self winding

i approach my life as if it were my own personal toy, a lovely gimbeled swiss watch kind of a thing that i have modified and added on to over many decades until it is like almost part of me. a little precious piece of myself that i cannot part with. the very experience of what i am and who i want to be. but the truth is its who it wants to be and does what it wants me to. i some times have so little control i feel like it is wearing me rather than the other way around. i imagine i wind and wash and set and program and manage this little thing but it doesnt turn out that way. when it feels pain so do i when it is happy i am ecstatic, when it has problems, i go to pieces.how did things ever get this way. i know i had help and plenty of excuses for staying in the guidelines and limitations of my set values and expectations. but i played loose with the rules to a point, i didnt want to be like all the others, dishing out dirt on those that depended on them. but what did i know, what made my choices any better or worse? i feel the pain of torturing myself and easing my frustrations like a dog licking himself after a vicious fight.the light is empty for me and the dark a well of nightmares. some i have lived others i can only imagine.
now i try to do the best thing the right thing the only thing. i stay in my heart and in my psychic, but when i come out of it everything dissolves into chaos and corruption, fright and self loathing, what was i doing , what was i thinking, how can i make this stop?
but there is no off key and the only motion is on, straight ahead, oblivion and damnation, sure collapse and complete humiliation for wanting something that no one cares about but you. i try to make it work for everyone but that just heaps the scorn and anger higher, the degradation and contempt, the pain is like glass shards under the fingernails hot with infection and swelling. meditation comes and goes, sometimes the perfection of release after the agony of dismal obscurities and unending attachments are cast off, other times the release never comes. is there love in here or is that just my own imagination, what can i trust in this world or in the world i think i am in. its all more than a game and less than mine,i feel like a tool and a plodder a craftsperson not the artisan, somewhere the truth is hiding keeping a sharp eye out that i do not find it, so i make my own and wonder, is this what i really am, a solipsistic conundrum searching for validation and experiences that mean nothing except they exist as do i somewhere in this chaotic mess.