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Doing Time

Flagg — Sun, 16 Sep 2007 00:19:41 +0000

So, progress.

Like everything else right now, it’s all agonizingly slow.

The most important element is one that has surfaced in a few ways, emerging from different cyphers until even I could no longer ignore it. The depression has rolled back a bit as the pain has eased – still hovering, but no longer defining me.

But that’s the question- a question of definition. If not depression, then what?

It was pointed out to me in a conversation with Ken Soulhuntre, who was once again there when I needed him, that it’s not external definition that has changed; it’s the internal definition that needs updating. An overhaul of Avatar. It’s not masculinity, virility – that was an outside definition, and my physical changes scarcely touch my self definition in terms of how I defined myself to the world. But to myself? Bigger issue.

I’m getting closer to addressing the idea of the voids in my life, of taking people into my service again, on a short term basis. But to do that, I have to be aware of what I have to offer, and what I don’t. I have to learn to walk again, in more than one context.

I have to adjust the internal avatar to match the outer a little better; to embody what I do offer more fully rather than mourning what I don’t, in order to be able to offer anything at all. Which means I have to shake some ghosts.

And I have to remember that all healing takes time.

Hollow Man

Flagg — Sun, 09 Sep 2007 01:59:15 +0000

I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite this way before.

I want to call people up and make my problems theirs to help me shoulder- but they can’t, and I won’t. I want to call my twin, but she has gone into another life, and our time is done. I want to call my boy, my animal, my pixie; I want to wail and moan and make them somehow make it all better, make me clean, make me whole, make me feel like there is something in me.

My brothers break their backs for me, or they ignore me until I’m useful. Either way, they either do too much already, or offer nothing. My oldest friend is silent and distant, I miss him terribly, but I can’t make him come back and be with me.

Do you know how much I miss you?

Where have you gone?

I know it’s payment.I know in my life I’ve had more than most can ever dream, and this is payment due.

I just don’t know how much more I can pay before the bill becomes too large to bear.

Mother, please.

Please.

I don’t know who else to ask for help, and even if I did, I don’t know how.

Should

Flagg — Sun, 23 Apr 2006 21:54:00 +0000

I spent some time chasing ghosts. I’m done with that, now.

Everybody pays. The check will always come sometime. This is as terrible as it is inevitable.

If you spend all your time looking back, you stay stuck where you are. There is no way to reclaim what’s lost, no way to move forward… and even more terrible, more paralyzing, is the feeling that one can somehow reclaim what has never been. What we deserved.

Our lives come with expectations. We make our choices based on those dreams. Choices become clear as the future lays out ahead of you- well lit and open. There will be curves and potholes along the way; we all know this- but we decide that the risks are worth it, the hurdles not so daunting when compared with tne destination, with dreams of Home.

You’ll get there. It’s on the map, Right here. Look. The map says so. It’s like a promise.

But what you cannot prepare for is not being able to take that road at all.

You can stare at it in the rear view as long as you want. It will never be out of sight as long as you are looking for it. And it’s so hard to look away. “It’s not supposed to be this way. It’s not the way this was supposed to go.”

“This is not like it should be”

My sister knows this.

She also knows how to deal with it.

Sometimes, you have to have a funeral.

It does not matter if you mourn for what was, or for what never was. The secret to funerals is that you can’t stay there… eventually you have to walk away from the grave. And if you are not going to be who you were, what you wanted, what you thought you deserved- what options are left to you?

She told me only that you are allowed to grieve for what you lost, for what you wanted, for what you never had. You can grieve for a dream. The rest suddenly made sense to me. And I was able to stop chasing ghosts. They will always be there if I look for them, never far behind. Sometimes you will want to revisit a grave, and you will always be able to find it.

It’s the one marked “should“.

“Dreams make no promises.”
Neil Gaiman

“History is an angel, blowing backwards into the future
and the angel wants go go back

and fix things that are broken

but there is a storm blowing

from Paradise..”
Laurie Anderson

Everybody Knows…

Flagg — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows that the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows

Everybody knows that the boat is leaking
Everybody knows that the captain lied
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died

Everybody talking to their pockets
Everybody wants a box of chocolates
And a long stem rose
Everybody knows

Everybody knows that you love me baby
Everybody knows that you really do
Everybody knows that you’ve been faithful
Ah give or take a night or two
Everybody knows you’ve been discreet
But there were so many people you just had to meet
Without your clothes
And everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows

And everybody knows that it’s now or never
Everybody knows that it’s me or you
And everybody knows that you live forever
Ah when you’ve done a line or two
Everybody knows the deal is rotten
Old Black Joe’s still pickin’ cotton
For your ribbons and bows
And everybody knows

And everybody knows that the Plague is coming
Everybody knows that it’s moving fast
Everybody knows that the naked man and woman
Are just a shining artifact of the past
Everybody knows the scene is dead
But there’s gonna be a meter on your bed
That will disclose
What everybody knows

And everybody knows that you’re in trouble
Everybody knows what you’ve been through
From the bloody cross on top of Calvary
To the beach of Malibu
Everybody knows it’s coming apart
Take one last look at this Sacred Heart
Before it blows
And everybody knows

-Everybody knows

Ah I don’t believe you’d like it,
You wouldn’t like it here.
There ain’t no entertainment
and the judgements are severe.
The Maestro says it’s Mozart
but it sounds like bubble gum
when you’re waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.

-Waiting For the Miracle

Give me back my broken night
my mirrored room, my secret life
it’s lonely here,
there’s no one left to torture
Give me absolute control
over every living soul
And lie beside me, baby,
that’s an order!

Give me crack and anal sex
Take the only tree that’s left
and stuff it up the hole
in your culture
Give me back the Berlin wall
give me Stalin and St Paul
I’ve seen the future, brother:
it is murder.

-The Future

This may be the start of something good…

Flagg — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

I may have just gotten a freelance gig doing what I’m best at… for a ridiculously good rate. Training. Holy hell.

My first consultation would be next week.

Maybe four hours a week. Maybe six.

If word spreads, I may end up embarking on a very, very unconventional career.

Heh.

Flagg — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

“Why have you got half a brick, there?”

“I’m saving up for a house.”

-Sam Vimes - Night Watch by Terry Prachett

You are. I am. We are. Hallelujah.

Flagg — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

I am serving My mother. I am carrying her where I walk.

I am carrying her into the realities of others, into where she wants to be. I am serving My mother by being her horse, her mouth, her hands, her voice. I am serving My mother when I sing, when I open the gates of her temple. I am one of my mother’s gatekeepers. I stand for her at the gate, I lift only the outermost veil so that others may enter into her strength and radiance.

When I am serving my mother, she cares for Me and allows Me to sit in her lap. Sometimes I am her channel. Sometimes I am her pet.
I manifest her energy, as presence. It is a dance of chaos. I manifest her energy by bringing her dominance into presence, so that others may give her what they will, what she may want.

She is a terrifying mother. When I create terror in another, by psychic or physical means, I take them into her presence. I enable transformation, if that is what is chosen.
What happens in the temple is not of me. I open the gate,
I guard, I wait outside, with comfort after the fear, after the power is revealed.

It is an odd dance of feelings, mother destroyer lover warrior.

My mother slays demons. I can only show her where they are.
I serve my mother by showing people their own demons, and leading them to her so they may make sacrifices of them.
Those who have enough of demons will offer them to my mother.

Some will choose to keep them. It is never forced. Those who keep their demons often turn away in rage. I wait by the temple gate.
Only sometimes My mother will catch Me when I fall, but she will always hold Me once I arise.

I have always served My mother.

When I didn’t know her, I served her. I was told it was wrong, that she didn’t exist.

I was lied to.

My mother has many sisters. They all have servants.

Some of Us serve at the gates, some of Us tend the fires, some of us serve food. Some of Us serve for lifetimes, some serve only for moments.

All service is rendered due. One cannot pretend to serve. If one claims a role, it will be played eventually.

While I am bound by consent, she is not. She does not “demand” absolute submission, as that would imply there was a choice in the matter.

One can choose to directly acknowledge her, but there is no choice in where you walk, and what her will is. By serving My mother as gatekeeper, I have many aspects. There are no limits on how I play My part.

There are many doors, and no one uniform is required.

I am serving in My mother’s house. My key opens many doors. Not all. Not even one in nine.
Sometimes the key is a word. Sometimes the key is a whip. Sometimes the key is a hand on the heart and a soft lap. Sometimes the key is a rattan cane singing in the air.
Sometimes the key is shiny and sharp.
Sometimes the door opened is not the one expected.

I am serving in My mother’s house.

I am the machine and She is the operator. I am the house and She is the indweller. I am the chariot and She is the charioteer. I move as She moves Me; I speak as She speaks through Me.

-the Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna

Keys in hand, we move as One.

:Gasp:

Flagg — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

:surfaces and grabs a breath:

OK- real quck, the flu has kicked my ass soundly since Xmas. I am only beginning to feel normal now.

Due to Hard Drive failure, I am unable to access my address book, and have been unable to for weeks- so if you have not heard from me(Gail, Giamio) it’s because of my inability to get contact info- just drop me a note and I’ll prove I’m still alive.

Some funny stuff later, as an insane spectre from my past continues to publically humiliate herself for my entertainment, and that of sane people everywhere.

Dreams Make No Promises

Flagg — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

First I cut off my left ring finger. I don’t remember doing that- but it was gone. It only seemed appropriate, though.

At some point, standing on the street, I severed my left arm below the elbow. I then spent some time burning the severed limb with a lighter, admiring it, adorning it, scarring and burning patterns into it.

I put it in a bag, and started making my way home. I realized that I only had one arm, looked at the stump, and began to panic, knowing I could not reattach it. I beganto wonder if I needed help, who to go to. I made my way through an almosty familiar city, unable to reead the subway signs, but recognizing the colors of the lines- which made me realize that I did not know which way my home was, and that my arm was never, ever going to grow back. Irrevocable, terrible loss, of my own doing.

When I woke up, I stared at my arm for a long time, flexing it, making certain it was real.

You know… Like you do.

Sure it’s crooked…

Flagg — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

…but it’s the only game in town.

“Once he was dressed, he looked more normal. Grave, though. She wondered how far he had traveled, and what it had cost him to return. He was not the first whose return she had initiated; and she knew that, soon enough, the million-year stare would fade, and the memories and the dreams that he had brought back from the tree would be elided by the world of things you could touch. That was the way it always went.”

“It’s like one of those dreams that changes you. You keep some of the dream forever, and you know things down deep inside yourself, because it happened to you, but when you go looking for details they just kind of slip out of your head.”

”Yeah.” Said Mr. Nancy. And then he said, grudgingly, “You’re not so dumb.”

”maybe not,” said Shadow. “But I wish I could have kept more of what passed through my hands…”

“And, in the moonlight, the second sight posessed her for a final time, and she saw her brother Agasu. He was not the twelve year old boy she had last seen in the Bridgeport market, but a huge man, bald and grinning with broken teeth, his back lined with deep scars. His right arm was barely a stump.

She reached out her own good left hand.

“Stay, stay awhile,” she whispered. “I will be there. I will be with you soon.”

Neil Gaiman - American Gods