tomaschronosart

[tomaschronosart]

I can remember writing a story about a cackle of hyenas whom were mindlessly roaming The Unending Desert, from memory I had depicted them as these anthropomorphic creatures – nearly human enough to recall. I was in Mrs. Dyer's class, so grade 6. I remember how calm and confident I felt doing this particular task, it seemed like I knew how to flow and tap into some source from the get go.The feeling of calm comfortability was very rare for me. Mrs. Dyer played the entire class a song and requested we create a narrative based on our initial thoughts, feelings and reactions to the song. As a kid with a bed time, I mostly just passed out from exhaustion, instead of actually going to sleep… I would lie awake every night, wired, manic and fearful. I began writing stories in my head early on in an attempt to soothe and channel my chronic anxieties.. I had constructed the usual traumatized-child-fantasy-universe – a safe place where I could manifest the perception of control. I never minded sleeplessness, as it created an apt environment for cognitive free-running, I adjusted. My fantastical bedtime stories were vanilla, from memory.. drug cartels, mercenary adventures in the jungle, sci-fi opera journeys and sometimes just a regular old adventure where me and mine would acquire some kind of drug or person or thing. For a long time, I had an obsession with unearthing new control techniques to quench the thirst of my firmly embedded insomnia - I had stock-standard/methodical/repetitive stories that would take 2-3 ours to ‘create n complete’. If there was a satisfying and coherent beginning, middle and an end to te story, I could sleep. Nights were always hardest and darkest for me – I have no idea how old I was when my sleep hygiene began deteriorating. And though, sleeplessness was uncomfortable and I was never keen on being tired – After doing the reading recovery program, I could finally read, so I was quick to pick up the –read-in-bed- habit. I began hearing other peoples stories, a welcome change. if I was feeling particularly flowy, I’d organize one of my card collections. I would try to master some new drawing technique... but I could sit behind a computer for 18-24 hours straight and ride the wave playing some puzzle or anything else repetitive enough to numb my mind. I remember how icy cold I’d get during winter - how blue my hands would become after hours of sitting stationary at my desk.. I would leave my window open throughout the night to keep the computer cool, it lagged if it overheated. I used to think that if I didn’t pay any attention to the cold, I would not feel the cold. Before I was 10, I had not come across any one thing that transfixed me. I had not yet become addicted to anything yet, I think? – that is until Puzzle Pirates!!! Shit, when that fucker came into the picture.. well, I no longer gave a shit about anything but Puzzle pirates. I could not cope with the disconnection, exile and the incessant bullying I copped from my peers. The frustrated messes waiting for me at home were suckin down durries, grog and sugar as hungrily as the machines cha-chinning for their money at the pub. I still am heeding these calls I am too tired to remember. I am still sweeping the dust away from these things I cant forget. At times, I miss the calm comfortability of not needing drugs; I miss the warmth that seeped away whilst roaming the waking world; I miss my Lunar lover, who would speak to me in dreams/ through dreams i could See through, cast away, be at ease. I hold on Tightly- still, To whatever vice’ll’suffice. seeming to soothe and appease the beast / my early coping strategies of hermitage and avoidance, protect me from momentum Games and story telling and art replication – I wanted to draw cartoon characters, as I was exposed to their stories more than my own peoples. I can still remember the countless hours, days and weeks of social isolation and voiceless anxiety. Sugar – one of the quickest ways to soothe my boiling baby brain. I keep thinking of the root of this addiction as a loss or lack of social belonging , or maybe I am lamenting another warped perception of my self .. I remember that I was so emotive and empathic and open but also unregulated, neglected and full of painful confusion. I forget that I still am. I felt so damn old all the time. I remember the sunshine splattering through the windows, onto the dashboard of mums old Ford Laser. We were doing one of our usual trips to Warrandyte for her housekeeping job with then Heffernans. I remember looking out over the balcony at the rear of their place, taking in the kilometers of bush and possibility. I black out their olympic size swimming pool - i nearly drowned in it a few times. While I was peering out across the sky,I was fretting over forgetting how I came to be standing there. I did not understand how I forgot- I remembered the sunshine On my face, So I knew, I had gotten there, though I could not remember how. I wanted to be a boy. I was a boy. I became a girl, as expected. , football was a medium, a bridge for the repressed masculinity – I didn't like to exercise, I did not want to be made of aware of my breathing, bleeding bio sac. my body was unimportant and sickly and tired and stressed and depressed, chronically– I reflect now and see how maladaptive a depressive I am. Always, wanting to escape the confines of the very thing I want to inhabit and realize? //// ah!!! the system that creates its own dependence, to substantiate its usage of the finite well, shall never recognize its own self-destructive carelessness. For having ignored the infinite well, the system, as it stands, shall fall. And that well that never runs dry? Well, I always forget about it. I use everything I have ever touched// to coin a collection of concepts Only I can comprehend. But, this is making it easier. I can see a bit clearer now. I can ease into the next step, less weary than before. But why? The further away I wander, the more susceptible I am to rot. In time, these things will return … and of my soul? My soul shall ache and pupate once more, Forlorn, I remember///! how I forgot – to start, To stop. And who's justifications am I leaning towards now? My deep dwelling fears and my leering observations are erratic, Unsustainable, Confusing. THE MAD ARM OF THE Y – an obstruction arises along the path creating the crossroads of forever, Two new paths, the same old path. I am alone, finally – at peace. At ease, with my failures, for now. No mirror I stumble upon can stave off my stare, Why should they? to see through what I can only see when I Stop, start and Refresh is my responsibility. I am so sorry, that I show A me that thinks it can have something It is not worthy of. Give me nothing and give me everything - I have been in all of the wrong places. I know I think wrong, and that I have made it too hard on myself. I know these revelations have been a long time coming but- I sat there and I remembered, It is to me and to me alone that I must consort with. I seek council amongst my memories and I find shelter in my solitude. These flickering unrealities I thought were gone - Pls, just hold onto the everlasting, Try, bust through space and time and just- Breathe. My desire for my true end has faded, I see life again, manifest. The 10,000 directions in front of me, the Myriad forever, the calf of endless suffering howls my name so doggardly. And change and change and change And grow and grow and grow, And that's all u r doing and that's all U can do. individualism is not the thing That u share with me, nor I with u. I remembered just now, that Id like to talk with u and, Share space. How I miss fixing shit with you. How u and me, we used to sit in the park and heal our aching thoughts- Work'd be done and the day was forever- and the thoughts would come, and go. And I miss it cause it kept me closer to my people – for when I speak amongst my kin, I am Home and full hearted – But I lost all my chill, I lost all my capitol, frankly. Then - it snow balled, as it always does. I feel I have been too sad to be a friend, too fucked to really feel love, I fear I am to scattered to comprehend my responsibilities And I’m too damn lonely to ask for help. And so what? Now what? Just keepin up with the fuckin fog is hard enough, I know I just gotta slow down and risk a bit of pain and ease into warmth and trust that its true. My silence has done me a disservice. My love for u, eternally/ Evergrateful / be am me, For all is as it could be. Chained to nought but my fears, Lovingly I say to u, from the mouth of Beth Ditto, “If everything u do has a hole in it, then everything u do has a hold on me, I been here before I should be used to this, But I can't take it no more, I can't take it no more, no oooo, Ooooooooo ooooooo ooooo,” (And to me I always sing:) “Yr mangled hrt, yr bitter love that's hangin onto memories, Ur lettin go of everything that ussed to be, U build me up to let Me down…” And from the channels of me, I wonder, what am I releasing? Capitulating with comrades, A sparrow new found – tiny and fragile, Like glass, Rock hard and clear/ transparent but, still. It is shattered Spraying and sputtering nuggets of raw energy. Crack and singe, whatever mind of mine is waning by the wayside. Moments of forever, Of the eternal calm of belonging- Jan Cadman’s Kyneton property, We’s just yabbies in the dam. / I think I can see, I wanna chill, like when I was there. As conceited as I can be- some people I never need to feel again. Thin ice, let me drown. My neck is under deep, it's me and me alone that keeps quiet. I've been drowning, again, like always. I just got sick from telling people.. Only I can save me, I forgot, I forgot.

[tomaschronosart]

I can remember writing a story about a cackle of hyenas, all of whom were roaming The Unending Desert. I had depicted anthropomorphic creatures, from memory. I was in Mrs. Dyer's class, so grade 6. I remember how calm and confident I felt doing this particular task, it seemed like I knew how to flow and tap into some source from the get go. This feeling was very rare for me. Mrs. Dyer played the entire class a song and requested we create a narrative based on our initial thoughts, feelings and reactions to the song. As a kid with a bed time, I mostly just passed out from exhaustion, instead of actually going to sleep… I would lie awake every night, wired, manic and fearful. I began writing stories in my head early on in an attempt to soothe and channel my chronic anxieties.. I had constructed the usual traumatized-child-fantasy-universe – a safe place where I could manifest the perception of control. I never minded sleeplessness, as it created an apt environment for cognitive free-running, I adjusted. My fantastical bedtime stories were vanilla, from memory.. drug cartels, mercenary adventures in the jungle, sci-fi opera journeys and sometimes just a regular old adventure where me and mine would acquire some kind of drug or person or thing. For a long time, I had an obsession with unearthing new control techniques to quench the thirst of my firmly embedded insomnia - I had stock-standard/methodical/repetitive stories that would take 2-3 ours to ‘create n complete’. If there was a satisfying and coherent beginning, middle and an end to te story, I could sleep. Nights were always hardest and darkest for me – I have no idea how old I was when my sleep hygiene began deteriorating. And though, sleeplessness was uncomfortable and I was never keen on being tired – After doing the reading recovery program, I could finally read, so I was quick to pick up the –read-in-bed- habit. I began hearing other peoples stories, a welcome change. if I was feeling particularly flowy, I’d organize one of my card collections. I would try to master some new drawing technique... but I could sit behind a computer for 18-24 hours straight and ride the wave playing some puzzle or anything else repetitive enough to numb my mind. I remember how icy cold I’d get during winter - how blue my hands would become after hours of sitting stationary at my desk.. I would leave my window open throughout the night to keep the computer cool, it lagged if it overheated. I used to think that if I didn’t pay any attention to the cold, I would not feel the cold. Before I was 10, I had not come across any one thing that transfixed me. I had not yet become addicted to anything yet, I think? – that is until Puzzle Pirates!!! Shit, when that fucker came into the picture.. well, I no longer gave a shit about anything but Puzzle pirates. I could not cope with the disconnection, exile and incessant bullying I copped from my peers. The frustrated messes waiting for me at home were suckin down durries, grog and sugar as hungrily as the machines taking cha-chinging for their money at the pub. I still am heeding these calls I am too tired to remember. I am still sweeping the dust away from these things I cant forget. At times, I miss the calm comfortability of not needing drugs; I miss the warmth that seeped away whilst roaming the waking world; I miss my Lunar lover, who would speak to me in dreams/ through dreams i could See through, cast away, be at ease. I hold on Tightly- still, To whatever vice’ll’suffice. seeming to soothe and appease the beast / my early coping strategies of hermitage and avoidance, protect me from momentum Games and story telling and art replication – I wanted to draw cartoon characters, as I was exposed to their stories more than my own peoples. I can still remember the countless hours, days and weeks of social isolation and voiceless anxiety. Sugar – one of the quickest ways to soothe my boiling baby brain. I keep thinking of the root of this addiction as a loss or lack of social belonging , or maybe I am lamenting another warped perception of my self .. I remember that I was so emotive and empathic and open but also unregulated, neglected and full of painful confusion. I forget that I still am. I felt so damn old all the time. I remember the sunshine splattering through the windows, onto the dashboard of mums old Ford Laser. We were doing one of our usual trips to Warrandyte for her housekeeping job with then Heffernans. I remember looking out over the balcony at the rear of their place, taking in the kilometers of bush and possibility. I black out their olympic size swimming pool - i nearly drowned in it a few times. While I was peering out across the sky,I was fretting over forgetting how I came to be standing there. I did not understand how I forgot- I remembered the sunshine On my face, So I knew, I had gotten there, though I could not remember how. I wanted to be a boy. I was a boy. I became a girl, as expected. , football was a medium, a bridge for the repressed masculinity – I didn't like to exercise, I did not want to be made of aware of my breathing, bleeding bio sac. my body was unimportant and sickly and tired and stressed and depressed, chronically– I reflect now and see how maladaptive a depressive I am. Always, wanting to escape the confines of the very thing I want to inhabit and realize? //// ah!!! the system that creates its own dependence, to substantiate its usage of the finite well, shall never recognize its own self-destructive carelessness. For having ignored the infinite well, the system, as it stands, shall fall. And that well that never runs dry? Well, I always forget about it. I use everything I have ever touched// to coin a collection of concepts Only I can comprehend. But, this is making it easier. I can see a bit clearer now. I can ease into the next step, less weary than before. But why? The further away I wander, the more susceptible I am to rot. In time, these things will return … and of my soul? My soul shall ache and pupate once more, Forlorn, I remember///! how I forgot – to start, To stop. And who's justifications am I leaning towards now? My deep dwelling fears and my leering observations are erratic, Unsustainable, Confusing. THE MAD ARM OF THE Y – an obstruction arises along the path creating the crossroads of forever, Two new paths, the same old path. I am alone, finally – at peace. At ease, with my failures, for now. No mirror can stare long enough to see through the things I can only seev when I Stop, start and Refresh. I am so sorry, that I show A me that thinks it can have something I am not worthy of. Give me nothing and give me everything - I have been in all of the wrong places. I know I think wrong, and that I have made it too hard on myself. I know these revelations have been a long time coming but- I sat there and I remembered, It is to me and me along that I should consort with. I seek council amongst my memories and I find shelter in my solitude. These realities I thought were gone - Pls, just hold onto the everlasting. My desire for death has passed, I see life again, manifest. The 10,000 directions in front of me, the Myriad forever, the calf of endless Suffering. And change and change and change And grow and grow and grow, And that's all u r doing and that's all U can do. individualism is not the thing That u share with me, nor I with u. I rememberd just now, how I wanna talk to you. How I miss fixing shit with you. How u and me, we used to sit in the park and heal our shit. Work'd be done and the day was forever- and the thoughts would come, and go. And I miss it cause it kept me closer to my people – when I speak amongst my kin, I am Home and full hearted – But I lost all my chill, I lost all my capitol, frankly. Then it snow balled, as it always does. I feel I have been too sad to be a friend, too fucked to really feel love, To scattered to comprehend my responsibilities and too lonely to Ask for help. And so what? Now what? Just keepin up with the fuckin fog is hard enough, I know I just gotta slow down and risk a bit of pain and comfort. My silence has done me a disservice. My love for u, eternal, Evergrateful / is , Chained to nought but my fears, from the mouth of Beth Ditto, to u I say, “If everything u do has a hole in it, then everything u do has a hold on me, I been here before I should be used to this, But I can't take it no more, I can't take it no more, no oooo, Ooooooooo ooooooo ooooo,” (And to me I always sing:) “Yr mangled hrt, yr bitter love that's hangin onto memories, Ur lettin go of everything that ussed to be, U build me up to let Me down And from the channels of me, I wonder, what am I releasing? Capitulating with comrades, A sparrow new found – tiny and fragile, Like glass, Rock hard and clear/ transparent but, still. It is shattered and spraying little bursts of energy into my brain. Moments of forever, Jan Cadman’s Kyneton property, Yabbies in the dam. / I think I can see, I wanna chill, like when I was there. As conceited as I can be- some people I never need to feel again. Thin ice, let me drown. My neck is under deep and it's me and me alone that keeps quiet. I've been drowning, again, like always. I just got sick from telling people.. Only I can save me, I forgot, I forgot.