Austin Osman Spare

"Others praise ceremonial Magic, and are supposed to suffer much Ecstasy! Our asylums are crowded, the stage is over-run! Is it by symbolizing we become the symbolised? Were I to crown myself King, should I be King? Rather should I be an object of disgust or pity. These Magicians, whose insincerity is their safety, are but the unemployed dandies of the Brothels."

Austin Osman Spare

It's to be Alone

I have friends, a lover I love and live with, a family I see often, social dates, etc.

But I like to drive in the quiet of my mind. The bore of a radio, the sound of my truck. Thinking so hard, so quickly about so many things. Guilt is over powering me for things I cannot change. I can make small changes, but I can't starve to feed hungry children, be abused in place of a wee one during another domestic dispute. I cannot fix our economy. Or make someone care about our world's graces and what is not theirs or mine but borrowed, and now stolen.

This World is at war, we are always at war. With each other, Nations, cultures, families, why must we also be at war with ourselves?

I wish to stop the war in my mind. I just don't know how.

Pause, Still, and Listening

All the stitches of what I had (and have) made myself have physically been stripped.

And not without pride.

I feel I've made a good strong effort is dropping off my load..... All I can do. I am with someone that doesn't require what he needed for love. Yet I still feel like I am her. That stupid, stupid, girl. Unrelated to matter and time, hoping some 'God' may take her problems and solve them (if only I pray harder, have more faith) Believing in lies aiding some good, but fostering more bad. Sew this on for size: I DO NOT BELIEVE IN ANYTHING THAT CAN'T BE PROVEN BY SCIENCE.

I have all my natural hair color back.

I don't cry in the shower.
I don't cry on my runs out of terror to get out, off, away.

I still cry.
I still run.

Life is still livable.
Life is still lived.

Yet some nights (alone) are like these. A God Damn Fucking Nightmare.

Best Friends die. Husband fuck goats and fiddle kiddies, or in the least watch these. Thin is not thin, but a morbid obesity piled on you by a fat bitch that is laughing as you wait for her to say 'when'

8 miles(Will she say when?)
136.0(Now?)
126.0(WHEN YET?)
124.0(Surely now you fat fuck.)

118....

12 miles, 13, run bitch run!

But she's as fat as ever and still weighing you down.
Pile it on, pile it up.
After all the west was not won over night.
One Buffalo at a time.
One 'Ingine'.

I'm ashamed to say this is how I feel some nights. I feel stuck on the negative, stuck thinking about each bite full from the day past.

I hate my Monday.

And I love her...

It's plain that it's not frank, and I am always cold. I couldn't say I'd trade places. Should I feel guilty? I do. I feel so selfish, and worried that I can't make it up. Make up for a life that is so precious each life is precious and never an accident. I feel ignoring my mental state is not making it better.

Herding food from my mind and becoming the 'ideal' women doesn't make this better. My heartache, or insecurities become entangled to one giant mass. I feel very sad when I am at work and have time to think. Especially with no distraction of school work. Don't hold your breath, but I need to do something. The something I've done isn't working anymore.

Think positive. It can't all be dark. At least I have air... Guilty air.