sucked under

that's how i feel, these days. just sucked dry, like the husks of those shrimp tails from which one sucks the flesh. a husk. dessicated. passion. momentum just sucked from my essence. and i don't know where it went. and i wonder how long it took me to notice it missing.

i feel as though i have awoken from a very lengthy period of anesthetized slumber. wierd. trippy. i remember feeling this way sometimes as a child - sort of a restless, listless dessicated psychic sensation. and mum would tell me 'that's a growth spurt.' i'm guessing that's what this is - some sort of growth spurt.

a molting - like a serpent shedding its skin. molting - an intensive, metabolic process. i will refer to the serpent analogy, then, since its quite fitting here. the serpent retreats - becomes reclusive - into a sort of nesting phase for this metamorphosis. once the serpent has cast off the old skin, he's renewed, refreshed and ready to tackle his world once more.

of course, it goes without saying that the serpent and the world into which he re-emerges have changed since their previous interaction with one another. and so it goes. the dynamism of life. juxtaposed with the inertia of metapmorphosis. that's the space i find myself within these days.

so ... forgive me, all of you out there, if i just fall away from following your blogs for awhile. its just that i haven't the energy ... the psychic energy to interact in any meaningful way. in fact, this oppressive inertia has blocked me even from writing since the weekend. i've had spurts of inspiration. just tiny spurts. ideas. with no spark in me strong enough to nourish the idea into a blog post. do i rambling? ehh gads. i feel it.

ok. so ... i'm molting. or struggling to stay afloat. or retreating. for a bit. i'll come to my blog world to write ... write ... write. but i can't think beyond that for now. not just now.


image originally uploaded by shutrbugr.

naked beginnings

welcome, me, to myself. i had a blog. the blog had followers. it seemed nice. only, i forgot somewhere along the way that the followers belonged to the blog. and not to me. egos seem steely and savage, even, when faced with the piquish sensation of external scrutiny. but when subjected to the sudden impact of rejection's brute force? egos shatter. into miniscule shards of seething loneliness. and these shards crumble. into nothingness. the nothingness of me.

and then followers bandy words like 'friend' about. it starts to feel exhilarating. and frightening. 'friend.' that's a threatening word. because it rarely lives up to itself. sort of like santa claus and the tooth fairy. and that god concept. does anyone really know 'friend' ... i mean, really? i wonder, y'know? and so ... the followers encroach. encroach. and it feels good. and it feels hurtful. and it puts me in a box. in a way. as followers seek to define me. label me. judge my moral certitude. while completely ignoring the message embedded in my carefully crafted posts.

ignore. ignore my message. ignore. ignore what i say. and then judge how i say it. ignore. and leave me feeling so desperately, nakedly invisible. ignore my message. and plump droplets of despair crash into my heart. with such a force of anguish. stunning anguish. it travels the circuitry of my bruised heart like some posionous spark. and the spark. its intensity grows as my body absorbs it. swallows it. dissolves it. my spirit feels dirty ... ugly ... infected. stained. in comparison. to yours. i feel. the old stains. mine. rising. to the surface. of my emotions. and, in that radiant shaft of glinting sunlight, i behold. myself. boldly. i behold myself.

myself. alone. alive. aberrant. a blinding helix of inherent instability. breathtaking to behold. noxious to inhale. corrosive to touch. myself. so many times crumpled up and tossed away. now, flinching from touch. refusing to surrender self. to trusting. anything. or anyone. cold to, but longing for, connection. some sort of outside connection. struggling to demystify this deep-seated need to belong. belonging drowns me. traps me. defines me. strangles me. rejects me. belonging rejects me. me - reject.

if i belong then i am vulnerable. if i belong i have surrendered my trust. bared the softest portion of my soul. to such undeserving creatures - homosapiens. i know you smell the weakness there. the blood, which boils and shrinks simultaneously around its lesions and disfiguring bruises. you smell it. you feel it. you taste it, as sheets of my hyperbolic anguish sweep across the battered pages of my soul. i know you. like all the rest. homosapien. just lusting for the blood of another weak soul. my soul. raped. by rejection.

image originally uploaded by melanie photo art