trauma

Helping Another

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Out of nowhere it seems, an almost forgotten sense of peace has entered my heart. A steadying of nerves without invitation brought my mind and body back to a near lost state of existence. Stuttering words have once again begun to calm and my stream of thoughts float in logical harmony, free of jagged distraction. I again am coasting down stream in a river of gentle ease.

What events could of have taken place to softly and radically bring me back from the doorsteps of chaos and internal clutter. When only hours earlier I had been gasping for breath as gut and brain relived fractured recall of hallucinatory decay without notice from one unpredictable moment to the next? Simple, a forgotten joy that I dropped somewhere over these past few whenever’s was reactivate.

The actions leading to this shift are no great secret, helping another in spirit by supporting them in a genuine way is all it took. By stepping out of the center of my justified self-indulgent pity. To highlight the love, light and growth that has evolved out of an situation of challenge in someone else’s path of living buffered my own core tarnish. How wonderful to be able to help another human being to recognize their own beauty, strength, power, passion and growth. In return, with out expectation I experienced a spike in my own life current.

Through this action of self abandon and genuine guidance, to point out the positive glow via a life challenge is an absolute natural high for me. It has a multi dimensional flow effect on all and restorative for all parties involved. I have forgotten the pure magic and the force that there is behind the action of helping another. This one small action has done more than a thousand meditations, I thank you my friend for this moment. Last night was my first night without traumatic nightmares in months. At least that I can recall, I thank you again.

The power of supporting one other in even the smallest of ways is a powerful way to uplift every vibration upon this planet. It is so easy at least for me to forget this. Today I am grateful to wake with joy, to wake with calm, to wake with a renewed sense of possibility and knowing. It has been sometime since I have felt “good” in my core, the importance of having the good is so that I have something to compare the “bad” to. For so long I have been stuck on only the bad I forgotten about the good feelings…  My inner compass has been reset, last night has given me a return to personal navigation. Today I am grateful… It is still a journey… I do not know what tomorrow brings, but I am grateful for today…

Love and Light Always

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adult male rape, Selfportraits, trauma, Uncategorized

THE MOST DANGEROUS THING

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Unfiltered, here I am, naked, no decorative words, no room for flounce, not now, not within the womb of this cool circumstance. Raw and writing, it is we, it is he, Fernando along with the others which equal the new entirety of me.

I’ve decided no longer does it matter if there is an audience for my words or images. I now write because I need to write, I create my art because it is not only an essential part of my creative expression. It is a necessary segment of the healing equation, I still fall back on these words “art saved my life”.  Now I write with a slant on the unfiltered, just me and my selves. If another is helped as I stagger on my current path of wonder and stumble all the more glorious. Perhaps the flow of these writings will read more organically without the hindrance of self-criticism of thought, word, art and tongue.

I am afraid I am finally facing the raw fact that my trauma has become one bitch of a battle. It is increasing in bite and fervor. Sobriety has been a song and one I don’t give much of a shake about, even with all my trauma bullshit I have not thought once about drugs to deal with it. The trauma however is rupturing, ripping, splitting and soaring through the roof of my being. I am not sure who is winning in this wrestling match of wills. I do know I am not happy with the feelings beating me up each day, leaving me exhausted, bruised and raw.

Most days my thoughts are so tangled that I make no sense speaking. When I do manage to speak I often trip up my vocals. I mutilate simple sentences for example, ga-ga-ga-goo-goood goood morning. For a normally fairly grounded intelligent sounding person it becomes a bit humiliating. I often rock back and forth when I am alone typing, channeling my never existent autistic youth.

Yesterday, despite my gut intuition, I met with a therapist for the second time. It took me almost five years to reach a point where I was capable of receiving “professional” help. I understand fully that he has not been trained in trauma recovery, and may not even be queer sensitive. But surely he has a degree, and I assume based on his appearance he is of the human species. I also hope he had entered this field with an empathic heart, he does not seem old enough to be jaded and over his profession, or is he?

Aside from him being late for the second appointment in a row (note both appointments). Cutting me off, not hearing my needs then telling me to ignore my feelings. He then instructed to “Move on” “get over my past” to “get my old job back full time” please note I can barley function in my current part time position. I was instructed to “change my thoughts”  again. I explained this is something I do all day through many spiritual and personal teachings, meditations and techniques I have even developed along my personal journey.  I explain what someone in trauma goes through. I explained that I/we need tools to move forward and heal, I explained that I/we would like to learn how to cope with the subconscious thoughts that strike in the middle of night. Example: when I/we wake tossed on the floor in the middle of the night. Living out a rape, how do I/we move past that… I am enraged right now simply thinking of this session… yet I am moving forward I can not even finish this paragraph. _ RAW WRITING.

A bad therapist is the next worst thing to the actual traumatic event itself. I can not imagine anyone speaking these same words to someone who has just comeback from a tour of duty or lost their family to some horrific action of violence. I suppose a gang rape to faggot is just another disposable crime even in the eyes of a therapist. (please note the wrong therapist I know the majority are absolutely brilliant)

An average day for me, requires about 3 hours of meditation just to make out the door. Before I can go to my humble semi-stress free part time job. About once or twice a week I have at least one severe flash back during my waking hours. Two weeks ago, while walking down my block I hallucinated a full on rape, asshole ripping open, choking, suffocation, blood, restrained arms up against a fence the full nine yards. That was a pretty average scenario as of late. The week after the same situation took place while I was writing while sitting on a bench in the local park looking at trees. Boom out of the blue, restrained, suffocation, notebook on ground etc…. but this is my current unreality. “don’t think about it” he says. Again I say… seriously?

Last night three nightmares woke me up, usually I do not much of them, only the fighting, sweats, screams etc. But they are becoming more vivid as of late. Today I had to leave a simple task job after only an hour, because I freaked the F*@K out. My 10 minute walk home took about an hour, I was in a trance state the entire time. I crashed from exhaustion upon my arrival home (rather where I stay). More daymares, physical fighting and screaming and kicking. And he tells me “change your thoughts” “move on” I think to my self again, sarcastically, seriously?…I sorry I just forget to come out of trance states and nightmares to say “get happy” “get over it” Move On”….

Yes “change your thoughts” I agree completely, I do it all day everyday, minute by minute. This roller coster practice is enough to drive any normal person insane. I gently participate in many meditation techniques and lovingly embrace every fricking letting go method there is. But I can not delete reality, when something has never been dealt with it has to come out somewhere. Fact? or Fiction?

The most dangerous thing to a person in trauma recovery is… and I will say this again and again. Is having an unqualified person sitting opposite them on the other side of a desk when you are in therapy. This is not only dangerous it is negligent and can even be lethal. Last evening I felt so hopeless, lower than I have been, and closer to ending my life than and period in recent history. But I am as stubborn man, I will make it through this. Salt stains and all, I may not have much say during this period of my life that is up lifting. My core self is still in here somewhere, and it will come to the surface again. Until then, however long that takes be well be kind and be loving the best you can.

Thank you-

 

 

 

 

 

 

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addiction, Uncategorized

ONE YEAR RESTING

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It has now been a little over a year since my last drug use. I share no pride nor surprise about this news, it just is what it is. It came about in a dramatic ending in a masterful collaboration between the forces that be and me. I attracted the situation that led to an overdose and the rest is history. I have never had a serious desire to step back into the meth death pool to date.

Addiction, a word I have never cared to use, and respectfully encourage limited use of with others. “Addiction”not my issue, my theories surrounding addiction continue to be supported time and time again. Addiction is not the root of the “problem” it is the result of an inner issue, a deeper issue, not the cause. I’d like to take a moment at this time to encourage anyone who is working on “addiction” issues. If comfortable, to let go of terms such as disease, addiction, or defective along with a few others used in traditional 12 step program (not a dis). And for a few moments refocus on some positive concepts.

First I would like to state there are no defective human beings. Many of us have been exposed to some tough experiences in our younger years, have had learning issues, specifically on the autism spectrum or started using in our teens or twenties. In some cases we may have experienced or witnessed a trauma of some sort or experienced great loss.

The majority of heavy substance use or other acting out behavior. Is in fact based not so much on “addiction” rather as behavior patterns. An inside reaction to an outside occurrence, love yourself enough to care correctly for yourself. LISTEN TO YOUR GUT!

No one in my eyes can get healthy from any situation in life based on being told they are defective. Or told daily that they are an addict and always will be. This is like trying to go to school to get an education and being told you are stupid everyday.

This of course is only my opinion based on my amazing little journey in life. But I have seen a lot of shit, I have been to hell and back a few times. I believe we are all good people, we are simply learning, living, healing and being. I believe that love is what heals, there are many methods of support, there are many ways to heal and move forward. If you can’t find a way, make one up, it worked for me.  I have found that many people have very good intentions based on the intentions of those before them. But it does not mean that they have a clue to what you are going through.

Find your quiet space in your heart, let it guide you to the right place should you need outside guidance, help or even medical.

If  you are insanely over the edge as I once was, hang in there, remain open, trusting and honest. Meth is tricky, and it messes with your head, if you are still in the messy zone you have to trust another until you have clarity… enough said. I leave my words resting here.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

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Peace, reflective

LOVE-PPF

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LOVE-Past, Present & Future
There have been times in my life when the emotional weight that I’ve experienced did not make sense. I would find myself, lashing out or struggling free of reason, no matter how diligently I had worked my personal program of understanding. I wrestled with the undertones of situations I knew existed, yet could not put a finger on the lingering stains of uncomfortable.

There are appeared to be no situations, life imbalances, personal unrest, medical or mental issues to cause actions/reactions in my behavior or feelings. Life in general seem to be ok, reasons appear impossible to peg for emotional unrest. Nothing in this lifetime appears with any justification to have a legit connection. In some instances I believe it may be due to a past life footprint, stirring deep inside the soul cavity, an echo of unresolved issues. A traumatic situation perhaps that has never been mended, carried over from a previous life cycle.

My belief is we store these imprints much like we carry the histories of our early childhood memories. Often we don’t remember the good or the bad as we grow older, yet they are always there. In the instance of past life footprints rather than locked safe in the vault of our mind, they are embedded in the vibration of our soul, the core of who we are. The undefined being within, the ignored self of science, the truth that only you or I can understand the truth that only you or I need to understand.

In short, I am moved to suggest, in a moment when agitation arises and there is no connection of logical abundance. While grounded in the “now” of this existence, take
a moment to meditate, love heal and release the “heavy” around these emotions. Before acting out, begin to look within, there may be no answers for present events. Meditate to understand, acknowledge and heal any past life situation. Then wrap the feelings around it in light and release any past events and emotions with love and light. For myself this has been a very helpful tool, one I stumbled upon via guided  instinct.

If willing, answers, resolve and healing will come to you as it has with me. Lingering agitation or that unknown “itch” is our intuition, our inner voice guiding us. I suspect in some cases the story line is rooted in a past space and time, showing some care to these situations can prove as helpful as healing the now. Love is always the message, resolve and forward motion is the goal.

Just a thought from me to you-
Love Yourself & Another Past Present and Futrue

 

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adult male rape, Images, Recovery, trauma
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INTIMATE FRONTIERS

 

One of the final frontiers left on my trauma recovery trail is intimacy without thoughts of chemical crutches. Through my adventures I have come to fully appreciate, embrace, understand and honor the impact trauma has had on my sexual unraveling. As I continue to mend the last of my obscure life interruptions. My approach has remained sensitive yet expeditious to right what feels wrong within. 

Sex and intimacy are two subjects that have been increasingly seeking attention within my mending psyche. Like all matters of internal importance, when the time arrives for me to heal and release them. I experience what I describe as an electrical itch or a soft urgency. Overtime I’ve “plugged” into my own inner clatter of sub-current speak. I do my best to listen and react knowing that my higher self has prepared me to move onward. 

I then begin a sensitive and respectful process of analyzation. Followed by my spiritual and human work, whatever feels right at the time. Before I know it issues begin to dissolve and release. Once the wheels are in motion matters mend rather fast. Through this wonderful mashed up journey of mine. I have been afforded the gift of heightened personal awareness. Along with a desire to take ownership and action of what many of us call our “personal truth”. What was once a process based on fearful hesitation is now rooted in joyful anticipation. I mend most issues fairly swiftly these days. Rather than pushing them off onto endless task lists. No longer do I treat my life as a chore, I am excited to experience change. I am now a participant in my own life, no longer a by-stander. 

Since the experience of my rape in 2011. Intimacy without chemicals has been a seemingly impossible situation to conquer. I have abstained from sex for just over six months now. Living in fear of flesh, sex and slamming is not a life time solution. It is what I choose to do for this period of time. 

Sex for the time being is not worth the price of admission. Not if the cost of entry is possible death by meth. I am not against the use of drugs, let me make this clear. I am not the moral police, I think drugs can be a hell of a lot of fun. Or…

Speaking only for myself, rape and crystal meth addiction took me to the darkest of spaces. They nearly took everything from me, they both left me for dead. My body mind and spirt felt like a peasant beaten in the dark of night by authorities in a third world country. Bloody, cold, unvalued, forgotten, not even a statistic… Just another discarded gutter fag. 

CURRENT TRUTH
Messages of intimacy continue to erupt around me. In my thoughts, my art, dialogues, writings and meditations. At a gallery opening this Saturday past, the subject of rape was a topic shared in private between several woman and I. As they asked questions about my photography and the subject matter. The images are a reflection of my mending experience after my gang rape. The images specifically encapsulate the “middle space” of my healing process, post darkness. When light begins to re-enter ones life. They are about the comfort of being SAFE. The tears flowed from a few of the women’s eyes. As they shared with me their own intimate tales of assault. One woman spoke of her experience for the very first time. 

An earthy sophisticate in her early 70’s described a terrified and obviously determined 10 year old girl. She had kept locked deep within safe from family, authorities and monsters. A fragile child never allowed to be speak for all these years. I was deeply honored that she felt SAFE to share her story. I stood with her as she held my hand I shared some of my accumulated perspectives. Along with a few tools that have helped me on my path. She had no tools 60 years past in rural Indiana. “He did the crime, I received the life sentence” she confided. For me this marked the beginning of the end of a long drawn awareness cycle. Or the opening to the closing of my intimacy release.  

CONTINUED OPENING TO A CLOSE
The following evening while on a rare venture to a club here in Chicago. I was busy doing my usual hoof and shuffle. Through thud and base while gagging on “fog juice.” I was approached by an extremely good looking and sexually aggressive young man. Although I declined his repeated advances. Intimacy triggers sparked through the epicenter of my pulsing brain. In general I do not “hook up” with folks I meet in clubs. This evening was no exception, I performed my usual twirl, cocktail and escape.

Not being able to figure out my emotions of the moment. I climbed from basement dance-hall in search of cab or sub-rail to destination home. That is when I had a snap second of desire. The desire was not sex, meat to hole. Although I had a nano-nag thought about companionship. Triggered by the handsome Mr. Generation next. My side saddle urge was to score a “teen” of  little wicked Tina. Then pop a rocket into my vein, this was not about getting high. This was about the demolition of fear and emotional retardation. I thank GAG (God Angels and Guides) for awareness, this is the key to all growth and recovery to all situations in my life. Ooh, sweet golden awareness, how I love thee.

Many men I know use crystal meth to take a sexual experience to a level of epic distortions. This was not my goal, my hope was to drop my own barrier walls. To be comfortable enough to allow another man to touch me, breath on and or in me. Most importantly to allow myself to reach out and be sensually connected. “Formal” sex was not a part of my conscious check list. My other objective was to be high enough to drop my sarcasm and humor. Often my defense mechanism when uncomfortable. 

This all sounds pretty basic, right? Passionate, tender heated, embracing, verbal one on one love. Love and communication without fear, free of hesitation void of calculated actions. Not so easy at this stage of recovery, difficult enough in daily life. Nearly impossible when rank and raw. I am getting there, patience is the other golden gift. 

This is not about body parts or geometry. This is about heart, head, flesh compassion and intuition. This formula use to be a part of my core approach to connective communication. Actually, it is still a part of who I am, it always will be. I proudly own this nugget of my personality. No matter how dormant it may be during this period of my semi-muffled sexual resurrection.

None of this is new, it is all part of the life detour recovery game. I am not special with this one, millions of us do it everyday. Anyone who is a champion in this accelerated course of Trauma 101 understands these various stages or repair. We all have our own pace and our own ways of making it through. I feel the shift, I see the horizon, I feel that this current veil has almost lifted.

Many I know in formal recovery programs would react to the very thought of sex and meth as a red flag. Naturally for many it probably should be, thats not my story. For me it was a 5 second cause to pause. It reenforced all that has been coming to the surface as I continue to move through these final frontiers. I realize now how much I have restored in my life. Just how much of me has come home to this temple of flesh no longer in decay. Recovery of any form in my eyes has zero timelines. It requires love, patients and personal sensitivity. It takes as many moments as needed to pause and shift up the game plan. Write your own rules or co-author with someone you trust not with someone you are suppose to trust.

All of our stories are important just as our lives are. We share our stories so we may heal. We also share our stories because this is how we help another human being in their journey. We each have a profoundly unique message and gifts in this lifetime. We each have our own platforms to use our voice. It may not be a lecture hall filled with Ted Talks fans, a blog, or big media presentations. It may be listing to your neighbor, being sensitive to a stranger on the street. Or finally being brave enough to let down our guard and be authentic with your partner a friend or even a family member. In these days of electronics that I adore, lets not forget the magic and power each of us harness.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

 

Intimate Frontiers

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adult male rape, Recovery, trauma
YDP121315

A RETURN of PUNK ROCOCO

THE RETURN of PUNK ROCOCO and THE SWISH MAN
Material goods do matter to each of us, I suppose. In various volumes, intervals and sizes.

This week I rewarded myself, with what I consider to be an insanely delicious find. Falling perfectly within the spectrum of my palette of 10,000 shades of taste. A sweet gold rimmed, floral dusted 60 piece plus antique dinnerware set. Including traditional borscht size bowls and all the service pieces. With storage bags and custom cut protectors for creamer, sugar bowl, butter plates, relish dishes, pie servers and such. Offered up at a generous price, wrapped with tender loving care. As if I where any other customer at my place of employment. For the first time in years I felt like a “norm” member of functioning society.

Oddly, I emotionally tripped out for a few days in a entirely new way. “Poor me,” I caught myself in a cloud of old thought splatters. “I have no storage to store these pieces, when will I ever have a place to call my own home again?” “Poor me, boo-hoo” the conversation continued within. “I have no one to cook for and no kitchen to cook in with no presentable space to serve”. …

Reality check dude, gentle calm comes as the rivers of progress and light flow. Showers of gratitude relax the mind and soul. This is no longer a trip of baggage or drudgery. Although this mini expenditure commanded four trips of escort to see this snappy-set back to the abode where I stay. After all this was a labor of reward and love.

One more time, as often the case. I breathed in a breath and exhaled slow, accessing the truth of my current state. It was time for one of my progress inventory self evaluations to put things in perspective. This always gives me clarity and confidence. Allowing me to return to my core determination, without force or friction. I then began to visualize the future, bathed in glorious possibilities.

I remind myself, it really does not matter how many pauses there may be on the road tween now and forever. Forward motion is an action of many movements. Sometimes part of action arrives in the form of a pause. Even periodic steps of reverse movement, a concept I have become understanding of over time. Momentary backward steps are where I have learned my most valued lessons. I have become grateful for any periodic hick-ups.

Life need not be difficult, but awareness sometimes arrives through the struggle of figuring “it” out. As the mind, spirit and core-self stretches it functions much like a muscle, in the body becoming stronger and expansive.

Throughout all these motions of learning I try my best remain aware. That there is continuous, mass life magic unfolding around me. I remind myself to always be sensitive to this fact. Each day I thank the forces that I engage with. Also I have learned to take time to thank myself for both the large and little steps along the way.

NO SNATCH
It can be easy to slip into the travesty of re-victimization of ones past. For myself, trauma at times has left me feeling as if everything in my life could be snatched away at any given moment. This is a lie, permeated deep into my nervous system, mind and flesh. From past events that no longer need be my truth. That moment has past, ownership of the present and future now rest proudly within my own palms.

The on and off again retraining of heart and head can be kick ass fun. As the blanket of lies of previous beliefs unravel. Powerful new truths are spun and revealed throughout each day. What I love, and what I have learned along my rape and trauma recovery trip is. I do not ever have to live as I have post-trauma or even pre-trauma again. I can live a life WAY BETTER than the life I had ever known at ANY TIME in my PAST. From birth through my tomorrows-

The true beauty of my life catastrophe, is it has stripped me naked of every illusion of learned living. I have decided to refinish my life and re-stain it the way I see fit. I have decided to Re-master and re-mix the livin’ cluck out of it. And that is pretty fricking awesome. I am still laying down the tracks, like all of this life it is a work in progress. I am slowly nailing it with a loving heart and at times an uncertain mind.

MURK-SKID
Now when my head slips into murky thought. I find myself on the mend, swift and quick after each dark dip. The plunges are shorter, darkness is lighter and the length of less frequent trips has contracted. These days I catch myself before I hit any deep trenches. If I do hit a what feels like and oncoming dark skid. I find them to be nothing compared to the hells of past detours. I actually giggle a bit when a pop flash moment passes over me with it’s dark soul sap. Now it feels much more like a cleansing rain in comparison to the past pain experiences. These moments now tend to last seconds, minutes or an evening, tops. Mad applause, mad progress and nods of acknowledgment to the forces above, around and within as always.

This morning I felt a need to snap a few shots of my new fancy-ass dinnerware. To prime my mind with inspiration and remember that I have options in life. Once more I may return to the days of “PUNK ROCOCO” and dine in service. In the early 90’s, my urban cabin rocked from floorboards to rooftop. With a decor of vibrance and whim, often wanted I’ve lusted refine and re-explore this this side of my nesting visions. But I have been to scattered, to afraid and filled with self doubt. Now I am finally free to redesign all segments of living body, spirit and house. To entertain seems like nothing to some, after living in fear of people for the past four years or longer this is a massive goal. I am now ready to open the eventual doors of home now that the shutters of my heart are unshackled once more.

The greatest gift of my queer “SWISH” heritage (terms of my choosing). Is being proud of slapping together a mash up of razor sharp living with no apologies. Dripping with gold leaf, flounce and fleur de lis, along with crisp clean lines or whatever design collisions rock my trousers on any given day.

I now understand that I/we/anyone can live the best life possible. Unstoppable are we, nothing is unreachable, yes perhaps proper time may be needed. But our dreams, desires, and determinations are all in the works with our chosen intentions in motion. With our best interest at universal heart. We can live our highest truth and achieve our perspective joy.

At work I don’t believe anyone knows my full story, that is probably best. Only bits, chips and a few word droppings… not many in my “real” life know the full spun tail either, perhaps to much to digest for some. The mind gags with what it can not digest, as always I understand we are only human. I don’t think many can possibly understand. When a man looses everything, simple gestures of fulfillment can fill voids unexpectedly. (gratitude reflective smile)

Even I did not know how much one set of silly frilly dishes could mean to one boy. Who now uses the word man more than I ever thought I would. My grannie dishes symbolize more than a material purchase. Eventually filling a cabinet or being a beautiful presentation piece for a home spun feast. They are a represent progress, hope, recovery, discovery, and symbolic marker of rebirth and a return to a higher self.

Funny, suddenly I have a strong desire to serve salmon. With a side dish salad sound track of Edward Scissor hands, Berlioz, Richard Hell, Sex Pistols and Miss Patsy Cline. Along with a guest list of many for a dinner divine.

Through this experience I humbly have a greater understanding of the importance of my job. A not for profit resale shop. Helping the HIV and queer/trans community here in this City of Wind. A place I may not have normally visualized myself employed at. In a city I normally would not have chosen to return to. If not for the circumstance of a soul implosion.   I do believe there is a reason for everything, always with my choice to opt in or out.

For our clients and self as well, what may seem to be a simple and unimportant purchases. Really can give a lift, shift and roll to an individuals perspective on life and self value. When you have lost dignity, spirit, home, health, body, self worth and mind just to name a few. A bushel of dishes and a kind gesture can go a long way.

NO SHAME GAME
Some shame the need or desire for material goods. I feel there is nothing wrong with decor or a frock uplifting a spirit or boosting ones worth. Actually I no longer believe in most forms of shame. I do agree with many who feel it is the decadence and sole reliance on only the material. That leeds to spiritual, emotional and social debt. These are the track marks of imbalance up the decaying arm of society. Leaving one greedy not quenched, hooked and always needing more. I am quenched and I wish to fill many a goblet-cheers and may we all pass a gift along. Of spirit, coin or deed.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

A RETURN of PUNK ROCOCO and THE SWISH MAN

Aside
Selfportraits, Uncategorized
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

UNPLUGGED

Some wonder why… I bla to the bla, about my two to four year shock and yammer. My mellowing roar weaving on and off for so long now. There have been many clicks to my trip switch flipping me on and off. There are triggers, like anything else. This issue connected to loss and trauma is bigger than all the rest. loosing my home, loosing New York is the one rip snatcher I have yet to master. Sex, drugs and rock roll are rarely and issue for me these days. Loss of everything else can still be a stinger-

Today I watched a video play, it caught me by delight and murk. It was of a lil ruffle hopper, a sweet lil young sweet thang. I assume of age five or six, I have never done well with the age game. Innocent with blonde locks at the Bedford “L” stop in Brooklyn. Stomping to some local sounds. Banjo plucks, just having a good old time. The way they carry on in the city of glitter and grime. Just one of the many random examples of why my heart sang each day when I was not numbed by trauma and meth. After the “Main Event” that took place November of 2011-God I hate to say it one more time. That dang gang rape I guess it will be part of conversations till the end of this or perhaps the next lifetime.

Many a New Yorker take daily doses of these magic occurrences for granted. For myself as life situations shift, and exits occur. Moments of reflection repeatedly arise in my heart. As I view from the outside glancing back at the wonder of the world that I had left through delusions, panic and fear. Now equally the beauty resonates 20/20 clear.

Sometimes I wonder if I can ever forgive myself, even for what I have nothing to forgive myself for. Regret is a vicious weapon, ignited by street scenes on television each night as I open my back door after a long days work beat and frazzled. Eyes locked on a shot of some pizza place on Sullivan Street that flashes before me in traditional sitcom fashion. Mid town police dramas send shivers of memories lost. A shot of Parsons School of Design during Project Runway every can destroy not like it did a year ago. A year ago I would be suicidal for 2 weeks or more.. Every frame, scene, commercial can catch me off guard. This is what the video today was like for me. It was a regret crash back – 

Crushing me quickly in the vat of regressive therapeutic hell. Soon it is flash backs and mini meth cravings and all is not well. It is back to spiritual boot camp, I’ve done this all before. I shout within my head “I shall never give up” and weep in silence. It’s only TV what the hell. I fear the 11 men that rape me less than I fear “Broad City” or a vintage capture of “Rhoda”. Sometimes but not always when I think I am doing just fine. I feel the cold steel blades of regret slash. Just then the loss rips from soul to hole. Everything I lost and abandoned from blood to money pulses through my memory banks. And the salty rivers begin to flow blackness lingers until the sun once more rises and I heart regenerates..

HEAVY-all progress seems to have only been and illusion. I know this is a temporary myth soon to lift. Yes at this stage I know it all will last a few hours and I will move forth stronger than before. Huge props and self acknowledgment for the power of love, the power of growth and the power to be ok taking a brief detour to the internal city of shitty…I just don’t want to stay to long.

As new day sun rises the world is right again. I tell myself, it is ok my friend. Healing Heart Healing Hands so little time and so much healing has been done. Stay the course, you can make it home once more. YOU can make it home, you are NOT alone this time.

No longer a fractured man, no longer a prisoner of flesh, no longer a prisoner of chemicals, aggression, rape or home. Gentle journeys are worth the time. Often tears scrape down the inside of my cheeks. Hidden from the outer world. Chapped and dry are the emotional silent cries no one shall hear as I scream looking directly at you with a awkward manufactured smile. Yet spirt’s light and spark fires powerful and true. There is ALWAYS LOVE there is ALWAYS HOPE always love and hope. As Champions and Warriors, we live on our daily fuel we have no an option to tire.

For now, I choose to enjoy and reflect. So many wonderful gems to remember in the image albums of my mind. For now I keep fresh the vision of this young young miss. She is both electric and safe as sounds strum near Bedford tracks. While love frolics around her as parents and strangers join in her dance. I have many choice, I choose to stay the course.

I have gained many things I am appreciative of this. Sanity, love, and spirit. Perhaps someday I will return home, until then I am a fool in love. Until then my tube is unplugged.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

UNPLUGGED

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