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[new-battalions]

Ungrund, the ground without a ground

"It is in a sense paradoxical that nothing can be more real than the experience of unreality." - Carney Landis, Varieties of Psychopathological Experience

Who's to say what normality is the shared-reality of the human community's concept of space and time? All I know is this - I traveled to Pennsylvania to save someone from a fire. It was unreal, but it was real. In-real, inversed, a mirrored reality. I slept in my car searching for this person. How dastardly that psychosis can prey on one's innate desire to do good in the world.

I had survivor's guilt from something "unreal" and had to go through therapy for it. That I failed the person I sought to save. It took a long time to heal from it, and now I still have my personal doubts about whether I fully healed or not. I suppose there's no finalization to healing, and it's a process.

But even though I remember this, remember sleeping in my car, constantly frantic, it feels so distant now. Almost as if I had made it up. Maybe I'm gaslighting myself now about it, which happens occasionally. Though I do not cry much, one time I did was on the phone with my therapist convinced I made up that I was schizophrenic. That it was all a lie. That I was in fact a psychopath or sociopath or whatever. That I should be arrested and punished in a court of law. Maybe because I had been asyptomatic for a while, I'm not sure.

I don't know where I'm going with this post. It's pieces of disjointed anecdotes. But if there's one thing to say it's "you're not alone".

[new-battalions]

I feel more sick now than when I was sick

and to these hemmed songs composed of pasts ; Let me

breathing, walking the avenue, a cute girl or boy i say hello to maybe i laugh, maybe i break again

so the journey of competence the multitudinous me that I litter across the streets spreading light, painting like graffiti, arrested and accused

by lips and the wordless words between their communication, the disorder of it, the circumstance of both the physicals and the linguals

in a psych ward i was told i was a more normal one by a nurse, who caught me reading All Quiet on the Western Front, and that made me sick too.

i dress my body in corals, a patience for death and dying and the knowledge of the separation of the two

Tremendously, you are beautiful whoever you are and I'm happy to have known you for a moment.

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none-the-lesser

the empties that find us again, We shout like a dragon without gold (internally, internally quietly, quietly) as to not be heard by eyes.

I object, I say my body is Nothing and that is good and holy for it is Nothing there in the self-heating seats of your car melting melting, blending blending into trees, into birdsong, into your body (also good and holy as it is now)

love, and the ego resists. love, and pain comes forward.

to keep from branching the arms against our parallels , but we are tired and we fight. Every truth a circle, the multitudes of my self huddled like a scared dog.

i kiss you because i want to, you kiss me back and my body feels like a home i might live in yet.

(and these are at times memories, and these are at times forlorn cause tomorrow we might be different, and we're afraid often)

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learning to speak like february aligning spines and sleeping fully

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rodan

this tourniquet night keeping the hopes swallowed down as to me, standing in the hallway unthinking and hollowed

When is the future? Not now, not now.

time twins us, my doppelganger is the one that dances

[new-battalions]

MY BOUNDARIES HAVE SHARP CORNERS AND CONCAVE SIDES

i'm just that little miracle (oh good they hate me now, they haven't responded i said something wrong i hate myself probably plotting against me, conniving i want to die, i hate this haha hehe hoohoo)

//

i walk stair steps to high atop places like heaven but then i fall, and it's sad, and the people below are sad too i think or so at least some that i knew

and it's odd to cry even if you're an owl big eyes seeing prey through their darkest nights

//

let me love Love. and the Everyone's Voice. i'm afraid of eyes. and my head box the ideas fall out of. I never found out if it was I. only I'm not there. not in vision or trumpet call. and i was built into a mountain of coal to mine

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MAY ALL OUR BODIES BE CHERISHED PLACES

a nowhere seen, a nonsense listened I'm laughing at the first descriptor of "Me"; birds tweeting in slow rain, a storm to come

And I have a body, and I have a body! to feel and be beloved of the sun tomorrow

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snippets while listening

weather mind, shaped by the stray cat (it's all patterns; love and love lost)

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the hole in my body in which psychosis invaded

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i feel like the afternoon in february dormant, trying to become spring

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do you welcome the doormat, or is it another body for a word

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You Call That Gone

the softness of Nowhere eyes squinting to find locations the abandoned winn dixie taunts me with Meaning last night, sleeping in my car to perform ghosthood today i linger among people like i belong

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unwanting warmth, First cold then warmed is what we want by blankets, or by arms holding us

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like i had teeth, i growled some Here and There, at you, at the outside-earth where they forge the Opinion from my voice some of us think in cancer imaging (to know the futures of our frailty)

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i rest in the cloud corner, i could be floating i wouldn't know, really or realistically She told me to not live in the space of head to shoulders

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ampersand hides his head often, a collarbone child broken tucked between the men and their collarbones of cloth answering a survey with ‘me’, the first description of time’s continue, through the hibernations darting parallel from hidden creases between their words and their mouths

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boom pap, boom boom pap My Shape is Sound high above city lights where meteorites forget       time is that which keeps the coffin prepped, and so       rough hands become knowledge

And time lingers your spine painting Autumn dreams in equinox, where we complete Apart and Together sidereal hearts beating

It’s cheesy cheese well lickers, where the Body wants enough punishment to know it is still there. (And as YHWH         separated language from us we learned to speak         as strangers)

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this all imperfect love song of the Exist: coffee keeps the palms warm in October’s bite the trees are shaping my sleep

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ai generated art, happenstance, feel good and feel safe.

it’s powerful to be anything at all. it’s true, the tides are march like repetitive 4/4 signature i lay my head down.

a peninsula is a body, it’s so alone surrounded by water. and island is so far gone out to See us. Dinner talks, smiling faces, the numerology of happiness is devoted to you.

I want to know enough to rest. elbows are cracked. I’m surrounded by a triangle. Time speeds up in my head, I watch water instead of drink it.

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without (in rain

tourniquet mouth's shadow between I Should Be This and You ( and no i don't think about calendars often)

familial with the arm's length, and now learning to measure the legs i sprint towards Nowhere in particular and chased by a thought of Heaven

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Symptomatic sympathy

Listed instant words on a page.

Here daily-

Popping, stabbing, and bursting.

Few seek to understand me.

Reach me in this pitiful prison.

I cling to those who do,

A small child, reaching for their mother’s leg.

[new-battalions]

trailer 3

linger here longer, tomorrow is loud always begging

i want to be

nuisance to the rain puddle

//

drag the picture

my arms floating to form a frame

through them the other worlds of dreams

[new-battalions]

don't force a smile that makes you regret the power of the ocean