soft acquisition

pointless calls on a Nokia flip phone in 2004

i used to tug at my mom’s sweater sleeves when I felt a sense of fear towards God & those trying to rob me of everything I love & hold closely dear in my heart… so equally weak in its wishful tenderness & as strong as my ability to meditate on the miracle of existence & experience, reflecting with deep breaths, awareness of safe spaces & comfort zones — only smoking cigarettes when the time feels like it is slowly diminishing the spark in my soul, a way to light the way in the darkness & dwell on everything with gratitude & come back to self… once close to home & in my heart & head, I can finally escape from the tortures & torments of perception. Only what we perceive & focus on — either muddled in confusion or fully embraced with clarity — has any kind of bullheaded control of our fate… as I step aside to avoid experiencing exposure to a type of self imposed opposition by any task force member against one’s self, seeking to beam me up & extinguish the light within.

i don’t like the way you attempt to corrode my thoughts & invade my space kind sir…

c’est la vie monsieur, he replies…

je ne sais pas… ça va?

ça va, c’est la vie.

now, this emphatic man comes up to me — not even remotely sympathetically sensitive to the vulnerabilities of mental disabilities & trauma — & soon interrogates me about the thoughts that intrusively gnaw at the back of my head… thoughts that aren’t my own

he wants me to head some bad place far away with him & before i could hardly refuse, he’s whisking me off for no reason to somewhere I don’t want to go & had no intention of going to whatsoever.

This is all a search & rescue, but instead of rescue, it’s a search & abandon & abuse. I’m sensitive to people in positions of power taking advantage of the less fortunate.

the mind control by the current day & age’s government & law enforcement is at times relentless & uncomfortably unbearable & by no means should I subject myself to a subduing of sorts of my actually so wholeheartedly genuine & gently kind soul, as well as to a practice of data mining, manipulating & even controlling every little process of thoughts.

i am not a puppet with which you can literally place things on my hands & implicate that I did anything more than committing the sin of enjoying my vice of smoking cigarettes & sipping maybe too much coffee today, when maybe one could argue i should begin reading the Bible instead a tiny bit more.

A number pops in my head & a thousand thoughts flood in my inbox in a not too expected, undesirable fashion. Some of these thoughts are kindly aligned with the divinity I believe in my heart to truthfully paint vivid pictures of this universe we accept as something naturally inherited. But then again, other thoughts demean my very existence & crash into my head like a demonic Beamer driving too fast on the highway of my imperfect mind… not that any mind — including mine — is or isn’t perfect, so long as ego is kept naturally at a balance between high & low, just a touch of confident dignified self esteem & worth, but also grounded enough to see the perceived issues we deal with go way beyond us: an issue almost all of humanity deals with… issues we work through, thoughts & feelings we cope & respond gentle heartedly to…

finding time for both work & play, dealing with consequences & grinding enough to set aside time for self healing & decompression in response to any latent edginess we feel that we further must take care of & release this angst through chemically balancing substance, progress, motion & sensitivity & acceptance of the whole human condition relative to our own stance, mindfulness & perspective in our own corner niche of the world.

Two things I know for sure:

Nobody puts baby in a corner…

&

Pressure makes diamonds.