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[longlivelevi]

Sabbatical. I'm coming back with two finished tapes.

[longlivelevi]

My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.

Virginia Woolf

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Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals

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- Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla, 1876

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Charles Baudelaire, from Modern Poets of France: An Anthology; "Parisian Dream,"

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And I dream too much, and I don’t write enough, and I’m trying to find God everywhere.

- Anis Mojgani

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Vincent Van Gogh // Clarice Lispector

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Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

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I have dreams of

having a child. Raising them with the breadth of the curiosity of the world. Vivid dreams of staring at a crib in silent adoration. But the time for any of that is not anywhere near. My heart has a problem. It isn't that it is filled with too much hate. It's just that there is a severe lack of love in it. A person can't raise a child with a loveless vessel. And as I grapple daily with the demons that stalk my mind, I often wonder if it'll get worse or better. I want things to be better. But it's like a candle in the dark being snuffed out by the cold hands of circumstance.

Today, I am having one of those days of dread being pushed down on me from all sides. As if I am in a room with the walls closing in and no place to run. There's a lot of things wrong with me, but that's okay. I always ask myself why is there a disconnect. Why does it feel like I have incredible self control and, at the same time, a mind eating itself alive? You think you can control your reaction to things, but there's a limit and I'm always dancing on the line of that limit. There is no relief to be found anywhere except in my own spirit. And isn't that what we all realize.

That the only real superpower in this world is being around people that loves you. Having parents that nurtured you to be something you can look at the mirror and not be disgusted by. That's why it's such an important job. The end of generational curses, generational trauma lays in the foundation we set for future generations. We all have to make sacrifices. And I don't know if I'm too far gone. But I know I have no real interest in myself, or the healing that I am supposed to experience. I don't believe in it.

I believe in the kids, though. I believe in the ones that look out that carpool window still irked by the state of our nation. That spark of hope needs to be preserved more than anything else. Because that is the genesis of every meaningful change. And if I have to live a certain way to inspire that, nurture that then maybe even my incapability to have children of my own can be replaced with the pride of guiding people where they need to be.

My heart breaks in conversations with people who lose hope in the world. Kim tells me she doesn't believe in the Philippines anymore. And that broke my heart. It really did. I don't know why. It's not like anybody really believes. I just tried telling her that sometimes all we can do is lay the foundation so that five generations from now is the actual better. That the generational mess we have found ourself in from the constant betrayal, toxic family situations, and a nation cannibalizing itself for short-term profit can be saved by just doing the right thing.

I'm no innocent. I've contributed to this whole mess. My heart was filled with so much anger for so long. And an insatiable ego that drove me to make decisions that hurt people I really cherished. Its root is ego and a lack of understanding myself. Some fires need not be kindled so that the ego never has to try and save me from a collapsing building. I get that part of it all now. Because my self-preservation instincts kick in when I know my entire self can completely dissolve. As long as it can save even 10% then it's done a good enough job that I can rebuild myself. And I remember those times it kicked in. I should have swallowed my pride sometimes.

I should have went to Reign's wake. I don't know if I know how to talk about that, right now. So I won't.

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Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke’s Book of Hours

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Ada Limón, from "Crush", Sharks in the Rivers

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Margaret Atwood, from The Door: Poems; “Europe on 5$ a day”

[Text ID: “I’ve cut myself off. / I can feel the place / where I used to be attached. / It’s raw, as when you grate / your finger. It’s a shredded mess / of images. It hurts.”]

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Sarah Fathima Mohammed, from "nocturnes in the rain"

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A part of me prays

that I absolve all the generational karma I have carried in this life so that we have a real chance in the next. I don't have to do anything to prove certain things I've said, and I'll keep that to myself but they will always in some shape or form remain true. I still don't know why I felt like my whole body was caving in on itself before I gave you those flowers, that painting. Was it a sign that it was a decision that would irrevocably change my life? Was I feeling the future weight of my decisions already? It's so confusing trying to fathom something unfathomable. Because it was special. But it's one special thing in a life full of special things.

I hated when something as stupid as poetry became the defining factor in who you thought I was. I realized when I would walk out of my cage, I would willingly walk into new ones that inhibited a lot of parts of me. It made me want to melt onto people I loved and I was completely willing to do that. To sacrifice my entire being to the altar of a person I loved. What depth I had, what humanity I had was reduced to the cinders of a person wanting nothing but what I provided them. I wasn't human. And that's a consequence of reality.

But I get reminded when people who love me, who actually love me come around and just talk to me. And there's few of them, really few of them. I can't even tell them what's going on in my head and it doesn't matter. We all have our crosses to carry and if I ever don't want to talk - I've come to a point in my life where I simply wouldn't talk to them. I've told my mother multiple times I've wanted to die and she did... nothing. Along with my father. Why do they expect me to be so strong? They've called me a genius ever since I was a child but never treated me like one. I would have loved to learn to play the violin as a child. But I was too busy recovering from waking up every day at 2am to my parents fighting.

I'm going to live. I'm going to show them all that I mean something in this world beyond their perception of me. I have to do it because what about them other kids? The ones going through the same things I went through right now. By the grace of God, please allow me the strength to push forward. Please. I don't ask for much. I hate even praying and asking for things because I feel it's insincere. But please just give me the chance to remain strong, to keep faith because I know what to say to them. I can show them the way.

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And he awakened, with eyes red as bloodened soil To change his heart, once again the Demons chased, and he held his ground

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Anne de Marcken, from It Lasts Forever and Then It's Over [ID'd]