ocean air. And about right now, I sort of wish I had someone here that could take a picture of me at this near total contentment . And I can’t help but to think of a photo of someone whom I hold highly in rank of influence on the writing side of my life -

                     Dr. Hunter S. Thompson.

In said photo, HST is sitting cross-legged on the beach, cigarette in hand, beers in tow, as he looks away from the camera.

This, is what I have just reminded myself of - (As I), sitting cross-legged on the beach with my drinks, beers, a cigarette in one hand, and a pen in the other -

Looking ahead into the sky and everything surrounding me…

Looking, overly sarcastic and menacingly - at the sky; the intermittent lightning and at the people who walk by.

Back to HST -

(He was) A loud voice, and an individual.

                     -but-

I know that he never wanted what he got. Most of it, yes. But not totally wanting everything else; not in every way.

“Because the devil, was an angel too…”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

I WISH that you were here, or that you could at least see me RIGHT now -

I’m a little…

                     Not sober

I’m pretty, well…happy…

And covered in sand . And time is approaching, near and nearer. Soon, I’ll get to have my baby’s beautiful body in my arms, again.

I once heard that “absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

I think of Oliver Stone’s ‘Natural Born Killers’ and Patsy Cline’s “Back in Baby’s Arms”.

              “When them people come here and ask you who done this,

              You tell ‘em - ‘Mickey and Mallory Knox did it! Say it!”

A truly twisted design in the movies that are based on the tangles of love. A fantastic story.

**Insert Big hugE Time Gap HerE***

OH, this night

I’m trying to write

But I am flooded with thoughts in rapid fire succession instead.

I love you, Todd Jacob Williams!!!!

And how I wish; how I wish you were here (we’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl OR are we just two misfits that no one else gets?)

HOW I WISH YOU WERe HERE!!!!!

You shou ld  be sitting here in sand with m e…

We could pretend

That we are making our own “Wicked Games” video and be connected and consumed

              By love

                           And Sand…

(Tonight, I write)

              I LOVE YOU

(and don’t worry ‘bout a thing…Cause every little  things gonna  be  a lright)

You are      m y hope

                My  lust

                My  love

                My dope

If   I ca n have YOU

Then, I ca n be ME

And   now, it’s a bout 5 a.m. .a nd  it’s tim e to   leave this beach.

- fin-

Copyright K. Anne Smith

Beaches, Night Skies and.....Drinks, of course!

At Myrtle Beach…

June 18, 2010

6:52 a.m.

Up all night and still awake. Same deal as the night before, except that I’m completely sober this evening (or morning). Restless, restless. Fidgety legs and hands and fingers. Fluttering eyelashes with wide open eyelids. I am becoming a little worried about a few things. I have had no medicine to keep my brain from feeling overloaded and very strange. I can feel my heart skipping beats. Palpitations, growing frequent and more pronounced as moments pass. There’s the tightening feeling in my chest, and the air becomes thicker as my breathing becomes seemingly more and more labored and heavy.

Hopefully, it will pass as I allow the skin to slip over my eyes and hope for a better feeling when I awake…

Copyright K. Anne Smith

So It's been a long time....

But there Will be more to come... I know you're all excited, and amped to list your reactions as "dumb".

The End.

Chutes and Ladders; Checkmate, Losing the Game Of Life

7-6-2010
3:41 p.m.

Sometime today, probably about 12 hours ago - I started to reconsider some things that I do on a daily basis. Began, perhaps - to gain some kind of insight; like, you know, I got the ‘outside looking in” perspective. Scary stuff.

Someone told me before to write standing up… Like peeing, I suppose… I guess it’s supposed to maybe get the juices flowing. It seems, that it works.
Thanks, Joe.

Incredible reminissions of life-living capabilities or rather, incapabilities - are flooding my mind.

Once again, it’s Day 4 of me not having my 40 mg. Celexa; my SSRI (selective sanity repressing inhibitor)…
100,000 thoughts per minute to about 100 million now…

I’m feeling like motivation is hiding somewhere in chemical form, but that itself is just the illusion.
Was I better without them? I suppose that it depends on which ones we are talking about.
At times, shortly after awakening, I think of:
            Pills
        Weed            Cigarettes   
            Alcohol

Something to make it better. But it’s only made me worse. Discontent; constant discontent.
I AM happy,
        But I am troubled, by myself.
PERHAPS, Rehab isn’t the solution, but maybe counseling, or at least some recognition of my new lease on life should do the trick.
I feel:
        Lackadaisical
    Hopeful, yet unmotivated.
Out of shape
        Out of touch
    (Out of exile??)

The anxiousness has slowly crept back in, seeping through the cracks. I’ve found myself grinding my teeth; repressing thoughts - avoiding thoughts…Gritting my teeth even harder, until my jaw becomes sore.
           
            Deep breaths.
        Deep, deep breaths.
At times, I can only get up and walk around, breathing deeply and holding my head in my hands…
        I hate feeling like this.
I should feel like I always used to - but yet, THAT is a Catch 22.
Minus so much consumption of: alcohol, nicotine…anything else (just about, but not exactly). I used to feel the energy of having energy. But that energy was based in anxiety and nervousness. I’m thinking that my hands always need to be busy, to slow down the brain, maybe…

    I feel frumpy and sluggish and out of shape.
Bloated.
Thick.
I’m beginning to dwell on self-conscious, negative thoughts, even though I’ve got a beautiful soul who tells me everyday that I’m beautiful and sexy and makes me feel wanted.
I guess this may always be my struggle.
The man in the chair, in the corner of my mind…
The thought of Darshan; of peace.
I think of millions of coping strategies, but can only do a few things -
            Breath (deeply)
                        And pace   
                            And tug at hair.
But the anxiety only builds from there.
AND SO, I resort to my old friends, pen and paper.
Something is telling me to go outside and sweat. Exercise. Do something useful or productive. But, here I sit, in the corner of a dimly lit room, barricaded from the outside.
I’ve got many triggers it seems. Triggers, just like the one that pulls the hammer down…
BAM!

Waking to intense brain activity, I only want it to slow,
    BUT I FEED IT!!!!
        YES! --
Let’s take all that nervous energy and add a ton of stiMULAtIoN to it - like nicotine and caffeine and then try to dumb it down, with chemical elation.

        “Kill your health, and kill yourself and kill   everything you love…”
                (the burden in my hand)
WHAT a perfect description of my current state of mind. Killing my health. I have to change the ways of certain things I am always inclined to do. Like smoke and consume and do anything to make my head feel better but the GOD DAMNED THING about ALL of it is that it’s always something FUCKING NEGATIVE!
Bad JuJu!
There it is again, clenching my teeth together and if you, ghost reader - could see the actual handwriting on this page -
It is stabbed into paper, through several sheets, there are still impressions of pen marks.
I am sweating profusely and my frontal lobe of my brain is twisting (or so it feels like) around, no aching involved really, other than the fact that this is driving me INSANE.
I’m sweating and can nearly SEE the toxinsl I can almost taste them through the smell of persperation.
But yet, I’m much, much better than I was nearly a year ago…About nine months ago, the choice way to wake and start the day was espresso and opiates.
    Lots of both.
    But usually more opiates.
Sometimes, they were more plentiful and available than coffee.
AND, with my personality, I say:
            “YESSSSSSS, I would LOVE to InGest Some                             ChemICALS!”
Then, eventually, I realized the misery my soul was morphing through…And I quit. For a little bit.
(Remember, it’s always just for a little bit).
I think that I need to quit doing things. But then (of course), I think “well what fun would life be without drinking or other things?”
Of course. THAT is the whole problem.
Everyday, we must learn to live with things as well as WITHOUT them too.
Ups and downs.
Chutes and ladders…
Checkmate.
Game of Life…
(ShuT UP)

I usually never put too much stock in things like mood rings, but today - the usually bright green and blue ring has turned a dark, dark, ominous blue-black color… I suppose my energy, the actual, physiological changes that occur when our brain chemicals are out of whack are affected by this…Maybe - it’s “ancient Chinese secret”.

            ---------------------------------
When I woke, I thought of two things:
1. “Maybe I have some money in the account today”
2. “Maybe….I can find some good pills today, too…”

Bad, Bad thoughts.
BAD JUJU!

It’s Page 5 now. Current, random thought:
                Can’t breathe.
                But now, I want to SMOKE something. Looking for a notebook that contained a long-gone thought…Thinking of music I want to hear but can’t find…
Thinking about how everyone is asking me if I’ve put on weight - (stop)
Feeling self-conscious. Feelign the need to cloak myself; to hide. But, we’ve already talked about that.
I need something to occupy these “devils playgrounds” of hands, but for now, they only keep writing; keep pouring out spew and shit and mean words; bad thoughts, directed at myself.
Totally overwhelmed.
Repetitive.
And, I’ve found the notebook, and the thought that I had previously captured. It’s suiting to the repitition part of this, this insanity; this madness…

    “I feel a fury - to carve words
                    Into the trees
                    Into the concrete
    Chiseled angrily; splintered unto splinters…
    Shattering layers and years;
    Breaking open new ground
    Shedding new tears
    And old skin…”

-fin-






Copyright K. Anne Smith

tHE bOTToM LInE!

FUCK:    Meds
        Alcohol
        Cigarettes
        Xanax
And all the other crutches
That hold you (me) up.

I’m about done with them.
But I want them, and I don’t want to let go.
I want to free my mind but
I don’t know if I can do that without those things…

So, fuck it.
I quit trying to quit.

Copyright K. Anne Smith

7-15-2010
3:50 p.m.

When it all began -
Was when there was innocence, and -
We were small
And we were strong
Because we were pure

So now, life has shaped us
And harm has made it’s ways
And our parents’ triumphs
And failures
Have molded our personalities

I thank my father
For showing me what it is
To be selfless
And my mother was the
Example of selfishness
And they still are
And I’ve met in the middle somewhere…


The pictures painted used to be of me
Nowadays, they’re only of what I see
Thank you, experience
For being my best teacher
For reminding me that I can always change
But that no one should change me
For worse
Of course
I can only allow it to happen
Or stop it in it’s tracks

I live in a lost city
But it’s no Atlantis
I live in memory
And avoid the present madness

I give and give away
It’s my realization
That my intentions are good
And the things that I never get back (it’s okay, for today)

Show me your
gratitude
And forget the only child
attitude
And for Christ’s sake - Open up to let someone Love You,
Fucker.


Copyright K. Anne Smith