Twitter: Call of the Birdbrainz

Twitter… The call of the birdbrainz… Pecking ground of America’s first functionally illiterate President… As if one needs further reason to question the logistics of using Twitter for any purpose other than child’s play, allow me to elaborate on this Nirvana of disillusionment.

It’s the land of memes, one-liners and hashtag games. Where intellectual debate involves reiterating disinformation like mockingbirds, and the smartest of the flock are the birds who stir the most wind up other bird asses.

Pondering the Matrix (Journal Entry)

I was born to be invisible. Like the stump of a sofa that gets tripped into and cursed then forgotten once again. I always wondered what it would be like to have loving, doting parents. Would I have grown to be such a loser?

Sometimes I wish I was anybody but me. Then I look at everybody else and wish I were just plain dead. Because if I were the happy type, I’d be oblivious to the world that enslaves me in a bubble where my greatest defense against reality is to push the ‘block’ button. And if I were born with a silver spoon I’d be as rotten as a carcass.

Trump the Dump (Poem)

Trump The Dump
Got us all lookin stumped

Wanna drain the swamp to make room for his cabbage
Bout as loyal to US as he is in a marriage

Can’t tell the difference between the ass and the mouth
Can’t wash his hands when he’s covered in filth

We got a worm in the office
And he’s having a feast

Step One: Getting out of my own way (Journal Entry)

Is there a wrong way to heal? When I say it like that it doesn’t feel so bad. People keep telling me not to isolate, talk to someone, go to a meeting. But the less I think about the pain the less I want to punch someone’s head.

Everything gives me bad memories. I find myself avoiding such triggers everywhere I go. I never want to go back to that place. Of helplessness, of isolation so consuming that I don’t even have my own thoughts to keep company.

The Miracle (Journal Entry)

If I had a million dollars I could finally set me free. I would have the independence I never thought I’d see. I would wake up every day without a worry on my mind as I accomplished all those little things I often toss aside.

Step One: Cleaning House (Journal Entry)

When I exited rehab I had a new sense of order in my life. I was on schedule. I woke up every day at seven o’clock, showered, dressed, made my bed, cleaned my room, made a to-do list, read some daily reflection and wrote in my journal. Most importantly, I attended meetings and maintained a fellowship with recovering addicts. 

The Living Vine (Journal Entry)

The light at the end of my thorn garnished path seems to get a little brighter as I give it more slack. As I grow a little higher I get a little less cold. My vine is creeping up past that shade hanging over.

And I’m alright and I’m okay, and I’ll do fine as I cross fate. These thorns can’t stop my climb or snatch my fruits before they ripe.

And I will slither through the holes, slip right past the shards and stones. As my branches cross the wall, a perfect painting starts to grow.

Another seedling starts to hatch. A baby bird finds food to scratch. New life makes a home in this journey I have tolled. 

Super Nova (Journal Entry)

Guilt, shame, blame. I go through the motions then go back to bed. I can’t turn back and I can’t move forward. This pain in my gut is boiling over.

Fool me once shame on you. Fool me a thousand times and I lost my point of view. How many times can I endure your love? The bane of my existence is my surrender to your…

I… Can’t… Breathe when I think of all the times you shat upon my heart. Maybe this time it sounds a lot better but what is better what all you know is hurt? And I hate the way I feel most times. No words can fill that cup. I drink then I get drunk then I plant face into the dirt.