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It surely is beautiful, my favorite pistol, forty-four magnum, big as your arm, weighs nicely in my hand.
I held it today, thinking it over.
This makes twice recently, three times this past year, after long years not doing this.
Dysphoric mania is interesting.
I suppose it's a good thing I didn't cock it, put it in my mouth, things I did as a younger man, my faded youth.
If I mention it, my therapist will surely get all fussy again.
If I don't mention it, I'm giving the disease succor.
Consider - it's April first:   Is any of this true?
How can it be that I cannot see her, cannot hear her voice?
Would it hurt less if there was a different ending, a softer leaving, more human?
How is it that this ache continues, why have I never learned to shut my heart?
I go through the day.
I go through the night.
None of it makes any sense.
It is all dust.
A burning knife in my soul.
Helping others my only solace.
Prayer on my knees;   there is no quiet and there is no comforter but I must turn there, if I do not all is madness.
I sat in the beauty of this room in the sunset hour, writing, chatting online, basicly just dicking around.
And then I noticed that the sun was almost gone.
I leapt from this chair, dumped my clothes, put on my bike shorts, tossed my bike and bike gloves and bike shoes et all out the fucking door, grabbed two jammin cds, geared up, hit the fucking trail.
I ran that bastard HARD HARD HARD, ramming and jamming up and down the hills, wailing 'round the corners, putting it all out there, sweating like a sonofabitch, and happy as hell.
Always I've cried at communion.
I've clung tightly to the experience of Chritianity as ego death, I've leaned heavily into that piece, the suffering in it.
Easy enough to do - crosses everywhere.
I hung them in my soul.    Rather, I hung my soul on them.
It's not about death but life, and communion a time of beauty - pain to be sure but followed by new life, deeper, richer, verdant.
No tears this day.    I drank deeply the cup, and joy in it, exhilaration.
"Pick up your cross and follow me."     To new life.
A reorganization, simple but profound.
The AA meeting I take into the detox, Monday afternoons.
I give these alcoholics/addicts information they need, I'm good at blasting through their fog, I give it to them straight, no bullshit, but with compassion - I've walked their road.
We sure have fun.
I performed today feats of carpentry; I'm a damn good carpenter, I enjoy working with my hands - my whole body, really - I'm physical as hell - MOVE! MOVE! MOVE! - hard and fast, rock and fuckin' roll, blowing and going.
I learned young that blue-collar work ethic, I know what I'm about and blast through it.
Just exactly where in the hell did the hours go today?
One minute it's eleven am, I've showered, eaten, done my little household tasks, headed out into my day, I blink my eyes - BANG !!! - it's ten after seven.    And the job not done, nowhere near where I wanted to be, and nothing to be done for it, the weather won't change to suit my needs, even though I continually cast angry, imploring glares at the heavy gray clouds pouring rain as they goddamn well wanted.
I cannot push the river.
But I goddamn sure did try.
Tomorrow another day.
It was work, and under time constraints, but it is done, and done well.
It is both carpentry and art, where they come together.     I have created a piece of power and beauty.
I burned all of it tonight, it was my church, I stepped yet again into Easter, new life, fire the cleansing agent.     Now cold ash; anything which survived to be smashed to atoms tommorrow, and all of it thrown to the wind.
I am blessed, so blessed.
I cooked the best tofu stirfry in the history of mankind.
Another fine day.
I've shown friends my art, but never put it out for the greater public, never have I spoken to a curator, or anyone else.
Five galleries.    Two churches.    My art, thus of course my heart, on the line.
But it wasn't difficult for me at all; I know it's powerful, beautiful.
It was recieved so well, and loved.
I had a goddamn blast!
Smiling as I write this - I'm still having fun.
Moving yet again into Easter.
It's going exactly where it needs to go, the exact place, the exact people, timed perfectly, wanted, welcomed.
A great day.
So it's way late and I'm ondrugs and I'm not thinking clearly, just going to spin this out till I hit one hundred and then call it a night.
It was a cool day - getting my art laid out there, the compliments upon it, the beauty of it in that setting.     I may give them the installation; I do not want it back in my home, WAY too heavy, way too oppressive, just way too fucking much.
The services at the church were nice but lacking, Good Friday heavy in my heart still; there's weight here.
I want Easter.     Now.
My actions today were good, positive, correct, I aimed for and did the right things.
Still, the predominant mood that of despair.
The definition, despair, as a verb:   Abandon hope; give up hope; lose heart.
Threw my self upon god tonight - 'Help, please, I'm lost, acheing, burning, I'm fucking dying' and the tears come, and the sobbing, the whole goddamn show.
And then my phone rang, a guy in it way deeper than I, needing the words.
My life a suffering, and empty, seems I can do nothing but give, help others.
A dark, rainy night in Austin Texas.
I'm filled with joy.
A day of beauty.
Etc and etc.
Hardy fucking har.
In years past I've experienced opening, been given release.    Having hung on the cross of my self, and dying, then into the beauty, new life.
No beauty this day, no surcease the pain, the roaring, twisting, burning, empty ache, howling, 'Why have you forsaken me?!?'
This isn't fun; you perhaps wondered....
I've gotten the symbols of suffering out of here.
But I can only clear the space - the guy was clear on this piece.
I can't make it happen.
I could go on (and on) about the pain I'm in but I'm so goddamn tired of it all that I just dont want to write it.
So today I'll say that the biggest piece of my day was the detox meeting (though hanging the new piece is large too).     I must always remember that it can be the most pivotal day in someones life, if someone is somehow able to break through the fog of their alcoholism, maybe they can hear what we bring in.
If one person benefits from what I bring, it is enough.
Jim.    Karen.    George.    Judith.    Bob.
Yeah, I'm alone and yeah, I'm not happy about it but thank god - and I do - I've got friends to walk it with me.
It's something I've had all my life, an ability to form close friendships, I don't know the why of it really, maybe because I open up so much that others feel safe to do so, it might be that.
I don't have much of a choice about that piece, I have to connect with people - I loathe 'small talk', its worse than tv.
A life without deep connection not worth living.
Tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of being scared, acting the fool.
So I didn't today run, I didn't today hide, I did today act the fool but it's okay, I at least stepped out, and back into a large piece of my life.
Friendships imperative, yet again gave me the words I need, the ease in their company.    Jim.    Elise.    Karen.    Tina.    Each of these friends figured hugely in my day today.
They told me again that it's all just a big movie, it's just special effects.    It isn't real, though it goddamn sure feels like it is.....
It has it's own pace, it moves as it wants, it rips through me, I'm on the floor, it's fucking agony, it burns and it stabs.
I could stop the crying if I could stop the ache.
How I wish I could let it go.    But I don't.    Can't, it seems.
I can't make sense of it, that I keep trying to do so is yet another foolishness.
The biggest disappointment in my life.
I'm alone, bipolars the only ones I let in - they don't understand it but they goddamn sure understand pain, they look out for their own.
It would be different if
- it hadn't been so goddamn good.
- she hadn't said she was in, promised she was in, totally and completely.
- I hadn't trusted in her completely.
- she hadn't told me that she knew she was in a pattern.
- she hadn't said 'Please hang in, I will not run'.
- she had faced her pattern instead of running.
- I didn't think she loved me when it ended.
- I didn't put everything I had into it.
- I hadn't had the best days of my life with her.
- I didn't still love her.
- I didn't have this stupid, willful heart.
Six am panic - late payment!    Damnit!    But worked it out.    George showed, fun to hang, two lists of ten, will save our asses; vital, important, simple - thanks Charlie.    Prayer.    Email tasks.    Another interview - fun!    Hang fan with Roger - more fun, physical work, cutting up.    Back home, high, happy, sorta blasted - Hypomania! Yeah! - chat wordplay, got into (Canadian) voice chat with Nicola, first we've talked - what a great piece of my day, meeting Molio.    She so rocks!    Bugged Judith also - Yeah!    Monster bike ride, full out, hellacious workout on sunset bridge.    Pictures taken, cropped, emailed.    Prayer.    Worn, weary, happy.    Bedtime.
Prayer/meditation/snoozing, eased into the day, sorta sleazed into it, a gentle start, the soft gray light in this room exactly perfect, suited to my mood, or maybe set it.
Gentle tasks completed; cds burned for a friend, pick up a bit here, a bit there, order in the kitchen, then resting with that great latte - yeah, ease in the morn.
And the day flowed just that way, and still is flowing just that way, these keys pouring smoothly under my fingers, the words gentling onto the screen, one after the next - look, here comes the last one!
I've carved crosses.
Filled my home with crosses.
My first painting a cross, too rough to be called elegant, simple, beautiful, powerful.
It's crosses I embraced.
A powerful symbol.
It resonated in my soul.
Communion was sorrow.
Not celebration of new life.    Not joy.
I'm done with the crosses.
No getting to Easter without Good Friday.    This I know.
But Easter is the centerpiece of Christianity, resurrection, a phoenix.
Good Friday a step toward Easter.
I'd guess the guy was pretty happy, though certainly knowlegable.
Suffering has an end.
I walk a new road.
I forgot today that I am in heavy seas.
I got right back into it all - slowed my swimming for 'just a bit', I 'took a break' maybe I thought I could float on the waves for a while.
I can tell this - I'm still in over my head.
I can tell this - it's difficult to kick back into the swim while puking, gasping, coughing up salt water.
I spent considerable time under the water.
I did not enjoy this.
I don't like the taste of salt water.
I have got to be careful.
I must keep swimming.
Back in the swim.
A slow start, a heartfelt prayer, an angel sent, and good time spent with that angel and that angels dog, working, our styles contrasting.
Fears, tears, lunch - the angel drove.    Anonymity, please...
Putting bid together - damn sure want this one.
Canadian (metric) conversation:  The GreatBroadRightPlanet Empress Queen of The Molioverse.
Monster bike ride, SRV cd wailing, monster workout on The Sunset Bridge - endorphins blasting, sweat pouring, lungs, legs, arms, shoulders on fire, move that body - Yeah!
Conversation with a brother, family joy following years of discord.    A gift.
Joy found in the movement.
Sleep tight now.....
Five-thirteen am, a mix: prayer; meditation; snooze.
Five-thirty; alarm.    Prayer, meditation, for real, no bullshit.
Six eggs, three yolks, toast, latte.
Jimmy, Woody, my pickup - estimate job.    Give each other shit.    Have fun.    Pet Woody.
Interview with Susan.
Chat, Moly.    Not cooked; well done!
Forgot Lynn - damnit!
Last stand IRA.
Stopped swimming - Caught!    Fuckall!    Pain!    Ache!    Sadness!    Sorrow!
Phone:    Alison; me moaning.    She kicks my ass!
Chat;    moaning;    THEY kick my ass!
Amazing, perhaps perfect 12 step meeting;    beautiful.    Sam - friendship.
Phone:    Old lover, in bad health; compassion, warmth, friendship.
Didn't get it all in..........
I washed my pickup.
Easily the prettiest truck in Austin, shining like a jewel.
The glass is shining.
The wheels are shining.
The chrome is shining.
The mirrors are spotless.
The interior - trashed;   tools, books, cds.     Dirty floormats.     Stereo skipping.     Heck...
Rewrote a piece in time, not a total rewrite because it's good, just loose.     The hundreds have helped so much, walking through 1998 words makes that clear.
Short focused bursts rock;   must be tight;   clarify your idea, if you have one.
I write differently.
To learn to write, do so.
Wacky, manic letter to a friend - does the frienship survive?
It is difficult for the uninitiated to understand that hearts can lay themselves open upon a cold bright screen.
A good soul.
We became friends.
Over time, we both suffered, hard, became closer friends.     We began to talk on the phone, the conversations absolutely serious, deep, intense.     But they surely were fun.     We laughed our asses off.
She sparked life, and humor, she listened so well, spoke with clarity.
Maybe I'd found another life friend.
Bipolars commit suicide.     A fact of life.
She was in agony.
She couldn't make it stop.
She made it stop.
May she have peace.
Tears through this day, as the waves in their rhythm crashed me into the surf, I'm crying as I key these words, a good friend gone.
Hers a soul of great warmth.
If it is love, as the guy said, there has to be a special welcome for those who suffered as Elise suffered, a huge compassion.
Coupled with the ache, survivors guilt - if only I had done this, said that.
We will hold through this, deepen the bonds through this.
Nicole.   Mark.   Judith.   Ben.   Bob.   Brenda. Kay.   Lynn.
These are my people.
Together we stand.     Divided we fall.
I just now hit the door.
And I've been up since twenty to five, and spent most of that time busting my ass - GO! GO! GO! - physical labor, and considerable physical labor too, not just moving my body but moving it fast, and hard, and heavy lifting, I've not eaten since noon but eating now, and damn glad of it.
I need a shower, and I'm gonna look back over this day, say my prayers, hit the rack.
Pounding it out again tomorrow, rock and roll, more fun in the sun, the weather flawless.
What a day!
I am not going to write about how much fun work was, nor the big blowout arguement with Jimmy, not one word about the laughs we had pounding out the differences, which are considerable.
I'll damn sure not write about the joy in driving around Austin, shiny truck, windows down, cd player blasting SRV, flowers everywhere, the sun just shining beautifully, the sky just ever so blue, the breeze just ever so right.
Not one word about the wildman bike ride, the swim in the creek, the fullblown workout in the sunset.
I just don't want to write about it.
My goal in these hundreds:   Encapsulate the biggest piece of my day, each day.
Today was full of biggest pieces.
Work a big piece, and a great one.
Freindships a big piece, and a great one.
Laughing madly, howling, cutting up with Judith a big piece, and a great one.
Meditation as night fell, my favorite place overlooking my lovely city, the breeze pulsing through me as were the waves of spirit - this a big piece, and a great one.
Heart on the line with Nicole - About time, Missy! - a big piece, and a great one.
What a wonderful day!
Got caught in conflict today, going to cut that relationship, don't want to but going to, cannot - will not - fight, and that keeps happening.
I'm done with it.
All over but the crying.
And in that I got lost, then into anger and sadness, a bad day in my head, weary as I walked up the steps...
Rest.   Latte.   Relaxation.   Peace.   Chat.   Bike ride.   Killer workout, three sets, three exercises, to exhaustion, arms shaking, sweat pouring, soul roaring - YEAH!!
And now I'm fine, I'm happy, ready to roll into my tonight and into my tomorrow, my mind clear.
I've committed to the truth of my days in these hundreds.
I didn't write on the thirtieth - actually, I wrote but didn't post - because I felt compelled to write about the greif that still rakes me, the confusion, the sadnesses, and also about the anger (aka fear) that I've shared this forum with her - with you, Elena, if you're reading this - I cannot post here without her seeing it if she wishes.
I'm naked yet again, I don't want my life read by her, and of course I do, it's painful, neurotic, the perversion of a thing of beauty.
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