they cut the tree down across the street.
and now there is too much sky. too much sky is in my eye. and today is Rain. i like rain. but today is Rain and cold and blurry. blurry, blurry, slurry. everything wrong and melty. the world has gone sideways and wrong. sense and perspective are in the wrong place.
maybe i am having a skitzophrenic episode. i am paranoid and feeling like i have special communication abilities with machines. there is an Army in the washing machine and a Gossip in my computer. logic and illogic keep flipping, spinning.
garret keeps talking at me-- What's wrong? Why are you mad? Let's talk and make up. But i do not want to talk. i am not mad at him, or i was/am not until he forces his existence into my awareness. i am neutral in his general direction. if only he would just HUSH. he keeps TALK TALK TALKING and he is loud and clang. loud and clang and scrape my brain. and- Can I give you a hug? Why do you get mad when I touch you? and because it HURTS it HURTS. and i don't know. just is sandpaper-bleed-scrape-grate right now.
we went for a walk and the sky was wrong, and the trees were wrong, and the clouds were wrong. wrong and too close and just LOOKING at them was like a bad little shock.
Por que? Por que. Por que? Por que.
and he keeps teasing me, for all my idiot-ness. which i AM mad about for the second i remember it. i am mad because it scares me, it scares me when i do stupid things and when i am crazy and paranoid, and when they world looks wrong, and all my head will do is sing Seuss at me, and the world melts on windows and even though i know this is a Look, it Sounds wrong all the same. The Smear is in my EAR.
and i do not like it.
it is like... sometimes my internal Volume Control dial gets spun. and the new reality is in a different place than the day before. and sometimes everything goes too quiet and numb and i can not hear or feel as well, and then i NEED crush hugs and lots of talking and energy to help me adjust it back. but today is not that day. today is the other direction. and everything is TOO MUCH and i need creepy tip-toe voices and NO TOUCH!
3 comments:
There are some days, for me as well, that I CANNOT stand cuddling or touch of any sort. This, as you can imagine, creates many problems for me, but none more distressing than when my Aspie son wants to feel connected with me physically.
I have created a Gmail account in order to facilitate communications between you and me.
You know me as M. L. Eizl. My new account is M.L.Eizl24@gmail.com
Thank you for continuing to post and letting us Aspie's out here know that we are NOT alone.
Marlon
“He entered, at some length, into what he conceived to be the nature of his malady. It was, he said, a constitutional and a family evil, and one for which he despaired to find a remedy — a mere nervous affection, he immediately added, which would undoubtedly soon pass off. It displayed itself in a host of unnatural sensations. Some of these, as he detailed them, interested and bewildered me; although, perhaps, the terms, and the general manner of the narration had their weight. He suffered much from a morbid acuteness of the senses; the most insipid food was alone endurable; he could wear only garments of certain texture; the odors of all flowers were oppressive; his eyes were tortured by even a faint light; and there were but peculiar sounds, and these from stringed instruments, which did not inspire him with horror.”
- E. A. Poe, 1850
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Methinks Edgar knew a thing or two about being meat-slapped hapless by one’s own senses; more than anyone should know, anyway.
Not to be overly morbid or anything; just a reminder that one of the evil super-genius powers is that your lair self-destructs immediately upon your demise.
The details of how exactly a lair goes off are subject to some design, as is the question of whether you are, in fact, an evil super-genius. But, that aside, in your case you might arrange for your lair to collapse in a heap on top of you. After a bit of due cacophony, the remains of the lair would settle to SILENCE, while embracing your remains with an eternal CRUSH hug. Work in a reactor melt-down of some kind, and you’d even have eternal WARMTH.
Not that I'd ever want to see any of that happen; I just connect with, well, all of it; and in that light, being quietly, warmly crushed (this is post-mortem, remember) for an eternity seems quiet, warm, and… well, peaceful.
- Ick
ick!
amanda just noticed why she was so delighted by "meat slapped hapless"... because it was the phrase i was looking for when i wrote this:
fish fish dead fish. gaping eyed. dead breath fish. image slam: hook lip jerk, head crash fill impotent sensless repeat repeat reap eat repeat. struggling shocked fish. fading glassy eye slap. sloe death. flap. flap. gasping trap. sir, i believe he's been struck in the eye with a mackrel. blink open reality, things are ALWAYS REPEAT. reap what you eat. beefit's what's for dinner? fish.
(which was posted several posts ago.)
meat-slapped hapless, meat-slapped hapless... that is the thought, caught better in a net of less words.
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