Yeah I know!
I can spell any which way I darn well feel. Under licence of poetic justice girdled to the loins of art, anyone can do as they please; I guess.
But what happens when the meaning is missed? Does it mean that the art is not valid or the audience missing the keys to unlock the door to deeper understanding?
It is day 4 of my leave. Only the tick tick or drip drip of something out there makes this moment less than perfect.
As is the nature of a time out, I guess, the chaos has finally stopped in my head. My smokers breathing beckons my eyes to slumber for a moment. My tired hairdressing feet are raised. Every bare necessity within arms reach. Like Humpty Dumpy perched on the wall so too is this moment.
Aaargh, that tick tick drip drip whatever!
My mind imagines the metal edge slipping into vital arteries. The romantic dreams of this harmonious moment to be slipt away taunts the silent calm.
As cheap nicotine smoke gathers around my face veiling the ‘just enough’ open blind that stares into the green beyond; he shudders.
Silence is violent!
And the fragility of a tired mind echoes in the caverns of a deep vacant fog. “Gosh I am more exhausted than I actually thought I was,” inaudible, he mouths aloud. The last thing…..eyes shut.
Dazed and confused by the striped pattern on the pillowcases he wonders how he got to sleep under the blind. Coming to and making sense of it all, chuckling, I feel.
Running from day to night, moment to moment, catastrophe to catastrophe life has a way of keeping me busy. It has been so long since I just let myself off the hook.
HALT… (hungry/ angry/lonely/tired)
This is an avoidance goal set in recovery.
I am all of the above. Perhaps this is why being ‘slipt’ permanently sounds so inviting.
Hungry not because I made the sacrifice to eat the mere basics to achieve certain goals; hungry because the craving for a different life has left me feeling despondent. Yes blah blah blah fishpaste. If you give me the drivel of positive thinking and create your own wealth, I think I might punch you a bloody nose.
Angry because he is still unsatisfied Hungry.
Lonely because I crave ‘someone to love’…of course there are issues regarding this one. Issues that I, if I am honest, don’t think that in this life will ever find a solution.
Tired…running like a hamster on a wheel is not fun…going nowhere fast.
What to do? Indeed; what to do?
In the Netflix movie ‘The African Doctor’ a black family confronts and overcomes racism in a small French countryside village. It has congured the frustrated dreamer in him.
Slipt is the name of my make-believe alter reality, the kingdom of •AJB•.The place where my desire to not be in the middle of a ‘less-than-glamorous’ life filled with ‘way-to-many-things’ roams freely. Here; TV show personality, having corrective surgeries, personal fitness coaches, making big business deals with my own brand of cosmetics, real friends in tow, world travel, and telling the story of rags to riches motivates others to reach further than before. Sadly however the exact opposite stares horrifically through the cravice of Slipt’s black and turquoise gilded entrance.
What exactly is it going to take to be handed the keys to Slipt? What more do I have create, reveal and or show about myself to get the interest of those that can mentor and support the dreams of a positive idealist ‘slipt’ into the caverns of an echoey trip trip drip drip mind hollow from sheer exhaustion of beating the same ol’ bongo drum with a blistered fist.
He draws back the curtains lest an observer catches the steady stream of salted water washing over expensive moisturiser, wetting the parched skin of a downturned lip.
IN EACH AND EVERYONE OF US ARE DREAMS OF GREATNESS. OUR JOINT GREATNESS COULD HEAL A WORLD IF WE JUST STOPPED. STOPPED TRYING TO BE NUMBER 1 AND BE HAPPY WITH…‘WE ARE ALL NUMBER 1’
What is your SLIPT?