escape Bespeckled stops to breathe 040828 ... lotuseater from this brooding chaos silently spinning circles in my mind. take me to a new place, with new people. let me go away from this society. take psilocybin to the woods, seeking enlightenment. dig a small hole. get the fuck out of my house *exhale* go. 040829 ... cr0wl you don't know what freedom is until you're captured. 091122 ... past instead of running to substances to get out of my head, i've been driving everyone crazy with my (lack of) self taught music skills. 130307 ... past sometimes staying home is the only way to keep it away. 130312 ... gja What a wonderful word. 170607 ... kerry we’d spent over an hour at what we now call “our spot,” sitting in the corner booth and talking quietly over our coffee. popped into a quaint but overpriced bookstore that never has what i want but is always eager to order it, then the brazilian bakery where i listened to her chatter away in portuguese as she bought a jar of banana jam. next we went to the pet supply store and she bought an iced and sprinkled cookie for lola and lingered over the pups that were begging to be adopted. i waited near the door; i can’t bear to look at them. it breaks my heart how desperate they are to go home with anyone who will take them. it was a cold-but-not-cold day. we walked briskly towards my house, talking about our ups and downs. turned off broad and onto snyder, passed the pretzel shop and the halal restaurant where men are always gathering outside smoking cigars. she said that meditation has been helping with her anxiety. “people have suggested it to me,” i said, “but hard as i try i don’t understand it. tell me what it’s like for you. what do you actually do?” “pascal has been helping me with it. i set a timer for 15 minutes, he says a pray–he prayers? how do you say it?” “pray is the verb, a prayer is a noun.” “okay, he says a prayer and we sit quietly.” “you just sit?” “yes, and thoughts come, like worries about work or something, but you notice them and let them go away. it’s not like a total emptiness or elevation, it’s doing nothing for a little while and being with yourself.” she made it sound so easy. “god, that sounds terrifying. being with yourself.” i shuddered, both from the chill in the air and the idea itself. “it’s the point, learning how to stop running.” i nudged her left, toward the crosswalk. we skipped across the road as the light turned yellow. “i should do that, i know.” “it’s good. instead of tuning out like i used to, going from one thing to another, this to that to this to that–like i’d watch a show, read a book, call someone and so on–” “yes! iust to fill your mind with something and pass time.” “right,” she said, nodding. “is that how it was for you when you were stoned? what would you do?” i paused, struck by the difficulty of what should have been an easy question to answer. “i really don’t know. watch something, or clean, take a walk maybe. but mainly just be… not here.” she nodded sympathetically. “i’ve never really been into drugs. like socially, when i was younger then sure, but it’s the lack of control that i hate. i need control!” “i love drugs,” i blurted out. i realized it was the most honest thing i’d said in a long time. she laughed a laugh i hadn’t heard before, broad and warm. “Really!” i felt so relieved. it was like shedding all my clothing, like slipping into a warm bath. i couldn’t stop. “i always have. anything, anything to get away. i’d try whatever i was offered. and now that i know i won’t, or can’t anymore, it’s like i’ve been in mourning.” we were on my street, close to my house. “for me it’s movies, getting lost in someone else’s narrative.” “oh yeah, i get that. and with a movie you can turn it off. there’s more control.” “that’s what i dislike about drugs,” she said. “you could be high for however many hours, and then you want to return but you can’t.” i put my key in the lock, turned it left, felt the click of the deadbolt. “exactly.” 220321 ... Bizzar do i ever really get to? or will your imprint remain like the sunken areas of a mattress that has been laid in for far too long. will it ever loosen its icy grip, release my skin from its claws? it's the lump in my throat and the bitter aftertaste. the sweaty palms and goosebumps. the feeling of eyes on me. ones i can't see. it's the scars of the wounds not properly healed - the ones that tug when you move. there to remind you that no matter where you go in life, you can't escape. it's always just a few steps behind. some days it's so quiet you forget it's there. other days you can't block out its screams. some days... some days it has its hands around your throat so you can't scream back. 220321 ... tender_square when the border agent welcomed me back to the united states, i drove away from the booth teary. a half hour down the highway and the cops finally called to say they'd been dispatched to my non-emergent call about harassment from my tenant i made nearly 24 hours prior. the case will have to be put on hold again until i can speak with officers in person. i'm here to pack, i'm here to have doubts about all i've done. my ex questions whether i want to move at all, on the eve before we're set to pack the truck. i waver. is this the universe throwing up meteoric obstacles to send me into spirals of doubt? we debate options of what my future could look like. but i can't live in charming tree town and visit home, i've done that before it doesn't work. i can't make this decision for my parents but i know i couldn't live with myself if i didn't go now to help. and i think i only feel relief in coming back here given all that waits for my return. and running away isn't the answer. 230418 what's it to you? who go blather from