what a sight, what a sound, what intense loneliness. my loneliness.


balance. today in class, the professor mentioned carl jung and said that one can't be too conscious or too unconscious. and then i had one of those 'a ha!' moments, and thought,"here i am thinking i am the one who needs balance,.....but then thought, i do, i'm a lush, addicted to the sound of emptiness"....but, in my case, to go into the shadow world and to come back each time renewed and devastated, devastated, but with a greater conviction than before........sounds like lies, even to my self, but it makes sense. i am not comfortable with alienating my self from the mass because i ought to know better, or at least i should. to suffer the sorta soothing cognitive dissonance of my ways, balance, on my one wheeled bike. and i don't live within the walls of my ideas and ideals, like Harry Haller (Steppenwolf). i live outside them. to know, to be humbled, to stumble if i must. i dive deep into the crowd, deeper than the crowd, enraptured and entranced. like a ravaged beast in this shadow world of souls glutton for loneliness, drinking emptiness by the barrel, standing around together like pigs in their pen, there you'll see me, dancing, laughing, but distant and aware. do you think i'm dancing for joy, laughing at the festivities of my own hellish demise? sure you do. but here i dance to release the pain, the beauty, the echoes of my raging spirit, disgusted and tormented, i dance, alone in the crowd. and laugh laugh laughing hysterically at the fever of the herd, at my self for thoroughly loosing my inhibitions and the little value i value, to value. faithless, i venture in my self and out of my self, not leaving out the concrete, the dirty, because of the notion of being above it...no. i'm in and out and side ways all around it. what ever my thing is, i surround it, wrap and envelope it's girth with my soul, my whole, my dirty little self. good bad ugly beautiful gray.... and it sees all that which is me, good bad ugly beautiful gray, a taste bud full of spice.... i'll leave sainthood to saints, but i'm thankful and grateful just the same, with the rosary and its prayer of mysteries dangling from my lips. but my heaven is hell and my hell is my suffering and that is where i live because it is the place where i am alive (not just talking about the bars, just my way in general) am i a heathen? i don't have the balls (though i thoroughly bathe in the idea of being one) but even then, it's not really my thing. i accept where i'm currently at, somewhere in the shadows of being, here just being. me.