writing practice

Suddenly

I was in a giant warehouse. All around me was

Gray.

Miserable.

Inside of me:

1.) Hands with long fingernails squeezing unforgivingly my cartoon heart, big and bloody, deep red and pounding, pulpitating violently with a loud beat.

Action: drowning.

2.) Black. Deep. This color demonic. So thick it is humanized. It becomes an object. When you look at it, you weep miserably.

3.) A tentacled monster tightly suffocating my intestines like a snake. Ouch. It’s purple, blue and aphyxiating me.

Only comparable to the feeling that hounds me when I see a KKK costume or hear something about BDSM. There is confusion and misapprehension of the cause, of the effect;

being on a totally different plane, coming from a different solar system. The essence of these things is so thick when I think about them that I can’t breathe. I can’t understand.

I can’t breathe. I can’t understand. I could only feel:

The incomprehensible feeling of the lining right beneath your skin being shattered like hard glass, caused by the realization of being irreverably trapped;

panic, crisis, escape. I need to escape but there is no way. I am being eaten! Help me!

I panicked more. I wrestled more. Not only internally, but externally, for I was trapped in a giant sea of raw meat. I panicked. Panicked as I had never panicked before, because I knew someone was keeping me here, torturing me. I thought of the Jews in concentration camps and shuddered; this is what it was like.

The meat hurt. It burned and pricked and ate at you. And you knew that there was someone keeping you in there because of a special type of evil. Torture for unbelievable reason; for the sake of torture, for the sake of death and ego.

I glanced around, knowing that there were men in charge of this, watching me and laughing. My heart was rotating steadily like a pinwheel, as it was being squeezed and crushed by the horror that enveloped my entire body. I was drowning, I was trapped, and I was going to die because men are keeping me hostage and abusing every faculty I own. I am being crushed. I am not surviving, and yet panic keeps me alive and begs me to escape. Escape, because your friends are in here, too. They are trapped. Your husband is trapped. Help yourself and get out!

I do. I ran away from the red terror that once enveloped me, and threw myself into a hotel lobby. We were running because we were being chased. We knew the evil men wanted us back, wanted to twist us in their fingers again and break us and crush us because they were evil.

The “safe hotel” I had begged the man at the service desk for was no refuge; I knew they would find me again, and I would be tortured. This was my greatest fear. I did not want to die. How does anyone humanly bear this type of suffering? To be subjected to painful torture and treated less than human for the pleasure of someone else

How?

-end dream

 

Dreaming

I’m 22 and I’m clawing around for life. Seesawing between here or there, this thing or that thing, this dream or that dream. I’m 22! I want to scale down and run around and let sun beams soak into my skin on spontaneous road trips. I know it sounds cliche, to go round and round all day spending precious few resources on travel. It’s what everyone who is 22 wants to do – overextend your money with your best friends on adventure and recklessness and sudden whim. Take in the blue sky and blue lakes and cleanse your soul with romance. Of course that’s what we want to do! We’re 22. But more than that, I want to go to shows – I want to dance. I want to sing and dance in tune with the motion of my multi-colored necklaces and the beaded strings hanging off of my crop top cotton. I want to learn to flow, to swing, to groove with my hands. I want baptized in art; use clouds of Panama Red to immerse me. Use the clashing cymbals and banging beats of bands to pound it into my soul. Use campfire to make it pure. Use fungi and make tea. Rock and roll to make me whole. I want fire to start in my core and bleed into my heart, with fierce orange waves of smoke and scattering ember. I don’t care if I’m deep and lost in the middle of one more what-for binge, as long as I’m not a bored and sore for all the things I didn’t do done did. The adventures I never hid have had. For all the dreams I never said saw seen. And all the other lucky people who lived all of my dreams.

20 joints for a month. 20 bucks for a show. 20 hours in a day if you don’t sleep, let’s go.

I want to take art classes. I want to refine my skills. I want to buy a fancy camera and start snapping away. I want to paint, draw, create. I want to dance. I want to go. I want to buy beautiful clothes and nice products to make me happy. I want friends. I want my own group of friends, where I belong and where I’m loved. I want bars, I want alcohol, I want marijuana. I want fun, memorable nights out with friends. I want to feel good, look good, all the time. I want to spend money on expensive organic food from farmers markets and feed my body what it wants. I want to binge watch whole seasons of anime. I want to read what I want to read, when I want to read it. I want to think and analyze life, the way I want to. I want to ponder. I want mystery and adventure. I want kids. I want love. I want to paint my toenails. I want to go to nice restaurants. I want to eat out. I want to eat out, in London. In Paris. In Tokyo. I want to get out of here. I want to move to Cali. I want to serve myself and take care of myself. I want to sleep in. I want to learn. I want to listen to music. I want to be myself. Find myself. Explore the world and find pieces of myself as I go.

…God?

If I choose to follow you, what does that mean? How much do I have to give up? How much can I keep? Can I even know? Is it even worth it? How do I know? Can you show me? Can you help me? Can I please do both, keep the fun but follow you, too? Can I spend my money how I want? Or do I always need to be thinking about other people? Do you know how hard that is? Do you understand how much you require? Do you know how hard that is? Do you? Do you even expect that to be possible for us? Do you expect me to choose, and how? How do you expect me to make such a significant decision? How do all these people decide so quickly that you’re the best thing to follow? How do I set everything aside?

This is ridiculous.