Special Relativity

Good God, what a misnomer. I feel drenched from
Feelings I can no longer place border to border
My mind is like a jukebox that is no long in order
It plays random tunes by itself, ghostly and then proud
But always loud. And I like it uncomfortably loud.
Always, they can dispose of me, but no one cares enough
Or even knows me.

When I was small I felt everything at all.
As I grew it became less chaotically great, but more
Satisfying in that I had some control.
I could kick a bastard in the face
Or I could be the most sensitive
Inquisitive and humanitarian person of all,
At least theoretically.

To feel everything come to a head now, at the end of our lives
Makes it seem almost as though history were simply made for our lives
Why this special frame of reference for me in my time? And you?
The point where billions of slow years of accumulation
Has pushed the coil toward infinite acceleration is through,
And the transition between these two very different realities was now.
Twenty years, two hundred, somewhere thereabouts:
I find it hard to believe there isn't some special relevance, somehow.

Do I sound like a theist? Deism is all I will concede, at gunpoint
Breathing on eggshells, pincushions for lungs, trembling, a nervous beast
Penned up; to find your hold on reality is slipping is one thing,
To trade something for nothing quite another; ideas can't just be taken away
Alternatives must exist and they can be swapped for each other
Or else where is the sense? To what aim is a life force to bend itself then?
I feel the sickness of sudden deceleration in the nerves beneath my skin.

And these eyes have seen enough.
Bring it to a close, soon I hope, with dignity if possible
Or with a rusty machete
If dignity ain't ready.
This stomach can't swallow any more pride or this
Heart hurt anymore inside me today. So I'm
Packing up my mind to shuffle toward any light that may save me.

Or to fully embrace my last moment of voluntary angst
And move on to nothingness, if that is what truly awaits "ME"

And good God, it's muggy out
Hot and sweaty, buggy
Without it feeling healthy at all
That sun
Slowing me to a crawl
And after I get home, I might fall
On my bed
But for now, I'm still chugging
Hoping for a cool spell or something
Some respite of calm and collected thoughts,
One restful night would be good
Before the end of it all.

Please don't forget me - I really love you all.

But there is something wrong with my mind
And I can't rewind, can't make figures of clay
Like YHWH, and cry out that they are now alive.
I cannot thrive in a world that is this way.
My friends of now and yesterday,
My heart goes out to you in spades.

Every time I emerge from a conflict between pragmatism
And the ideals I hold dearer than my own being
I emerge the worse for it
And it's simply getting harder and harder to pretend.
My life is a mess with only one visible end.

But please don't forget me - I really love you all
To the extent I am capable.

(dedicated to "zwida")