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 http://i.am/btripp ... 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 ...
FOR CONSTRAINED YEARNINGS' DRIFT
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