or Ruptures & Dithers So much depends on a rupture.The Rapture erupts as old bonds corruptReleasing, decreasing the nothingAnd no thing can existOr insist itself upon what consistsWith blissFully underWear and tear exposedA flare across what once was bareExtending the Kosmos by a thin hair. Nothing changes without cataclysmOn some level.

Strength: Take all ten swords and make a pincushion. / We’ve a new reality of warping woofing weaving.

Deeper in the gutter go / Find the darkest place you know

A circular portrait of morning mourning the end of solitude & home.

Zeke, take the wheel! Keep it turning while I turn in.

Mi mater like water / Flown down to a well / Deeper than Hell

And today, without my mother, we are adrift. Twins out at sea, using the oars that life gave us to paddle to a shore that flickers in and out of sight.

I feel like the 9 of Wands, like I'm standing guard with nothing but my heart and passion to wield.

I learned to love an open G chord In the round and before I knew the sound could be more Than my thoughts could restore

I've needed light lately. I've been in the dark. And I was drawn to yellow, drawn to draw in yellow.

It has been five weeks. It will be the rest of my life. That is absolutely harrowing.

On this day we labor to remember the promise of memorial.

Sigmund and his cousin Schaden Snicker in some Faustian garden Having sealed a phyrric bargain Cashing prophets on the margin Me, I'm Jung again.

Forty-six years of twisting myself into shapes that never felt right. Then grief arrived, and with it, the only question that still makes sense: closer to love, or farther from it?

The phases are quintessential aren't they? Five of them. Like the elements. But the fifth element... The Quinta Essentia. What holds it all together when it wants to fall apart?

This summer has taught me that life is too short. Life has always been a struggle for me... forcing myself into day-to-day life in accordance with neurotypical standards is like jamming a square peg into a tiny round hole, and it has caught up to me.

"Mud packing into shale packing into sediment — earning its keep digging deep, deep, deep..."

A floor becomes a sea, a gallery becomes a dive point — an illustrated poem about escaping servitude and finding a pod to swim toward paradise with.

"Every trip home from Buffalo used to end in devastation — a nervous system that only knew one direction to grieve. This week, for the first time, the love traveled south instead."

There's not much science to back it up. I dowsed for a spot. Walked toward what felt right.

Air is violently bellowed through, blowing out impurities — carbon, silicon, detritus.... Some of the carbon is processed back in, and under intense and loving human ingenuity, an element is alloyed into a synthetic wonder — man-made, yet of nature. Everybody loves my mom, because she is the quiet foundation that holds us all together and aloft.

I physically get up. Look for a door. Go through. Can't outrun it. Why even try? Freeze, fall, flail. Face.

Cliche caches in in the end. A most loyal obedient friend. It's good to be king Of one tiny thing On which your life may depend.

You play the cards you're dealt — until you can't. What happens after every trade, bluff, and plea has been exhausted is where the real work begins. A meditation on bricolage, Camus, and a wily king who cheated Death twice before he ever touched a boulder.

We are born dependent. We will die dependent. The space between depends on how much we fight or embrace that notion.

Like a train that begins to accelerate or decelerate, when the trajectory of life banks for an upcoming turn, all the individual parts that seemed to be a cohesive self start to scatter along their individual vectors. You dissolve, disintegrate, feel shattered, but like a murmuration of starlings, you somehow hold it together. There's a force within that permeates without. The panicked effort to hold yourself together is a reactionary illusion to a fear of dissolving — but those pieces have a memory that transcends time and space.

Some of the most interesting words in the Engish language begin with a psylent consonant.

I Am: A Play On Words I am a play on wordsIamb, a play on wordsNo rhyme or reason for rhythm to seize the cadenceBefore it fades into backgroundCosmic radiation and sonic swoon...How many angels were pierced by the head of this pen?Bleeding ink whenever I think toArticulate, gesticulate at the black sky…

I'll never heal because I feel everything. It's all a mess, but I confess — this is my nest.

You have a way with people, Tommy. You are thoughtful and caring. People see that. I'm proud of you. You do it naturally. He thinks I do this naturally?

We walk backward into the future, only seeing the past clearly.

How many times in my life can I Have feelings without words? A lot to process Process the process Profess to possess Refuse to confess What words can't finesse It looks like a mess From outside the fortress I built to harness Contain more or less Wave hands & then bless Before I digress In the name of progess I am traveling at rest.

The man pulls a small stool next to the bed. It wasn't there before, the stool. At least he didn't notice it.

"He asked me to reach out to you. He said you would know what to do."

My letters form in shadow but will soon see light as I fill the page. As I get out of their way.

She said it with admiration. She said, You are wise beyond your years. Mom validated that, even though this feeling in my chest could hurt sometimes, it was a strength to cherish. That validation would be the everlasting protective veneer on a psyche bombarded with labels like too sensitive, too intense, or even weak.

I feel a clearing this morning. When you think of the psyche as an energy system it all makes more sense. You really can't get to the parts that matter without a quantum view of the energetic psyche. The Self is a fractal. This is fundamental. If you go looking inward hoping to find something solid to grab onto you will be in torment. (Maybe there is something there, but I've not yet found it.) What I've found is that it's an asymptotic fractal. You zoom towards what looks like solid ground only to zoom by... ...because at this resolution it's all here now. Going inward I realize I am infinite ∞ Every shaped structure passing by, a guidepost, a reminder to see that the deeper I go in, the more I can see out. Butterfly. Butterfly. Butterfly.

I don't think you want to sleep your life away. I think you want a life where you can sleep when you're tired and live when you're awake. I think you want a life you don't want to escape from. I think you want a life you are free to create... your magnum opus.

0850 — at some point I stopped being purely me and became someone I thought more acceptable to society. I picked up an attitude here, an affect there, a shield, a weapon... a patchwork of energy fields obscuring, creating, destroying... The most "me" threaded within & without the whole fucking thing. My midlife trick is to turn it inside out and see what's left. Pull the silver thread, extricate from masked and fraying burlap. Scraping. You're a new universe to weave.

A dirty little secret I've learned from that quiet voice behind the curtain in my mind is that I have no clue what I'm doing, and everything good I make is actually coming from a much deeper reserve. I'm just the figurehead.

I've been a square egg on a brown knoll my whole life. I've never fit, and it's never fit me. But oh, how I sanded edges here, sharpened curves there. Sawdust and metal shavings, blood and picked scabs, and a z-shaped scar...

With no structure I'm a boneless chicken, a gelatinous being, Speaker of the House. But with too much structure I'm Hannibal Lecter on a hand truck. I live in the gray area. That gray area can be the bane of my existence, but like most challenging fields, there's treasure buried in the muck.

Bracing. Heart racing. Memory tracing Forever facing leaning In every direction at once Quantum, I laugh at you quantum To you it's all quanta, But if you wanna Know my strong opinion your hedging when you're keening Fear careening courseward leaning forward And I haven't even left my chair.

The intricate relationship between autism and ADHD presents a unique neurodivergent experience termed AuDHD. This phenomenon reveals a struggle between the desire for structure and the need for novelty, leading to a "pretzeline state." This state embodies the turmoil of psychosomatic distortions, yet within it lies the potential for creativity and growth, reflecting the complexity of existence.

Sometimes I feel more alone than alone. Because no matter who is around The beetle in the box is suffocating. So I open my head to let him breathe.

The alchemy of the linguistic stim. I once read a piece by Grant Morrison on Chaos Magick and creating a sigil. Morrison is a modern-day shaman, a psychonautic genius who channels profound truths into the two-dimensional universe of the graphic novel. I read his piece as part of a compendium by a group called Disinformation. This goes back at least 20 years.

ALT: a man is hugging a boxing glove with a sticker on it that says `` hello bob '' .