Dusk Flirts

imageedit_93_6485758073

It is late at night.

Perhaps, just ’round midnight.

Dusk flirts with a lit lamppost.

I place my hand gently in the curve of your hip.

And, soon…

What strange monsters that lurk.

In the mania of the mind.

Fade to darkness in the beauty of your design.

Dusk Flirts

imageedit_93_6485758073

It is late at night.

Perhaps, just ’round midnight.

Dusk flirts with a lit lamppost.

I place my hand gently in the curve of your hip.

And, soon…

What strange monsters that lurk.

In the mania of the mind.

Fade to darkness in the beauty of your design.

Dusk Flirts

imageedit_93_6485758073

It is late at night.

Perhaps, just ’round midnight.

Dusk flirts with a lit lamppost.

I place my hand gently in the curve of your hip.

And, soon…

What strange monsters that lurk.

In the mania of the mind.

Fade to darkness in the beauty of your design.

Breakdowns Come & Breakdowns Go

I <3 Psychosis (less racey wording)
I ❤ Psychosis (less racey wording) (Photo credit: multipletentacles)

A bi-polar moment with love lost and lackluster attempts at holding on.

Most conversations are one sided and unedited as they are taken verbatim from messages from me to me:

So I’m going to Ruggles mine to shoot and stay in the area or so to find new locations if you want to go with me.    It’s up a mountain.  Really need a truck but  I want to take Ed my grandpa’s car, the hand-me-down Malibu, I named it after him.

If a knife would solve my head case I’d use it.  I just need to move out.

For instance, I spent four hundred dollars on a birthday present for my mother.  Broke into the secret stash of money reserved for pizza, fried chicken tender subs and junk food; didn’t matter she hated the ring.

You shouldn’t have paid this much, you shouldn’t have done that, you shouldn’t have asked your father to go in on it.  So on and so forth. 

Bear with me, Mum had me go on birth control so I don’t get pregnant and/or get my period but….it will all change later and I’ll be different. But I’ve been becoming a hormonal bitch as of last night.  Even when it’s not really that time of the month.   It’s like I’m bipolar!

I’m sorry I’m complicated.

Its why most ppl don’t stick around because I change my mind a lot and don’t know what I want, sometimes I can’t even stand being with me.

I’m just saying that all this happened in the period of my worst hormonal stages therefore. Where if something bad happens I have serious mood swings.

And it last 2 weeks.

 I gotta go. Shower time means I smell like shit and have been putting it off for days.

.. We’ll get together if I’m not in the same mood as I am now

Ok. You’ve been warned…I’ve thrown dumb bells before and cut myself up pretty good.

But I’ll text you as to when to meet up tomorrow.   I may over sleep I plan on taking above and beyond the call of duty medication wise.

I’m sorry.

I’m just extremely bipolar right now.

One min I want to see you and then the next I want to throw my fist into the wall again.

Five minutes later, I say this to anyone that will listen or hasn’t given up on the good Ambien Grace,

I like getting people going. I’m an asshole ha-ha…I like’d being with you today, I felt safe.

The moments in the mountains surrounded by granite, endless time and nature’s energy would not last long.  With every step I take into the dirt and every breath I breathe in nature I feel the mania and depression closer than ever and it is seeping in.

 

..

..

Filth

The Body Bi-polarNot a moment after a quick stop to Dunkin Donuts for a high-fat blueberry muffin and a breakfast sandwich topped off with a thirsty iced coffee low fat milk and equal; my mother calls.

I refuse the call in my own stubbornly awkward way; I toss it in the backseat.  The backseat of the Honda looks similar to the barge that floated around NY’s harbors filled with trash, unwanted and lonely.  Just like me.

She calls again!  And, again!  And, again!  Then comes the texting.  Again and again.

At wit’s end and coming down off the not as prescribed sedatives, I review the texts in the middle of a panic attack.

Ambien, this is your mother, don’t forget you have to meet me at the gallery.  I mounted the picture, framed it, picked it out and contacted the curator.”

Long text for such a short minded person, it’s my friggin picture.  Where do I stand in all of this?

When someone finds themselves dirtied by bi-polar/mania/depression/alcoholism/borderline tendencies; you are always feeling one cigarette shy of an empty pack.  What makes matters worse for me is my mother!

Mother Theresa perhaps was not barren when she adopted me.  My father the stunted by beat downs soiled upon him by his wife, must of had at least one sperm in the bank.  Yet, the two decided on adopting a white trash baby, such as me.

The longest relationship I’ve ever been in romantically?  I would have to say, 22 years!  That’s my age and the duration of time spent with Theresa.

Theresa not only sets up picture assignments for me.  She grooms me, feeds me, dresses me and would most likely go into my GYN appointment with me if I asked her to.

The Adopt-A-Dad, Floyd, well, he stays out of the picture, neither a negative or positive charge omits from dear old dad’s mind, body or spirit.  It works best that way for Theresa.

Filth!  That is what I am to Theresa.  She loves me but like is too strong a word for her.  In the mind of my mother the scholar I am the following:

Dirty in a physical sense, I don’t always see the need for a shower.

Soiled by my impure thoughts of women, Theresa is a homophobic politically correct, don’t ask, don’t tell, educated woman.

Filthy to her are my needs to pay subordinates to lie.  Aghast, I think the word is.  I’m not sure of the spelling or the meaning but that is the term Theresa used.  Appalled at the fact that I have for months paid workers at Ma and Pa Kennels to lie about when I have arrived at work, when I have left work and most importantly, what time said, employee, should arrive at work, so as not to upset my routine.

My routine?  Sex at work.  More sex at work.  A nap with my dog at work.  And, the occasional phone sex at work.

I suppose if you took all the times I cried, HARASSMENT!  The table could easily be turned in my direction.

It is filthy to me how unusually sexual our relationship is.  Mother Theresa and I.  It is deplorable how manipulative my legally maternal but not really, Mom can be.

Is it a wonder that I text back in the only way I know how, depressed and sullen, “Got it, Mom.  When should I meet you and what should I wear?”

My insides are not only filled with astronomical amounts of bad calories.  It is overflowing with obscenities.