deepundergroundpoetry.com
Building to the Beginning
Building to the Beginning
I was seduced
into thinking that
if I were a stunt cock
you would think
I was worth running to
in midday
as you reached
escape velocity
from your real life.
I was jealous
of your desire
to deny the density
of your feelings.
In reality,
what you needed
was someone
to not reject you
as you lay in state
on your death bed,
the real you,
human,
faulted,
self-destructive,
and lost
except for
the connection
with someone
who knew you
as you are.
You chased fantasies
of men
who would
abandon you.
Imperfect.
Human.
Real.
Hiding would not do.
You had to
fully immerse us
in your inner world
of your being
a rebellious girl,
seduced
by a naughtiness
that ignored
and shamed me
in secret,
as you
had been shamed.
I became
your interface.
Without my sharing
that feeling,
there could be
no us.
I had to learn
to grieve
my own
expectations.
Each time
you stripped away
my next
incomplete analysis
and loaded
another layer
of irony
and instability.
You believed
my love
as being
the last plane
of integration,
bare
and yet
barely even connected.
Only
in the final seconds
of existence
your ultimate layer
of being
breathes its last breath,
the end of rejection.
To expire
is to expire
all defenses
at last.
This is
that expression
that is
its first
and last
transcendent
darkness.
I could only
truly love you
enough
to be there
at the end
if I had experienced
the end
of all
your ritual addictions.
You didn't need
a stunt cock.
You needed
a stunt heart.
A long,
hard love
that penetrated
your flesh
with the thrusting
strength
of interdimensional
love,
this is what
you needed.
Beyond rejection
and insensitivity.
You needed hypersensitivity
to your own self-denial.
They only
fucked you.
I made love
to your heart.
I earned
the respect
you needed
to allow yourself
to become
actually naked,
in the world
between shame
and death.
I was seduced
into thinking that
if I were a stunt cock
you would think
I was worth running to
in midday
as you reached
escape velocity
from your real life.
I was jealous
of your desire
to deny the density
of your feelings.
In reality,
what you needed
was someone
to not reject you
as you lay in state
on your death bed,
the real you,
human,
faulted,
self-destructive,
and lost
except for
the connection
with someone
who knew you
as you are.
You chased fantasies
of men
who would
abandon you.
Imperfect.
Human.
Real.
Hiding would not do.
You had to
fully immerse us
in your inner world
of your being
a rebellious girl,
seduced
by a naughtiness
that ignored
and shamed me
in secret,
as you
had been shamed.
I became
your interface.
Without my sharing
that feeling,
there could be
no us.
I had to learn
to grieve
my own
expectations.
Each time
you stripped away
my next
incomplete analysis
and loaded
another layer
of irony
and instability.
You believed
my love
as being
the last plane
of integration,
bare
and yet
barely even connected.
Only
in the final seconds
of existence
your ultimate layer
of being
breathes its last breath,
the end of rejection.
To expire
is to expire
all defenses
at last.
This is
that expression
that is
its first
and last
transcendent
darkness.
I could only
truly love you
enough
to be there
at the end
if I had experienced
the end
of all
your ritual addictions.
You didn't need
a stunt cock.
You needed
a stunt heart.
A long,
hard love
that penetrated
your flesh
with the thrusting
strength
of interdimensional
love,
this is what
you needed.
Beyond rejection
and insensitivity.
You needed hypersensitivity
to your own self-denial.
They only
fucked you.
I made love
to your heart.
I earned
the respect
you needed
to allow yourself
to become
actually naked,
in the world
between shame
and death.
Published 13th Aug 2022
| Edited 14th Aug 2022
Author's Note
A lifetime is just enough time if we work really hard.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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13th Aug 2022 7:52pm
13th Aug 2022 11:33pm
I once envied the sheets of the bed, the wind blowing through his window and the steps up his house... because they were there with him and I wasn't.
Good read, RT.
Good read, RT.
14th Aug 2022 3:05am
14th Aug 2022 11:54pm
I feel like maybe I'll need much longer than one lifetime. Perhaps I was a late bloomer or maybe I'm an old soul at heart??🤷🏻♀️I definitely need to get cracking on making time for finding myself and what I know I want and need...
"I made love to your heart".... sigh.
I was enthralled reading, RT
Thanks for the honest share.
🌹-💙
B
"I made love to your heart".... sigh.
I was enthralled reading, RT
Thanks for the honest share.
🌹-💙
B
15th Aug 2022 8:23am
Athletes see recovery from injuries as a way of life. I've blueprinted this heartache 10,000 times. Broken it down. Deconstructed it. Erased the board. Started from scratch. Nearly a dozen counselors.
I've replayed. Rewritten it. Obsessed over it. Gotten so inebriated I forgot how to breathe, but I was working on this like Seal Team Six defusing a bomb in the middle of a nursery.
But, I did alone. No net. No thanks. No reward. I've tried everything but giving up.
And then it hit me. The question was the wrong question. Same thing over and over, same crazy answer.
Opposites are synthesized through attrition into a paradox. I've cracked physics, metaphysics, psychology, biochemistry, industrial as l engineering, and quantum psychology.
Why is there something rather than nothing. In Buddhism, nothingness is the truncation of the larger tetrahedron of 3 dimensional expansion of the limited trion re, the fractal that first begins as a strand of consciousness that becomes capable of becoming the vessel of the conscious world at 10 X 10 ^-43 seconds as the initial configuration of materiality in the knowable universe, creating the torus loop that is reality. There was no before. It's an expression that does not become but rather reaches out to express as the asymmetrical self-expand super tautology of reality.
There is no symmetry, on the repetition of self-understanding in parallax. There is no non-metaphysical construction. No luck. No non-meaning. It all matters.
The universe is slamming your finger in a car door. Suffering. And then learning to live with the pain without taking it personally because being born hurts.
The question is, What the fuck are you going to do about it?
The answer is NOTHING.
In Buddhism, nothing stands if nothing is independent in the universe. There is only interdependence. We need everything that is. Nothing is expendable. We need this shit to learn who we are so that from our point of parallax we can express outwardly what we experience inwardly because the universe is a self-excited circuit that has a foundational being of self-directedness. We have free will for the purpose of being free. The vessel is the contents. The consciousness of all things is a self-care module that past its reductive nature reflects itself as a singularity fractaled outwardly to experience inwardness.
We are alone with ourselves and we are working through our self-punishment of feeling alone. Reality is not alone. It has itself. The trick is to use the mind to communicate to the heart its worthiness to be alive on the basis of being.
You're worthy of love because you fucking exist.
And because of all that, love means everything. And not loving, in spite of doubt and heart sickness, is the failure to see that unconditional love does not give a fuck if you are aware of that or not. You are loved because you are and there is not a goddamned thing you can do to prove you're unworthy. Gravity of spirit does not need your puny self-righteous permission.
So, get the fuck over it. The whole universe is here because you are loveable, inspire of your protests if doubt and shame.
So, enjoy being loved just forcthe sake of the arguement. The universe us a brick wall. The universal speed limit of light precludes an escape velocity, and nature of reality is that the form is the function. So, on top of everything else, you're perfect just like you are. Isn't that the shit?
I've cracked reality.
The question was not why doesn't she love me?
She did. She does. She just can't show it. Because she's mute.
I fell in love with a girl in a coma.
And nothing I could do could raise her up.
I watched my sister die when I was 4 and no matter how many ways I replayed it, I couldn't bring her back from the dead.
But that was not the end of the story. I rerouted the entire complexity in order to bring meaning to her 7 month old short life.
It's not length if life but quality of life. And this is the result of her expiration's inspiration. I cracked conscious back through the torus of creation in order to tell that I love her by infusing necessity into every intersection. Short lives are dense in love.
That's what you learn in a 100 million lifetimes. Life is an infinite kiss goodbye.
I've replayed. Rewritten it. Obsessed over it. Gotten so inebriated I forgot how to breathe, but I was working on this like Seal Team Six defusing a bomb in the middle of a nursery.
But, I did alone. No net. No thanks. No reward. I've tried everything but giving up.
And then it hit me. The question was the wrong question. Same thing over and over, same crazy answer.
Opposites are synthesized through attrition into a paradox. I've cracked physics, metaphysics, psychology, biochemistry, industrial as l engineering, and quantum psychology.
Why is there something rather than nothing. In Buddhism, nothingness is the truncation of the larger tetrahedron of 3 dimensional expansion of the limited trion re, the fractal that first begins as a strand of consciousness that becomes capable of becoming the vessel of the conscious world at 10 X 10 ^-43 seconds as the initial configuration of materiality in the knowable universe, creating the torus loop that is reality. There was no before. It's an expression that does not become but rather reaches out to express as the asymmetrical self-expand super tautology of reality.
There is no symmetry, on the repetition of self-understanding in parallax. There is no non-metaphysical construction. No luck. No non-meaning. It all matters.
The universe is slamming your finger in a car door. Suffering. And then learning to live with the pain without taking it personally because being born hurts.
The question is, What the fuck are you going to do about it?
The answer is NOTHING.
In Buddhism, nothing stands if nothing is independent in the universe. There is only interdependence. We need everything that is. Nothing is expendable. We need this shit to learn who we are so that from our point of parallax we can express outwardly what we experience inwardly because the universe is a self-excited circuit that has a foundational being of self-directedness. We have free will for the purpose of being free. The vessel is the contents. The consciousness of all things is a self-care module that past its reductive nature reflects itself as a singularity fractaled outwardly to experience inwardness.
We are alone with ourselves and we are working through our self-punishment of feeling alone. Reality is not alone. It has itself. The trick is to use the mind to communicate to the heart its worthiness to be alive on the basis of being.
You're worthy of love because you fucking exist.
And because of all that, love means everything. And not loving, in spite of doubt and heart sickness, is the failure to see that unconditional love does not give a fuck if you are aware of that or not. You are loved because you are and there is not a goddamned thing you can do to prove you're unworthy. Gravity of spirit does not need your puny self-righteous permission.
So, get the fuck over it. The whole universe is here because you are loveable, inspire of your protests if doubt and shame.
So, enjoy being loved just forcthe sake of the arguement. The universe us a brick wall. The universal speed limit of light precludes an escape velocity, and nature of reality is that the form is the function. So, on top of everything else, you're perfect just like you are. Isn't that the shit?
I've cracked reality.
The question was not why doesn't she love me?
She did. She does. She just can't show it. Because she's mute.
I fell in love with a girl in a coma.
And nothing I could do could raise her up.
I watched my sister die when I was 4 and no matter how many ways I replayed it, I couldn't bring her back from the dead.
But that was not the end of the story. I rerouted the entire complexity in order to bring meaning to her 7 month old short life.
It's not length if life but quality of life. And this is the result of her expiration's inspiration. I cracked conscious back through the torus of creation in order to tell that I love her by infusing necessity into every intersection. Short lives are dense in love.
That's what you learn in a 100 million lifetimes. Life is an infinite kiss goodbye.
16th Aug 2022 1:05pm
I didn't expect all this.....I can't really respond properly because I'm far too emotional and left feeling a bit beat up.... so, apologies.
Firstly, I meant no malice.
Your comments, while mostly over my puny little head, have me questioning whether or not you have anger and animosity... either in general or towards me or is it more of a resolved feeling that you're attempting to now convey....
I'm confused about a lot of things you said but in agreement with a few, too...
I guess I'll leave it there.
It's hard to carry around feelings that someone says get over, which you yourself have desperately tried and tried to... but can't...
Just saying.
Firstly, I meant no malice.
Your comments, while mostly over my puny little head, have me questioning whether or not you have anger and animosity... either in general or towards me or is it more of a resolved feeling that you're attempting to now convey....
I'm confused about a lot of things you said but in agreement with a few, too...
I guess I'll leave it there.
It's hard to carry around feelings that someone says get over, which you yourself have desperately tried and tried to... but can't...
Just saying.
Ooooh. Then let me say, I was writing about what drove me to my writing in the first place.
My pouring my heart out was an attempt to say that understanding these things enough to be able to talk about my most private feelings has taken tremendous work.
It was in no way a negative towards you but rather an admission of the difficulties I've had and so solidarity with your own process. It's depleting and frustrating and yet....worth it....
Please don't think I could ever have animosity towards you in any way.
Read it from the position of this being my story....the royal we, the third person me....you reflexive....this is my life.
Earlier in my life, I certainly was angry. I felt left out of processes that certainly did involve me. I was out of control because I was excluded. My anger was mainly about not being apprised of what was happening. Later, I realized that this was 2 fold. I was not able to help my sister, because I was 4.
Secondly though, I was excluded because she was unable to communicate....mute....I was excluded because she was incapable of including me.
That was actually hearing to understand. Like when I finally understood that 4 year old boys cannot save their suffocating sisters.
My pouring my heart out was an attempt to say that understanding these things enough to be able to talk about my most private feelings has taken tremendous work.
It was in no way a negative towards you but rather an admission of the difficulties I've had and so solidarity with your own process. It's depleting and frustrating and yet....worth it....
Please don't think I could ever have animosity towards you in any way.
Read it from the position of this being my story....the royal we, the third person me....you reflexive....this is my life.
Earlier in my life, I certainly was angry. I felt left out of processes that certainly did involve me. I was out of control because I was excluded. My anger was mainly about not being apprised of what was happening. Later, I realized that this was 2 fold. I was not able to help my sister, because I was 4.
Secondly though, I was excluded because she was unable to communicate....mute....I was excluded because she was incapable of including me.
That was actually hearing to understand. Like when I finally understood that 4 year old boys cannot save their suffocating sisters.
