Catastrophic Angels

01.20.2012

Let's not deny it. We all crane our heads at accidents. We drink up disaster like it's a drug, feeling better because others hurt. Walking around feeling lucky with a clean shirt and new shoes. The pain witnessed on replay in our nicotined, caffinated minds. That subtle internal smile.

Maybe Hell is just not being able to see past one's own internal accidents? Rubber-necking one's own pain?

I couldn't see past my own problems. It got to that point. (And I'm the first man to bring forth an immortal bourgeoisie verse an immortal proletariat. Eat your heart out Marx, Satre, Hegel, etc.)

Did you know that upon reading back my poems I get cold chills? I wonder what is that?

I also wonder if I died would someone do something with my words and poems?

Everything I thought I needed to live; exercise, health, politics, sanity, a soapbox for my voice, I lost these yet still breathed.

Health-wise it was my heart. I thought it was truly damaged somehow. Then the other night I decided to feel around on my rib cage "just in case" and it's my rib, the second one up on my left side, where it connects with the sternum.

It's not my heart but my ribs. I can train as much as I want again!

But I think about all those unable or unwilling to break a sweat. The pain that causes - suffering is beatable. For some. And only for so many years...

Whe I thought I was dying I thought: "What a waste." Basically from a poem I wrote:

"Born Again *A FLASHBACK* 10/29/2012

...Autopsy reveals brain, stomach, heart tumors. Notice doubled-up nerve endings and vein capacity stomach twisted know eaten holes bloody lumpy spine cracked several places held together just barely. Knee tendons snapped so much numbed beyond nerves, pupils near-sighted never looking beyond bricks. Died from deadly disease, didn't know he was sick, used to tremors, twitches, quivers, deadly bodily twinges. Frequent flyer miles sitting pretending living smile rictus, no humor left in these teeth everything beyond this second too much to believe. Steady struggle with this feeling, all I am capable. Gotta make it 'till tomorrow, survive it ;till mail call. Dwell on my dead buried beings become brainwaves. He was my age. She was pretty. Both bones now, eternity sleeping.

Will have nails filed perfect with teeth gleaming all that brushing for nothing when worms begin feeding..."

I've come to the conclusion that there are things I must be doing elsewhere. I had to do what I did here (i.e. [pacer website] "green V. Downs 2:12 cv432") I was forced to do what I did by some unknown influence. (I believe that wholly). It's like now I've accomplished what to be accomplished.

And now I'm being given a break. I (?) to die for something outside myself. i.e. others, any ideal, etc. And then lived with nothing five years in the hole. Dying for a belief.

I was visited by an "angel" twice in my life. Age twelve. Age twenty-nine. One green; one a checkered catastrophic flag.