pulling on blue



seethe with jealousy

what if this is the afterlife

heaven and hell together

and those in hell remain jealous
exist within envy
encased in a flatness
of resigned supplication

do not wish for anything
hurt the dreams of a better
future of cleaner air and no longer hard
to breathe

of a smarter people when college is free

the purpose is to destroy …beauty
because people hurting in hell are not able to
help themselves and can only feel better if
others are worse?

not liberated
or free
they must do as told to succeed
choice was waved for deceit
decision was traded for loyalty

sometimes i hold still
and feel nothing
only the time distance between every breath

memory flows
is built
with new realizations
windows of exclamation
continually and constantly learning
as now weaves timelessly into then

beauty a tree
holding earth and sky locked together

quietly listening to the universe
laugh inside out

fluctuations for good are considered meant
fluctuations for bad are considered accidents

Saturday Sermon number 4 because i feel like today is Saturday

ha! that’s well put. chaos is the only answer to fractal repetition. the beauty of the untended garden. opposition is a difficult ground on which to place definition.

at one point, i took it all the way to the “big bang” of opposition creating the start of everything ordered in the universe. it didn’t work.

freedom must see beyond the cage of our own bilateral balancing act. the difference between a circle and a sphere? a linear that must be straight, otherwise is it only one part of a very large circle. the up and down of measured existence, even in time.

human interaction is not only messy, it must be messy. otherwise, the predictive nature calls forth machine, not man. that is where my hopes live. i bought a measuring cup yesterday. force myself to cook without one, for the most part. measurement is only as good as the consistency of the ingredients themselves. then are caught in requiring consistency. and then what is boredom? lol…

people trade in uncertainty for boredom. fear …. survival …. power. i light up a cigarette and reread my words. think about my need for the soap box and what that means. i know how to reach for freedom, how to not force a garden, how to leave the ordered state and simply enjoy life. it’s the little things. but they need room, and need to be as far away from despair as possible. that is one opposition that is worthwhile to maintain. recognize the roots of your despair. find where it lives. then go ok, that is the NOT.

i have sat in cells, pumped with drugs that eradicated my imagination. you don’t realize how dependent you are on that, until it is gone. until the moment in which you live, is the moment that is forever. until despair itself has no roots. what i found there was the emptiness of ordered existence at the mercy of others. once i comprehended that human beings will purposely work to keep something alive just to torture it … once i opened myself up to that realization. that depth. i knew that i myself could never hold on to anything as permanent. the flux and flow of life is the opposite of evil. chaos is the redemption that tells us fear and order make poor bedfellows.

look for what has no pattern until it has a pattern. then look at patterns. look at how anxiety drives us to require imagined predictability. and then be thankful to all the heavens, that life is everything that is not predictable, and more. the difference between a circle and a sphere? those things that test our imagination. after all, chaos might simply be another form of order. life might be the complete cage, where predictability reigns, and the only reason it’s not quantified is the inability of the mind to do so. i think about that. then i’m glad i’m not.

in some ways, reaching for more knowledge can be a path to greater despair, as attached to the “laws” of the reactive process surrounding us. when reactive processes can be a comfort – like the crowds dressing in warm coats at winter. there is an expectation, that it cycles and circles. that the opposite of cold will always be warm. but without that inner part of yourself, that can form its own reactive processes and go against all that is considered necessary. when you entertain the other paths, then the path you are on is a choice, not an obligation.

and the need for predictability is your own expression of love for others. to comfort expectations for the sake of calm. to be something that is considered non-threatening, and to hold off applying your own realizations for the moment that calls for them. which is sometimes never.

the quail have come onto my patio, looking for food and water. and they left. i find their calls comforting. the natural order of their existence that has a pattern to me, and yet i know that is more due to my ignorance than due to any innate repetition. i don’t speak quail.

life is too short. but it’s length is beside the point. what makes me happy, in this world of chaos and order, is that freedom is just a word for a concept much larger than any definition maps. the irony is that we have one word, and then spend lifetimes of trillions of words to describe the one. the irony is that we have dictionaries at all. the sharing of thought is fascinating for its forms, not for its content. we all live in the same reality, even if some theirs is special. so what is special? singular … original?

it’s the need for that, not the manifestation of its action. it’s the need for art, and the further exploration of the self. the ability of the self to survive. to take the moment. to pause in typing, and listen to the quail. to smile. to know — deep down inside — that there is maybe a God and maybe not a God. that order is something perceived, not necessarily something that actually manifests. that human understanding is always going to be limited. that freedom is not so much the dissolving of limits, but the mapping of where those limits are necessary.

number one, there is no such thing as limits for intelligence. you learn. you learn to learn more. the pathways in the brain grow. you exercise logic, you don’t create it. there are points in that journey, where despair hit me like a rock. i recall sitting in the bath tub, picturing all … all … as it spiraled to greater and back again. there was no freedom of the linear. only mistaken freedom. that was at the stage. once i exercised the mind beyond that realm of concept — i saw greater interactions that lead away from despair.

it’s like they say, that the in between of comprehension is what will allow insanity to bite you in the ass. how can you advise others to take your own “path” to enlightenment, when you know how many pits it contains? each has to find their own. i’m no closer to “correct” than a snail climbing a rock away from the rain. reactive states of being.

the important thing to realize, is that we can think alike. we can act alike. but it is the differences that save us from ourselves. it is the opposition of differing magnitudes. it is the fact that something pisses me the hell off, and you only see me — want the human being you care about to be “happy.” to focus on the joys, and leave that which can drag a mind down …be. i understand, and appreciate the degrees of love, the degrees of caring. my view is singular to my existence, just as yours is singular to your own. i even quantify “caring” as manifestations born out of perceived states.

chaos and order. circles and spheres. the imagination is a very rich playground. the artist is not a role, it’s a reaction. only fits a form, if that is the form you use.

i can imagine other worlds. mostly i wonder about a world of expression that is not limited to the lowest common denominator of the receiving end. where it all attaches, the male and female of “the plug.” the representation born through so many ‘inventions’ of man and his industry. the fascination. the fact that as adults, we still get mired in the investigation of our own body parts. the foundations and framework of initial comprehensions.

it’s why poetry says so much more, by saying less. it’s why we don’t need definitions for words. we need words that defy definition. it’s why the good in life is the unexpected. why i look at polka dots on a purse, and smile. why there is no right way to live. only a right way to live with others.

i sat in that cell, and faced the deepest horrors of human action. and that horror was not from expanding vision. it was from limiting the mind itself, to the mindset of others. to break free from that, is to challenge your own ability to love. to let some things go. to live not just for your own comfort, but in the awareness of what helps or harms. chaos and order, the way of law and the mapping of reactions to degrees of fractal that only implode on themselves into greater detail.

have to be able to let that go. feel the sunshine, know that life itself is a beauty that defies any categorization. all of science itself, only marches blithely onward to a perceived ideology of stasis. the wonder of it all, is that i know how ordered states absolve fear. the reason i don’t fear life, or death, or even what next year will bring for our country. why i do not fear, is because my mind moved beyond that. i had to place myself into a state of hope that ranges past any “faith” in man and the limits we impose on each other.

part of me wants to give that to others. part of me knows i never can. each has to do with their own culminations of joys and sorrow. i now my answer to those that like to perceive me as flawed, as crazy — my answer is to feel pity for the minds that are caught in perceptions of order imposed upon them by fear — fear generated and accepted into their own hearts. from others, from life that taught them that nothing is fair. that struggle is the antidote to emptiness.

i pity out of genuine understanding, have moved through that state to where i exist now. which is not a place of loneliness, though you could call it a reaction to that. it’s a place where i get that i’m not anything special in this world. that the world has to be special to me. that the question was NEVER “does God love me?” the question, is if i love God. how you show that, then — is how life turns on something more than what you can give and what you can get.

the concerns of rich and poor, wealthy and destitute. the search for meaning. life brings us to so many crossroads. often i think it is the INNS at those crossroads that matter, not the destinations that span out. that spell our choices. our justifications that are based solely on interpretations of pattern and laws that are merely abstract designs, in the first place.

the reason i write, is because it gives my thoughts someplace to live. i can take one detail to heart’s content. limited only by my own perception of how long any sane person would listen. how far any would follow on my questionable trains of thought. many times, we hope joy is that thing everyone finds, even if it means finding it out of innocence. i don’t believe in that. i don’t believe in protecting others from reality. years ago, i named this blog, “from an otherwise sane perspective.” what i place here is the crazy. what i keep unsaid is the sane.

when the world has decided that i embody a defect of “crazy” — then i will take that and make it look sane to you, and ask you why you think you are so different than me? why do you believe that my actions had no purpose? because they certainly have had their impact. where it goes, nobody knows. that’s the beauty.

that’s why my poetry is where you will find the decisions. the bump to myself, where i challenge even my deepest comprehensions according to their framework. we all have lives to live. the world has collectively decided to disregard mine as unimportant. so i made it important on a differnt level. i decided to write on this blog, and that only happened because someone formed wordpress. because someone followed the ‘norm’ and were good little citizens and started a business. how can i NOT appreciate that?

therefore i let it go. my ‘spot’ in this world doesn’t matter. my view of order or chaos, and the click of the typing as i work to slow things enough, to put them into a form that can be “shared.” just love it when someone says “thanks for sharing” …lol. sarcasm … being put through a mind for no use. nothing to show for the time spent. in some ways, with the title of this blog, i warned of that. at one point i removed the “from an” and made it “otherwise sane perspective.” the definition that is a word. the word that is Eileen. or me. whatever that happens to be at the moment.

life gives you lemons, and you make lemonade. well i stockpiled the dumb things, and there’s a lot of juice to be made. life is too short. art is forever. we were all “given” the ambitions that drive and motivate from one day to the next. but in my understanding, people only appear to be ‘sheep’ when you do not know them. you get beyond the surface, and the details are always there.

that is why i don’t despair, over the state of man, or his search or denial … why i let the garden grow with both its chaos, and its order. it’s easy to quantify reaction. not so easy to multiply that by the diverse nature of man himself.

i have other memories, besides the cell where i met reality. the punishment i got for being “different.” in contrast, i have the memory of gripping a boogie board, waiting in the ocean for a wave. waiting for the “perfect” wave — judging what is good. what won’t work. sometimes the good ones get past you. but the JOY of that memory, is not in the riding the wave part. the joy is in the bobbing in the ocean, the wait that caused me to slow down. to LOOK at the world. to see the beauty and weep … just weep for every single thing that is given.

every single moment that gives me gratitude for the next. no, i don’t think humans need to order much more of the world into predictable little snippets. i want to set them free. i want them to see that it isn’t crazy, if you have a reason.

i will go first, for survival. but sacrifice is what you do, when love leaves and you ask yourself where it went. painful matters of the spirit are only ghosts, the manifestation that just needs a good wind to blow it out and away. and physical is different. discomfort, and the far reaching power of medicine, and the industries that tell us “if you don’t have your health, you have nothing!” and then they call challenges of the spirit, “mental health.” all kinds of manipulation, with all the insults to even the average intelligence.

i think about that, and the work to move people into states of behavior that will benefit the self. in so many ways, it is the inescapable nature of man. then the only question becomes, who are you dealing with? friend or foe?

at some point in the future, i imagine how the code of pattern i have woven into every word placed here, will be cracked. that the message is not the words and their definition, the message is their music. i look at the future as the friend. i look at hope as the companion necessary for my existence. whether it be in a cell, or on an ocean. you all have a really good new years, though i’m not sure of the person that put us on this merry go round in the first place. it’s a dead end into despair. but celebration has its own divinity in the scope of things. i can appreciate that. i also know that every day is another day for one like me. i fear boredom more than i fear the wrong designs that lead to multiple cases of despair. i want surprises, i want the polka dots on a purse. what i never want is your pity.

what i never want, is scorn that determines i was ‘born bad’ — what can you do? NO ONE IS BORN BAD. GOD DON”T MAKE JUNK. i can see that. i don’t care if you can see that or not.

when i walk to the store, i don’t want pity from those who drive. i don’t want them believing that i am not capable of changing my own state of existence, because “been there, done that.” it’s only exploration if the path you forge is new! i don’t want pity for the crap i’ve undergone in the past. that’s not my goal. go feel sorry for the people selling barbie dolls at the swap meet. but don’t feel sorry for me. i am always where i need to be, and what i want from you is to change the crap that’s being dished out, that is being called ‘normal’ with no thought to the consequences of collective action. “sorry” doesn’t heal someone like me. what heals, is seeing real changes that impact lives for the better.

that’s why i side with the left, and going forward, not going backward. sometimes the death of a master is freedom. if God oppresses you, then killing “God” frees you. “been there, done that,” too. i want to see you smile at the birds — not be carefree like them. because there’s no such thing as carefree.

and circles are for the birds. boredom is for sissies. i never did learn to speak quail, but in my defense there were no quail where i grew up, and so i understand seagull speak, instead. a plaintive bird, the seagull. grey when young, white when they grow old and greedy. they are both brave, and beautiful. i know i am no beauty. i’m not trying to be beautiful, i’m trying to find what looks beautiful to ME. the woman who would watch me stop and admire her roses … who would come outside with a pair of clippers, and cut some and hand them to me. see, THAT was beautiful. it needed no words. a gesture of good faith. friend or foe?

my best achievement is when i shut up, and listen. but when all i did was listen, you all decided i had nothing to say.

balance on the downward slope

thankfulness counteracts self-pity
many ways to come up
and out

of those
woe is me

though don’t fall into them
myself much these days
you think about those things in life
that spell out good fortune

i suppose much of it is
in the contrast
to others and other circumstances

but just being grateful can rise above
the whole problem of “feeling better
because others are in a worse state”

after all
that kind of … way? type of living
is counter-productive to the whole
it requires that others are in worse
just so that you yourself can feel better

and isn’t that a shame? is wrong
on so many levels

but being grateful or living with
a thankful heart can be independent
from the fortunes of others

it can happen no matter what level
of fortune you are on
or bound-for

it could happen even if all
were at the same state
in the same boat

impervious, really

to look out at the world
breathe in
and thank God (or yourself, for that matter) for your existence
for the moment that allows
not only an appreciation
of the beauty of nature…

but allows for the appreciation
of the next moment
and the next …

pain makes that difficult
i fall short many times
crawl into a hole
pull my rock over it

but i try to recall
what it means to hope

to find the mind looking at
bigger pictures
but also at directions
… places
realities that are possible
if we all go from HERE

and i pick myself up
again and again
reminded to be grateful

even for the stumbles
for the stumbles, the trips
the falls

the lessons that eventually
smooth a path
for a wisdom-like tolerance
or close as someone like i can get

i suppose … the flux and flow
the ability to recall
all the caring you ever had

every caring that ever blessed your being
and then smile at
how nothing is foolish
if done with heart


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


Do you know my God?

do you know my God?
the one i formed
and built
and breathed
the quiet design
of absolute security…

do you know my God?
beyond the worthless gifts
beyond the biggest waves
conviction brings?
do you know my God…

there is no condemnation
only choice
there is no suffered consequence
only metered voice
and in the delve
the widest cut
my God resides, and knows

that all your petty differences
are less than any wind that blows…

for every one who thinks they’re best
the best, oh best! of every best
i dare you to think one more time
and see the smiles that graced each fall
see the nature of it all….

do you know my God?
i wonder how
to show you just how small we are
to magnify your fear
until you see the nature of its pain
i’ve known you all along
so set in stone … but see i am the one
who let it go

let it go

i am the one
i am the one who found life sweet and still…

do you know my God?