Monthly Archives: October 2012

Giving Devils

Can I give…
just so I can breathe in your enchanting voice
cascading sweetly into…

Only for a moment I want to remember
I want to experience

I don’t think it was so long ago
when the only catalyst separating
fantasy from reality
was a hopeful step off the edge of perception.
Back then we could plummet into possibility
into realization

I know that somewhere wishes are granted and fairy dust is more
than just glitter adorning the shoulders of those the devil
kindly blessed…

something real
an incarnation most tangible
flesh and blood
(if it is possible for emotions to manifest themselves into a righteous vessel).

a synaptic misfire?
A ghost in the machine of my neurological nightmare
Like a Freudian slip only

my mother or my dysfunctional psychosexual development.
These can be cured with pills,
but those tiny offerings of escape made her vividly real
-a fallen angel-
burned into my holy memory
a vexing harbinger of shadows to come.

The Sink

This is an oldie but goldie. One of the first poems I ever read in front of an audience. And the poem that influenced the notorious relationship I developed with the Theater Arts Department at Wayland Baptist University. Enjoy!

I heard water running
in the sink
after we fucked.
(A lovely dance of
unmitigated fornication.)
Not just a trickle,
(you know, The sound of impish laughter on
the lips of Puck)
but a roar..
I listened to the sound
as intently as possible (for I was one recovering
from ecstasy and that requires cigarettes and strong drink).
and it became deafening.

Unable to withstand the hellish cacophony of bleak white any longer,
I got up and went into the bathroom (that place of mystic wonders, sights and sounds. That place that creeps up to the very edge of my dreams when it thinks I’m not looking)
to see what extraordinary miracle she was performing.
Reality stepped into~ I stepped into~ the doorway
and found
her crying.
{That most sacred of acts that fertilizes the wastelands of broken hearts}

Bottles of pills littered the floor.
The contents either strewn carelessly
across tear soaked tile
[—maybe it wasn’t tears. Maybe it was water that saturated the situation beyond repair.]
or being shoved thankfully into her mouth.

She was praying to God,
-–that notorious hipster who desperately needs a ride to El Paso (he has a Mexican mother winking lustfully at him from across boundless riverbeds)–
Persuading her divine influence, between huge gulps of water,
to grant forgiveness,
to offer salvation.

And I…I couldn’t move.
Rooted in place, I watched her kill herself

~mesmerized~ (once again I was a child enthralled by curiously fascinating periods of bright light and dazzling color)
By the morbidity of the situation (really was artful. A real finesse in the way she went about it).

And despite the torrent of erotic dysfunction trying frantically to organize itself into an experience (or secretly, a memory), a single thought kept playing in my numb mind:

“Was I really that bad?”

Jason DeGray—2004

Daily Wisdomisms: Dabrowski and Positive Disintegration

I came across Dabrowski and his Theory of Positive Disintegration a few years ago. So much of it made sense that I felt it needed to be shared. Enjoy!

“Human and social reality appears to be submitted to the law of positive disintegration. If progress is to be achieved, if new and valuable forms of life are to be developed, lower levels of mental functions have to be shaken and destroyed, and a sequence of processes of positive disintegration and secondary integration are necessary. Consequently, human development has to involve suffering, conflicts and inner struggle” (Dabrowski, 1970).

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