glory! : on suffering

washer

Goodnight my love Remember me as you fall to sleep Fill your pockets with the dust and the memories That rises from the shoes on my feet I won't be back here Though we may meet again I know it's dark outside Don't be afraid Everytime I ever cried from fear Was just a mistake that I made Wash yourself in your tears And build your church On the strength of your faith Please Listen to me Don't let go Don't let this desperate moonlight leave me With your empty pillow Promise me the sun will rise again I too am tired now Embracing thoughts of tonight's dreamless sleep My head is empty My toes are warm I am safe from harm...

Wednesday, November 15, 2023

on suffering

Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance,
character; and character, hope.
romans 5:3-4

i often wonder about suffering and punishment. it is one of the few things that keep me from sleeping. i take things
lightly. i even take suffering lightly, mostly. but i wonder about its real reason for existing. who dares wake me from
my peaceful slumber! who dares shake me awake!
redemptive suffering is a common splinter that keeps finding its way to the palm of my hand. it makes general sense.
i believe in it. but lets pretend that i dont. lets pretend all i believe about the human experience is wrong. maybe i
AM justifying my misery through faith. my mom keeps saying that Jesus died on the cross so we didnt have
to suffer and bleed ourselves dry for heaven. i think Jesus died on a cross as should we! i think suffering should be
accepted, our fight offered to God. as pope john paul I said (i KNOW I KNOW) "Each man, in his sufferings, can also
become a sharer in the redemptive suffering of Christ"
but im so tired. im tired of it all. im tired of not being able to do the things i want and im tired of being sick or
despaired. and i know about the excuses we have come to be quick to answer to anyone with these same questions..
but the value of a sunny day is dull if it werent for the months of cold! but hardship is what makes life stable! but
seeking relief from pain is the reason we live! its the reason for progress! suffering is a sensation and sensations
are to be enjoyed and savored!
thats all really sweet but why cant i be normal!!!
yes it can be ritualistic and we can feel it coming up, we can cry about it and write sad poems and play a sad album
and be sad and look outside and frown and be sad and curl up inside and be sad.
i cant take my time and savor pain when i didnt call for it. its like being suddenly hit with the bitterness of black coffee.
its enjoyable within its context, but nobody wants to be assaulted like that. in the words of henry miller,
'i recall distinctly how I enjoyed my suffering. It was like taking a cub to bed with you. Once in a while he clawed you -
and then you really were frightened. Ordinarily you had no fear -- you could always turn him loose, or chop his head off.
'
this is from his book tropic of cancer. important book! he was the lover of professional insane woman anais nin. the
book and his life were lined with sexual themes and pages on pages of hedonistic rampages! easy for him to talk
about suffering like that. what is suffering if no God forbids you to eat or drink or laugh or make love or fuck or
go out for coffee or walk the streets of new york or paris or laugh or read or take a nap. a passtime! whatever. goes to show even the man behind lovely lesbians crazy cock goes through the motions even if theyre mostly enjoyable. for our own vanity, we deny it. but you and i both know how good it can feel to scream and wail.
we all suffer. it unites us. suffering, fear and love are the trinity that makes up the fabric between you and me. the
one thing we are guaranteed when we step into the world is death and most deaths are at least uncomfortable.
but its true, what he says. most of the time. my preferred way of suffering is as willing self harm. im bored, and
acedia is a sin. so i put my ahand on the pan just to feel something and have something to do afterwards. i cry and
cry aand then its over and by the time that done im readt to play the piano, draw, maybe watch a movie.
but sometimes i dont get to manufacture it, im hit with a wave and am forced to stand still and let it push me and
pull me and ill let it tangle up my hair and slather my skin with salt. when the tides falter, i am left to hiss and howl at
the quiet horizon, with my teeth bare and my pupils the size of dimes, my ears pulled back like a ponytail.

i a frequent victim of these strange, constant and sudden spiritual attacks. thats why im so bothered.
i wonder what it is. maybe a sensitivity issue maybe not. maybe its a skill issue.
i wish i could go out to the bookstore i used to like as a kid. i loved autumn. i loved going there when the
weather started to drop and the sky started graying. i cant. i sick and i have no money to spend on books or
trinkets. i wish i had a normal life. i wanna drink sweet drinks and i wish i was beautiful. i wish i could do it all again.
lord have mercy!
AARGHH!

you wont change me i cant be moved i cant be swayed i cant be diluted

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sylvia plath, the bell jar

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

Psalm 18: 6-11

In my distress I called upon the Lord, And cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, And my cry came before Him, even to His ears. Then the earth shook and trembled; The foundations of the hills also quaked and were shaken, Because He was angry. Smoke went up from His nostrils, And devouring fire from His mouth; Coals were kindled by it. He bowed the heavens also, and came down With darkness under His feet. And He rode upon a cherub, and flew; He flew upon the wings of the wind. He made darkness His secret place; His canopy around Him was dark waters And thick clouds of the skies.