the importance of eternal stock

the least thing i consider
is being excellent
and of no embarrassment

those who need to be prided
upon their associations
rather than their own humanity
are a little on the useless side

i know exactly what people assume
i know exactly how
and to what degree those false assumptions
lead them to exaggerated computations

mostly i’ve read a lot of debate
on a lot of philosophies

how many minds
does a woodchuck mind
if a woodchuck could chuck minds…

oh i let most everything
go and be itself
i laugh at measurement
such a silly thing
such a dependency of calculated
arbitrary reactive parallelism

(i seal off wordpress likes to their own chamber
where quantity is quality
divided by shame, it’s a process)

that big hot thing in the sky
rises differently each day
you have only molded it to your design
of one thing

and the brain can hold more
we make our exclusive meters of dispatch

mine finds only tedium
in so many blanket conceptualizations

no, i don’t worry about being an embarrassment
not when there’s something i want
madness and method
i worry more about arbitrating balance

between what won’t kill me
and what is expected
to define tomorrow

you want to be proud of something
buy a cocker spaniel

cocoon of newer days

synopsis:  saved stuff and stored stuff is only a pain.  we are more than THINGS.  there is an evaluation of the past, that is better left unevaluated.  who do you love?

going through the task
of sorting saved items
i recall how my grandmother
tied up christmas cards
in bundles each year
and placed them neatly
in a trunk….

my christmas cards are scattered
in piles of other mail
never properly sorted and stored
mounds of paper i have no idea
what to do with

it just grows
as i feel more helpless to
understand the need

so sorting through things
the box of old mail stares at me
and i don’t want to put my brain through
the torture
and i couldn’t tell you
why…. except that i see it all
as the waste of time it is…
i don’t want to go backwards

everything touched is a memory, visited
things stored because
humans like me
have inherited
a twisted sense of value

even with the knowledge
that on my demise
everything will go in the trash

mostly i find a lot of pain
in the saved items
the one picture of the two kids together
the paint brushes that belonged to my mother
the coffee can of perfectly good lightbulbs
that i switched out for better lightbulbs…

for some reason i have my grandmother’s
dentures and eyeglasses
that were among her things
when her house was dissolved
all sources of pain

who am i, anyway?
i do not want to save anything
i want to save myself
i want to send it all to the trash now
and be a different sort of human

yet i loved the saving-creature that she was
i don’t want to BE that
memories haunt enough, thank you very much

strung out in the dining room
it is a clutter of the past
an inability to let go
a part of me that thinks all
this …crap! call it what it is…
is somehow a part of myself….

yet is it?
you want to call this the sin of hoarding
hoarder! you terrible beast!
but i see it as being a little lost
between what is expected of one single human
this looming pile of expectations

….and what i expect of myself

it is where two ways meet
and my way is going to be wrong to others
no matter
which one i choose

does anyone want some slightly chipped good china
and silverware?
i will never throw a formal dinner party
or keep curios in a cabinet
that is part of a life left behind

all it really is to me
is the memory of taking out the good china
and silver
to set tables for dinner parties where i
was ignored and seen as a bother
the black sheep?
the one who judged things differently

you are supposed to pass it all down to the children
but i don’t want to saddle my children with this
i want my children to be happy
and have parties with red plastic cups
and real friends…..

i want to bury this past
because there is something wrong
with the mounds and mounds of pretension
there is something wrong about it that is much greater
than any wrong of hoarding

any wrong that settles on my heart
within these piles of stuff
these things i keep as some sort of duty
to remind myself that i was never good enough
never blessed enough to be the person
any parent could be proud of….

is all a path of the me i did not become
did i fall short?
i suppose… but thing is, i didn’t want that life
i wanted a life where i could plant a few flowers
find some beauty
even if none saw beauty in me
i always saw life as exploring other paths
finding ways that make sense

don’t give her anything of value!
she will just sell it for drugs!
goes to show how little anyone knew of me
how they don’t understand
how i needed to explore
because i knew you all were lying
and my reality needed a little better foundation

money means nothing to me, that’s true
but i’ve been blessed to have it mean nothing
i know that as well

i know those who have to scrape for a living
do not have that luxury
i know i’ve always walked with a safety net
it makes me cry all the more
for those who haven’t

what does the future hold?

a china plate does not make you a better person
what makes you a better person is
sharing what you have
and calling it good

what makes you a better person
is going online and investigating what china IS

old bones
that’s all it is
those bones were my cocoon
shed a long time ago
for something more flexible
and i’m no butterfly
am a being stuck with shredded skin
piles of absolutism that represent
an existence i rejected
even more thoroughly
than it rejected me

it sits in the dining room
scattered and waiting for judgement
and i take the time to write
putting off the inevitable

i’m a being … human BEING
stuck with all these THINGS
because i am conflicted over necessity
i am still confused as to why the adults of my youth
did not see a little better into where
all their treasured norms lead

i am a human being
flawed but also a little proud
that i’m the one with experience
and i am the one who is still alive!
take that! anyone who thought
black was a bad shade of wool!
what is freedom?
still reaching for an existence
outside of what i was told to be…
only because answers had to be a little more

i know there is a dependency
one thing builds upon another
if there is no place for me in this world
by God i will create one
life is too short
love is only as good as its master

my heart cries bitter tears
thinking of all the past left behind
turning to this task that can’t be put off any longer…
they really ARE bitter
it’s more than heavy sighs
it’s considering how long my strides
have been my own
it is thinking about how i’m seen
and how i manipulate that
to better understand the conclusions of others
all my doing
yes, i suppose i can’t refute that

pray for me, please!
pray for me and my stumbling
desire for my own brand of wisdom
the past fell short
fell SO short
bone plates, really???? what were those minds thinking?
you all decided to mold bones into plates, because that made you WHAT?

THEIR past fell short
her existence was not saved by bundles
of christmas cards
when all she wanted was a good friend…

i was that much
and now contemplating what i could possibly owe to the past
versus what i owe myself


dear Synaptic touchpad

got any idea how much time i spend having to fix the settings???? the defaults are so bad, is unreal.

momentum and glide don’t work on the windows 10 driver version. so i have to uninstall, reinstall correct drivers, and run a special program to prevent windows from reinstalling the bad drivers.

on the scroll…who wants edge motion on scroll????!!!!! annoying as can be, to have it pass the spot where you want to stop, and you then play wheel of fortune trying to get it to land on the right spot!

gestures … yea, windows 10, and since windows 8 — the side swipe gesture needs to be OFF by default. otherwise whenever you start from the edge of the touchpad, menus and all else pop up on the screen. OFF— do you hear me???

and palm check … whose bright idea was it to make NO clicks work unless they are exactly in the middle of the touchpad?????? that kind of defeats the entire purpose of a “tap-to-click” … if i have to move my finger to tap in the same exact center spot each time, then why even BOTHER???? takes same amount away from production as using the left and right mouse buttons.

if people are too dumb and continually brush the touchpad when they type — that’s THEIR problem — why make everybody else pay for it??? so that needs to go, or only come into effect when someone is actually typing — instead of hampering clicks ALL the time.

let’s see … i think that’s it. but just wanted to let you all know that it sure takes A LOT of tweaking to get your friggin software even usable. your defaults are SO bad and that’s on different laptops of all kinds — the defaults are SO bad that i really can’t believe anyone at Synaptic has even tried them out– has even used their own product.

friggin unreal…. anybody actually at synaptic, or do you work for a whole week and take the rest of the year off? it blows my mind how extraordinarily bad the default settings are….it’s evil. there’s something seriously wrong with a company that programs its own hardware to run at a sub-par level! at this point i really want to know
WHY???? the curiosity is killing me. what could possibly motivate Synaptic to program the touchpads so poorly with such bad defaults?


severely misunderstood

still trying to figure out
what allows me to wake without pain
so far still a mystery
what did i do right
what did i eat what did i not eat
is it mold
is it histamine
is it just my back
but i think i have wonky nerves
that periodically decide
to feel everything as pain

and there’s several diseases and syndromes
for that…. but it is a good morning for a change
where simply opening the eyes
isn’t an uphill battle

when i get really deep
and write a lot
that is me escaping the pain
trying to find a place in my mind
where i can still keep

then the release of a no pain morning
is a weight lifted
usually after a dream
where i have traveled
left the body
other eyes….. do i leave something behind?
do i bring something home?
do i process in a different part
of the brain
are nerves repaired?
i don’t know

on good mornings i can breathe
less microbes?
though it’s more like being allowed
to breathe
doctors no help
they only know how to write perceptions
patients are lab rats, one and all

it’s all in your mind!
no….. if i could think my way out
of this…. i would have
there is absolutely no part of me
that would choose pain over
no pain
no part of me subconsciously
looking for punishment

know thyself!
yes, and i do so
only too well

i think my nerves
are furiously trying to bridge
broken gaps
feeling better might even be when they’ve
given up
stopped trying to reattach
to wrong pathways

i know when it started
when i was 3 months preggers
1995… staying at that disgusting motel
with her father…
i know it was some change
where the nerves felt more
i have theorized until theories
are coming out of my ears

she is almost 20 now
20 years of good days and bad days
20 years of never knowing
if the day will be a fight
or a truce

i can face anything
on days of truce… anything!
but on days of fight,
i can only face myself

do you still think i’m bipolar?
i think i’m severely misunderstood