BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

Something hidden ...

Sometimes the simplest things become impossible. I am so badly damaged from the shit I've been going through that I can hardly function in the world anymore. Unfortunately, this only manifests in subtle ways, like not being able to open the mail or get voice messages (except for those that come in attached to e-mail ... thank the Gods that the Unicity system is set up that way!). I have probably three months' worth of unopend mail here ... which of course means that I have credit card shit that's three months over-due, etc. I just CAN'T deal with this stuff anymore ... full-fledged hyperventillating panic attacks erupt when I even start to try to get that stuff organized. I'm likely to be losing some of my domains since Eschaton's fucking corporate Amex (damn American Express to the lowest pits of Hell!) is bouncing out the renewal charges. I hate this, I really, really, really, really hate this. And, of course (as I've noted previously) I have ZERO support on any of this ... the attitude of everybody around me is "GET OVER IT YOU STUPID SACK OF SHIT!" ... if I could "get over it", if I could deal with this shit, it wouldn't be a problem, now would it? The dollar amounts aren't even significant, it's just the "doing". It's like a couple of years ago when I suddenly was unable to sign anything ... not a letter, not a check, not a book, I could NOT make my hand do that signature thing. So fucking frustrating. So fucking damaged. And yet, all the other stuff, the work-on-the-web-site stuff, the write-contact-letter stuff, the research-the-information stuff, all works FINE, so I get no sympathy, I get no help, I get nothing but kicks in the fucking ribs ... "Brendan's being so fucking LAZY" ... "Why can't you get ANYTHING done?" ... "When are you going to TAKE CARE OF THAT?". Suicide looks better and better and better.

By the way, there's a tip of the cap to another suffering through some parallel Hell hidden in this ... I'm not much given to those sorts of things, but it seemed the right thing to do tonight. Of course, if you have a deep hankering for more of my endless spew, the motherlode of such is at ... I'm almost ready to do another update, having a few more months of 1996 (as far back as I've gotten into the archives so far) ready to roll. Yeah, I know ... like you fucking care! Frankly, the fact that I have SO much work left to do on the Big Poetry Site is probably the #1 thing keeping me from killing myself ... knowing full damn well that nobody else would give a shit about my stuff. I really wish it was all nicely archived ... I could set up a fund to keep the site up for the next 10 or 20 years and then throw myself under a bus. That sounds so sweet at the moment ...


                    some days I wish
                    there were some faith
                    any faith
                    which called to me
                    that I could fall
                    into delusion
                    and pull it warmly
                    across my sight

                    but every faith
                    is built on lies
                    woven from illusions
                    created to control
                    intended to contain
                    the higher man
                    and keep his mind
                    bound into chain

                    how sweet the lives must be
                    of those who lose their eyes
                    beneath the shroud of faith
                    they no longer have to ask
                    they no longer have to know
                    all things are given
                    in cycles of deceit
                    crafted without seams

                    all those I know
                    who have the vision
                    are tortured by this world;
                    no wonder so much fear
                    lurks beneath the surface
                    of the docile sleeping mass,
                    no wonder how much hate
                    is shown the seeing mind

                    the unwaking ones all know
                    were they to look beyond
                    the lies that froth their dream
                    they would have to face
                    the nightmare of this dark
                    the depths of the abyss
                    and the madness of a land
                    contrary to the true

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp

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