Away from the drunken discourse..

In the new...

Haven't written for ages, it's difficult- being so out of kilter with my self. Dissolving behind enemy lines, word and tongue blind. The frozen magazine guns of empty. Last year was horrific, and twisted and blessed, inward progression under so much unequivocal press. And words don't come easy in the effort to construct, express or even negotiate a mind scattered by the elements in this hard new world of digital soul terraform. Uncivilized electronic lines. They break us down to dust. Bleeding behind the eyes, it's loss over and over again. Bits of parts of arms and things, too much . 

So I'm sitting here, newly ritual-ed forgetting my lines, trying to hold on to breath and brain with both hands, to see the old me out. This time I'm empty and naked, sitting behind myself; with no formed offerings, only abstract hopes- prayers for deliverance and change. Cries for new things, clanging from the depths, steadfastly repeating: I cannot do last year again. 

I'm tunneled out and shadow blind; on all fours - in dark unsteadying times. Hewed and pummeled by the electronic Gods of wrath, their feet-stomp stamped out on soul pulped floor. These death doors of entry -death or divine. I'm praying my God has not forgotten my name, or the place and time where I was born. I'm praying my god will take me from this shore. I am so tired and strained and drained by "just trying to get by". There is nothing left but empty-burden, heavy-full and bleeding from itself. The staggeringly monstrous struggle of trying to navigate such odds. How do we fly when each day requires us to hold on just to survive?. If only for a little while longer? when lesser mortals would crack.

 Now would be a time for grace to enter and set things right; steer our  hearts and prayers upon to some distant hope a new course beyond exhausted. 2016 death or glory.