Stephen Pimley | Abstract,Random,Thoughts,Writing | Wednesday, September 3rd, 2014

I don’t like the idea of making a fetish out of attraction. I guess I understand why people like the simplification of a certain type of guy or woman being their “thing”. I am starting to believe that to be an arbitrary restraint they are putting on themselves out of naiveté. I can fall for any woman between the gender stereotype in designer clothing to the tattooed and pierced. I find that when you really get to know someone their personality either fits with yours or it doesn’t. Fashion and artistic taste in music, literature, and so on falls away into the background. There is something at the core of every person that can melt together and form a stronger alloy, or it can froth and boil in a dangerous reaction. …and sometimes a bit of both.

Visiting Hours

Stephen Pimley | Daily Life,Friends,Illness,Memories,Thoughts,Writing | Tuesday, April 22nd, 2014

On some levels I regret going and yet I know that it had to be done. She deserved the company, even if I left empty-handed. As much as I hate to admit my weakness, I always want to see her even when I feel that the exchange will be uneven. Who could say ‘no’ to her hugs anyway? She’s too damn beautiful to refuse. I was expecting she would be a bit disheveled given the circumstances of our meeting. Nothing seemed out of place, not a hair less perfect than I remembered. She had every right to hate the place she was in. I just wish I could convince her to treat herself the way she expects the doctors to. I believe in her strength. She can get through this. She can live again without a head full of numbers and measurements and comparisons to the ugly lie she sees in the mirror.

I left her eyes a bit red, a bit watery. I think she worries my time is running low. Nobody should ever worry about me. I have no immediate need to rush to action because I have no drive left. How is it that other people feel compelled to be? Why is it they consider living such an achievement? Not everyone deserves the luxury. My friend deserves to live, and better yet than she has been offered thus far. I… I don’t understand what is so different about the way others interpret the same sights, sounds, and smells that I do. Maybe, if someone like her could love me then this stone would move. Of course, it is never going to be her responsibility to feel something that doesn’t come naturally to her.

My friends all wish I could I could give myself the attention I give others. What do they see in me that I don’t? Is it a mirror image of my relationship with them, or something else entirely? Would that they could see the beauty in themselves as I do. Little roots of love dripping through their veins seeking to brighten up every far corner. This void extends beyond the darkness of our past, to every little crevice of being we failed to bless with our presence and attention. I like to think that with enough love we can bridge even the gaps between us. I like to think that with enough visiting hours the deepest of pains will no longer keep a person chained in the dark. We all have someone to visit and to care for, be it a friend or family. Perhaps even ourselves. Would that I could visit myself. Someone please tell me the hours.

Stephen Pimley | Daily Life,Illness,Thoughts,Writing | Saturday, September 21st, 2013

I spent the night looking for a movie to watch because I have no one to talk to. I should really clarify that so nobody gets offended. I’m too depressed and shy to talk to strangers and I’m too much of a downer to talk to the people I know. I settled on Limitless and watched the first 30 minutes. I stopped the movie because it was playing on my dreams – everyone’s dreams, of reaching their “true” potential and breaking through all the fears and indecision that keep us bound in a life below our expectations. I already hate myself enough as it is and I really don’t need my media adding to that. I’ve been trying to teach myself Java programming through some online tutorials but mostly I just stare at the screen. I read the same sentences over and over because only the unconscious parts of my brain can understand them and move on. My conscious mind is playing back a highlight reel of all the horrible stories I’ve been reading in news, all the people I love that will never love me in return, and how little time I have left before I have to reveal how disabled I really am. I wish I still experienced those moments that get tucked away into the recesses of my mind as rainy day reinforcements. I need some basis in reality as a launching point for my fantasies when things get so difficult that I must drift out of myself. All my dreams are old and tired. Their edges are tattered from being played too much and their colors are dulled and distorted by a lens covered in a million tiny scratches. The only time I can see relatively clearly is when I’m off my medication and then everything just turns brilliant shades of black. I suppose this is what I deserve for missing my medication two days this week. How can I be so forgetful that I can’t even remember simple things like which days the medication clinic is open? Now you’ll have to excuse me while I wipe the withdrawal sweat off my brow and chest then try to ignore this headache long enough to sleep.

Stephen Pimley | Abstract,Illness,Thoughts,Writing | Monday, September 16th, 2013

I am trying to transform myself for a good cause, but I’ll never be perfect. I’ll never be what the world needs, but I’m changing nonetheless. You too, may never reach your lofty goals of perfection. Perfectly skinny, perfectly beautiful, perfectly successful, perfectly wise. At some point you have to accept yourself for what you are. Your goals matter more than your progress. Your intentions matter more than all the people ahead of you in life. You matter more than your doubts and fears. They’re just distractions and obstacles in the road. Tear your eyes away and look out the window at the landscape passing by. Sooner than you realize it, all of this will be gone and you’ll be left with nothing more than memories of the path you’ve taken. What do you want to remember?

Burnt Beyond Recognition [Parts 1 & 2]

Stephen Pimley | Drugs,Family,Illness,Thoughts,Writing | Friday, July 26th, 2013

What is a life worth if to save it you must destroy all that it was? I thought I was wise enough given the circumstances. I thought I was doing all that I could. I tried holding a magnifying glass to the sun and burning a hole through my skull to exorcise all the dark and slithering things inside. I am left with a grey void where there was once an endless spring of light. I close my eyes and look inside a cold static field made up of a billion sparkles instead of the defined and brilliant images that used to form there. My ears pick up background hums from electronics and the creaking of an old ceiling fan where there was a chorus of neon angels playing tribute. There is a place deep inside of us where mirrors are meant to aim their focus into a single guiding ray. It is this core, heart of being that boiled off under the onslaught of my misdirection.

I wish I could describe my brain damage in a way that other people could understand. Something is gone where I used to be. I wish my family could stop believing in me so it won’t hurt so much when I have to leave them. This signal is breaking up and cutting out and I still haven’t had a chance to grasp what it was all about.

Preamble

Stephen Pimley | Random,Thoughts,Writing | Wednesday, July 24th, 2013

I lay you back onto the mattress and loom over with my hands on each side of your shoulders. Left is just enough enough space for you to wriggle free should the fear and memories flood back. Our eyes are locked and wide but I am no predator, and you are no prey. Bared teeth meet your earlobe in a pinch as I whisper all the words I can push out before our animal takes over. I am so cold and lost inside of this shell. Please come inside and find me, free me. The locks on our prisons were made to be broken without hammers, files, and bars. Still yet, just as much force, sweat, and screaming. I want you to sew up my heart with your hands and your lips, your moans and your hips. I need you to place your soul inside of me the same ways I place my body inside of you. We the lost souls of Earth, in order to form a more perfect union, establish trust, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote each other’s welfare, and secure the blessings of love to ourselves and our children, do ordain and establish this united state. Suspended in plasma… tears… passion. We are merged and unbroken. We are one.

99 Days {revision 29}

Stephen Pimley | Drugs,Friends,Illness,Writing | Monday, July 22nd, 2013

I am not here to meet, or greet, or attempt to know why
There is nothing to be done to – or for my
Deck that’s cut and will not alter
Cards born to fail and wills to falter
Alas ne’er stroke of luck for hands to play
I must fold again to mark this day
Like all the other withheld conations
My mere reflections and observations…

I could turn my eyes back matte, exposing sockets now dimmed and empty
Revealing all too much of life spent blindly pushing through

The brier neither escapes the scrapes nor scars
For you’ll not – time to admire as you’ll too brush
Back the hair tangled, rotten, or serene
A little plastered, shorn, or keen
Strung to pale white newborn skin
Slipped from youthful hands, aged within
Bouncing and slamming against the tiled floor
Two eager heads
   Too quick
      To know a little more

The agony that promise empty came to be
Was truth that stormed so distantly
That foreigner insider inside her – all while
I tried to say the words to which I had
Not the depth or breadth of breath
As her car faded down a swollen street
To a warmer life, to a softer beat
Of men whose smiles will react
So nerves inflicted will not act
To all these things done to and for
Not the things I’ve seen before
Or all the things we tried to say
‘Fore the rest come and wash away
The stain on my lips of ever past
Of times and tears that will not last
In minds, like mine, feeding these fears…far, far too fast

And why am I thinking here again?
I promise myself though never mend
These truths or doubts of mine mind
Portend of mental rifts and never end
The reflections of here, there and more
The shades upon the pains hast before

So I must sit back and reflect:

On days ninety-nine long
Days like these, cards like these
Cuts of mortal hand where change cannot
Touch the day, today, everyday
Lift nor sift nor right the wrong of
Today the day – one hundred strong

©2006, 2009, 2010, 2013 Stephen Pimley

Hero

Stephen Pimley | Abstract,Dreams,Thoughts,Writing | Sunday, July 14th, 2013

I dream of her every night because my heart and mind refuse to let go of this last ray of light. She is the Minotaur’s labyrinth, and I am the desperate soul braving her twisting depths for an answer. Imprisoned in this dark construction of my own design, I yearn to knock the walls before me flat with a bellow of frustration and rage. Whatever powers I may possess, nothing but pure determination seems to hold any offer of revealing an unobstructed path back into her warm embrace. Night after tear-bled night it’s always the same pitfall that shatters the flagstones beneath my feet and returns me gasping into my pillow. I come upon a crossroads of many paths and before me stands a great fountain feeding into a garden blanketed in mist. Cherubs of the finest crystal fly forth from a base of green-veined marble and blast upon their trumpets to usher streams of water for the lily and fronds beneath. I kneel down and cup my hands in the waters for refreshment when in my reflection a foul horned beast gazes back at me. My slit eyes widen in shock as behind me I hear the crunch of gravel beneath a boot and a sword being unsheathed. Starting out from under my sheets I wipe the sweat from my brow and wonder. Am I doomed to destroy everything I love? Am I doomed to be destroyed by everything I love? Another night comes and another question remains unanswered.

©2009, 2013 Stephen Pimley

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