Debaser

08/28/2011

Going into the basement of the self.

I feel like I am in the middle of a deep and powerful therapy, but I have to be the one who asks the hard questions and gives the hard answers. Journal frantically while shutting everyone else out but for bits and spurts. Occasionally I hold out some snapshot, C. and I sit out on the porch and I tell a story but then go down, under the spell of introversion again. Slip back to the basement where it is cool and damp, my stories can filter thru the lacy frame of plants and windows.

And it feels…safe here, with the exception of how my body is unearthing all the neglect I have tolled upon it in previous weeks, months, years–coming up with all this at the same time.

Using fiction, that attentive lens, to approximate dialogues I do not trust anyone enough to have. Do not want to trust anyone else with, sifting thru the fuzz from my own asshole. That’s some introspection, yo.

This was a little bit what adolescence was like for me, a sense of having an intense inner life and very little connection to my external life. A sense that other things might exist in the future, but they were not close enough for me to really be terribly interested in them. Suddenly I wonder: if my father had not raised to me the night I left, would I ever have left at all? Yes, but it might have been by hanging rather than by the door.

I will go out of this place by the door, sword in hand. Maybe I will burn it down, too. You never know.

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One Response to “Debaser”

  1. “This was a little bit what adolescence was like for me, a sense of having an intense inner life and very little connection to my external life.”
    word.

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