dog days done

the small trail of cooking smells suddenly attacks me and the reality sets in. theres another one in that garage.its not far as the crow flies but i have to walk and the cover around the tumbledown structure is spotty at best. someone has cut down most of the trees and the bramble bushes and shrub are all to low to keep me hidden.all i have is the 4 inch blade with the tape wrapped handle thrust into a cardboard cover to keep it from ripping out my worn pocket.i choose to sit here at a distance behind this overgrown hedge and wait out the mysterious chef du jour across the way.a dog barks with a eager sound, and i can almost hear a sudden hush command. the emptiness is unbroken except by an occasional flitter of a small bird or the skitter of some falling roof pieces blowing in the morning breeze. the small structure is windowless on this side and i decide to chance approaching to a closer inspection. the smoke from the fire is well masked but the odor of some unknown meat cooking is unmistakable. it reminds me of some venison i once had, but i havent seen a deer since last september. from a block closer theres still only the faded green wooden walls and the smell thats drawing applause from my salivary glands. my taste buds get the better of me and i crawl forward until i can hear some movement inside and a low growl. i back away to the side street and listen. i hear the door scrape open from the unseen side and then im surprised to see a small girl holding her dog around the neck. even at this distance i can see she is sightless in one eye and her left leg is twisted from some deformity. her blond hair hangs over her empty eye socket and she looks momentarily ordinary. i quickly stand up and announce myself.
Hey, I'm a friend, really. I don't want to have to fight your dog. can you hold him?
i hold out my empty hands as a peace gesture and she backs away quickly screaming a command and letting the dog go. well what did i expect, friendship? the dog exploded towards me, almost as fast as i could draw my blade. i figured it would be dog for dinner if not the venison. i heard the door slam and uneven footsteps clambering away from behind the garage. then it was all fur and fangs and i was too preoccupied with slashing the mongrels throat to follow where she went.

ten times done

outside in the gray gloom of morning somewhere, the blossoming continues. nature unabated by the disaster, sails on bringing forth her miracles as if there was some purpose and reason or even someone to appreciate it. here is the work without fruit, except it is fruit just uneaten. the rotted remains fill with insects and nothing is wasted, only humans are gone , the strangely quiet world revolves through its region of space unstoppable except for some cataclysmic event which has already occurred in microcosmical reality, in the domain of the planets it has yet to happen and is less likely due to the stringent controls we cannot imagine are imposed on that layer of reality. i see a small flurry of white and green covering acres of fences and wrapping through the demolished blocks of tract houses now just the homes of rats and wild dogs. the bodies have disappeared in the overgrown scenery and probably add to the lushness of the foliage. i am amazed at the pristine resurgence of the natural order where every possible seed or spore or shoot has its place and its opportunity to grow, wild weeds and domesticated flowers, bushes from around the world , planter boxes and cracks in the streets and sidewalks all offering perfect mediums of growth.a broken window flashes as the sun comes out from behind a westering cloud, the wind barely felt down here is hauling the creatures of the sky mightily away to work and water where they are needed. i see something cut across the brightness of the reflection and drop behind a wall of shrubbery gone wild. the next street over is a jungle of poinsettias and rhododendrons with massive poplar and oaks. there is a light colored garage still standing and i can see a small indented trail leading around it. it could be a trail of escaped animals from the pens outside of town where the massacre used to continue unending, now its abattoir is left silent but stained forever with the smell of death.

post approximate

22,059th day. a thursday, in the year 2011. no rescue ship is coming, i will die on this backward planet. somewhere the controls were lost and the rebirth mechanism faulted and i was born here.previous to the era when i was from. the physical pain is becoming overwhelming, the 3 major diseases are asserting themselves in the body and the surgeries are uneducated cutting away of the flesh and tissue. i had hope for a few years that i had made contact with others in my same predicament but, finally even i had to realize they were just sporting mutants products of irradiated foods and water, genetic throwaheads reverting as they clambered too quickly up the genomic ladder. the memories i was imprinted with are faded and worn i can barely recall who i was supposed to be, the few real memories are just shining light off of glaasy spires in fields of green and lilac. i have no one to share any of this with, no soultender no mergelove all is freakish and dull, the couplings of animals and beatings. i prefer this solitary existence, where each is the meaning for themselves, not obligated or expecting, not affected by the whims and worries of the human sort.when this world wakens the earth will fall into ruin and the class of being in control will suffer greatly. no more reliance on artifical intelligence, no bellowing vehicles and massive bulk packaging and shipment of life dulling goods. all will become very personal and deadly, no more thought of paradise, just reality every day. those that can will survive at any cost, the rest slaughtered. i have my mountains and the small wheeled life support, hidden from everyone, the water comes from the snow melt and underground reservoirs high in the granite obtrusion. food is in cans and theres traps bow and arrows and a small rifle to sustain. farming will be a while as this altitude wont manage much in the way of agriculture. and i wont head down until the bodies have dessicated beyond disease and hungry scavengers. i will keep this diary until i either die or find a way to be born in my rightful era, either way i'll be done here.

terrible truth

back at work, the eternal hyper kinetic playground for pain. i arrived this morning with my back seizing, taking my breath away with its intense pressure. I realize i have been putting all my weight on my right shoulder constantly to avoid any on the still fresh stitches on my left shoulder. Its caused my middle spine to twist and pinch a nerve. I am damaged, my knee joining in to twist to the right every time i take a stair. i feel like a car broken down on the side of the freeway, pummelled by the blast of wind as every 18 wheeler rushes past. the world seems like a stone grinding machine and im an old rock, eventually becoming polished but going through the abrasions of the process hoping i dont split along a hidden fracture before i am done. I have finished reading Spiritual warfare and i feel differenter, unusually so. theres a terrible truth in his words that brings up in me the recognition that ive already been through this, im just picking up the piece or two thats left and dusting myself off, looking at the forlorn reality of truth, and feeling free to get going.maybe its my time and im just realizing it, the words are like my thoughts, the actions arising from my psychic recognition of where ive ended up. theres been the constant message for two months now, that i need to go, i dont have any reason anymore to stay. it was all about helping her and now thats not needed, what remains is a vacuum of need, of feeling of connection. i finally got it that its my psychic letting me know its done. i need to go and be in my own space and while thats not SD either it will have to do for a few weeks while i recover and then go.i feel all prakriti's stuff she throws at me to get me hooked, but nothing comes up. im empty and the triggers aren't firing, i walk like the unnamed gunslinger through the wasteland, roland and the 3 fingered gun.

still asleep

sunday and its not any better than the last.meditation is like a narcotic, theres , no truth anymore just varying degrees of lies. i lie about myself and about who i am, i lie about what i want or need or even think. i lie about what is real and what i feel. theres no end to the deception. who am i? thats a trick question, the truth is not possible so every answer is another lie. truth has no voice, no witness no truth for dummies or how to do it yourself books. we are all the opposite of what we think we are, theres no explaining the truth, but plenty of explanations for the lies. i know im tired, thats for sure, this process is like shrink wrapping, your compressing what is into the smallest space and then removing anything that might touch it and then sucking the life out of it, the last step is throwing it on the fire like one of those presto logs, made from the waste products of who we were. the sleep is stupid, i run from my dreams, i want the narcosis of death, the end of knowing, the sleep of the undead is always waiting, zombie processing, im not there, i dont know what is happening i just know it is. but what is this, i started somewhere, it was a happy place, some dream state of love and forces of connection and being, now its different, i cant say how, its just not as fuzzy and warm, its more like walking downtown at 2:30 am and theres no place for you to go, and its cold enough to make your breath fog the air in front of you. and i realize, i dont have anyplace to call my own, everything is a dream and i've stepped out, woken up, but it feels hopeless, not like waking up relieved, just realizing maybe, im still sleeping.

going nowhere

it seems everything is ended or at least suspended. the lack of interaction. the emptiness of feeling, the avoid dance in the house. maybe ive tread on sacred toes or broken the divine law but if so i have no idea. today is just another emptiness to add with the others. luckily i have plenty of space for more. i feel as if my ego, my sense of importance is being punctured as well it should be as well as my stupid fear of rejection and avoidance of pain. i am going at the wall, if not at full tilt at least with determination and the impact is cracking my smug nature and feeling of being integral to anything. whats beyond this impediment i have no idea, probably just more piles of my own crap and pretty pictures of what i think they should be seen as. the truth is somewhere but i am nowhere near wherever that is.more surgeries coming up, this time on my back and i feel helpless, i wont even be able to clean and bandage myself. i wont be here for a couple of weeks, im going to fore go the pleasure of sharing the one bathroom with 7 people and the hours and hours of foreign language class without benefit of a teacher. i dropped the van off at last with an actual mechanic who will hopefully be able to fix the problem, then i'll have my own space wherever i go even if its nowhere.

baying of the dogs

the list of offenses grows, the minds eye resolves on the tiniest misstep. what is the length of time one can suffer the most. i precisely identify each millimeter of pain and every instant of delight, any inkling of truth is lost immediately with the closing of the mind to all but the internal past and future.where is the emptiness the darkness lit with pinkish blush and tapers smoldering red and smoking. i wander as a jerusalem of the heart, split and divided, the home of god, the keeper of the broken promise.who am i, i laugh, not a question but an accusation, what have i become without wanting to become anything. this life's highway is littered with the bones of my fellow travelers, each and every already given up to the inevitable, the huge wastebasket of souls, netted and returned for more mayhem and abandonment. the truth is here in this predicament in the pain in the hopeless foraging for a crumb a drop of what it is. i cling to my battered covers and empty plastic remnants displaying them proudly, this is mine i say this is what i have done, people look away as if i am contagious, and maybe i am. theres nothing left behind i havent trampled into trash and everything i touch has the taste of molded bread and spoiled fruit. my thoughts are curdled milk and vodka shooters erupting later into alleyway walls and trash bins. what hapless creature of the night sidles through the darkened ways to escape, to avoid the light even as he proclaims his tragic dramas. i punch the clock and sleep away my life praying to my almighty self to send me a bone. i dream of crippled sheep and storm sounding horns in lighthouses tossed by waves. the holy ocean revolves inside my head and i roll to and fro with the rhythm and sicken with the tides. awake and awash with unsettled feelings its a pastime i have no stomach for, looking for my home that i burned in the dark for light and ending up here in the mist of the mind, asleep awake i cant tell anymore the sliver of my thoughts are forgotten and declined. i resemble the last clown at the closing of the carnival, the face paint streaked and the merry smile punctured with spit and tobacco, a last moment with the children and the sirens are approaching, i run with the baying of the dogs, searching for that last call of the wild from the backyard fence.