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Life

And Then Some

Fight through. What’s on the other side is worth the isolation, focus and hard work.
You have to live for your own goals.

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Tic, tick, toc, tock
The gray, oh how grey it is
Peaking while peeking
Was told what the toll was
Armed up I’ve got them with their arms up
Cuz, you’re your cause ‘cause you the jerk always jerking off
Duck the low flying duck
Get blown by some bitch seeking blow
One with a red bow in her hair, she bowed arrow in hand bow in the other
Bearer of hearts barer apart than together
Plan a route to the root of the problem
But banned the band from coming
Weigh what matters and take the rest out of the way
Wonder why’d the wide issue fade

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Hypothesis

Most of our reason go unconsidered. We don’t stop to question ‘why?’ We come up with an answer and roll with it. When the only true answer can be discovered through search, not manufactured.

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For a second in space time, wrapping my spaced mind around disgraced slime
Faced with stress I hide my face, lies, and chase distracting mistakes, stand idle in place
Might faint, fried, just to cry under my face
The sound is too loud to shout it out of the crowd so drown it down
Won’t wait a few seconds after pulling the pin to toss the damn thing
Take cover and hope my ears don’t ring

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Fabric Structure

People play pretend quite often. They pretend they know there is a God. They pretend they know there isn’t. They pretend they understand the reasons they behave the way they do..
But they don’t know. None of us do.

Jack shares his thoughts on this.
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It’s not what it seems.

Reality might be beyond the processing power of anything within it. It’s beyond the physics of our universe. Beyond imagination.

The underlying truth is that nature is too vastly complicated. It’ll never be possible to comprehend.

It remains a complete mystery while we're surrounded by it. While inside of it. Even while part of it.

It’s so magnificently intricate that it’s small-by-comparison components remain floating question marks.. What’s in or beneath the ocean? What’s consciousness? What’s out there in the cosmos?

The confusion, dramatic. How much is known about any one thing is unknown.

It’s a string of pretend games.

Imaginary guidelines for the simulation of order..

Arrogant while ignorant.

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Mara's Book

As humans we hide. We avoid facing our problems and pretend everything ceased existing.
Buried in our vices.
A poem

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Shady tree
Knees pulled up
Book in hand
Quiet
External static
The adventures of a manic hero
Buried in the pages for ages
Battling mages and dragons
Stopping havoc from passing
Adored by all as it is
But the portal back home
It’s closing
Been dozing for way too long
The demons from the frozen homeland
Where evil roams much to often
If the gate shuts and there’s no luck
It’d be easy to get stuck
Fine and dandy
To get away from the madness
No one will miss me

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To Win The Fight

Martial arts. The performance of the brutes. A poem of fighting based on fighter.

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A fluid dance. The impact of precision. Movements morph from one to the other unforgiving, uninterrupted. Sequenced by desire and sought out by need. Survival in the form of elegance. Delicate and subtle shifts settle fractional inch debts with force. Bruised souls crumble when missed tipped toed landing heels out standing sore. Beautiful the twirl. The skirt. The umbrella. The dip, the hop. Shields to stop reception. Only the hurt happens without intention.

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Three Types of Suicide

In this explanation, Jack breaks down his understanding and beliefs on the topic of stigmatized suicide and the three groups of suicidal people.

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We currently live in a world where discussions on suicide are so viciously stigmatic that they’re nearly unheard of. Sometimes the discussion is enough to help an individual, but the risk of getting institutionalized is too great to attempt the dialogue at all. We’re underdeveloped in the area as a result. Most with suicidal thoughts aren’t even planning to act on them, they’re no more than thoughts. But the inability to discuss these thoughts lead to the held energy manifesting in other ways. Many times it turns into action because there is no other way to process the information.

We should be capable, as a society, nation and planet, to discuss things without another person deciding what it is you mean by it.

In this short explanation I offer perspective on the matter by walking you through the three forms in which acting on suicide can manifest.

Let us begin…

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Poker Crown in School

Life is filled with ups and downs. Having the bravery and confidence to face all those moments equally will result in a fruitful future filled with learning and accomplishments.
Jack gives his thoughts in this poem.

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Patience is being tested
Straight aces on the table
Royal flush out of multiple choices
Pure crowned blood
Feeling able to take all the chips
4.0 mil stashed in the castle
Freshly dipped and gold plated
Playing the game is not a hassle
Cards in my hands
No class clown telling jokes to jesters now
Passing grade A performance
The brightest of Knights
Strokes of the lance questioned
Ready to fight once mentioned
Giving my…

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Predeterminations

A reflective analysis of the philosophical predeterminations we make about the world and the people in it. We always think we have things figured out while it is obvious to everyone else we’re making assumptions.

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We claim to know the most while always knowing the least.
We boil the people around us down to simple generalizations not considering all the intricate details that make them.
We tell the world they’re being fake when they don’t behave according to our uneducated guess.
We pretend we’ve got every circumstance figured out to the smallest of details and cast blame when things fall apart.
We deny it being obviously a result of our lack of preparation.
We know what everything is for, what motivates each individual, what everyone thinks and feels at all times.
We feel there is no need for questions when we already know the answers.
We feel there is no need to be told because we won’t believe what doesn’t match our predetermined notions.

We, in our primitive prideful minds conclude and conclude with zero input from the reality of the matter.
Yet, we are stuck trapped thinking this is real, this is accurate. The world is what’s wrong not our assumptions.
We are arrogance, it leaks most from those of us who’ve accomplished the least.
Who understand our…

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Why?

Feeling closed inside but unable to stop the strive.
This lyrical poem shows Jack’s fight and what he might do given the try.

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Do I feel weak?

Is it I refuse to speak of how my thoughts are bleak
Shriek inside, seek relief, heart dry dead mounted on a cross, I’m so fucking lost
But I refuse to think ‘cause I’ll sink into a slump and shrink
Lumps stuck in my throat, I’ll begin to choke, start feeling cold
Reckless and out of control but I won’t let go ‘cause there’s no telling where this car’ll go
It’s nowhere any of us would want to know
Obsessed with little regrets, don’t believe in hope
Lie to myself, “I’m the best,” “Not a mess,” “I can do this, though.”
Infest my mind with screaming voices testing me
Deafening noises
Definite poison
Stay poised when the moment is pointing three fingers back as I fade to black
In the middle of a heart attack that…

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Voiceless Virtual Rage

As the internet continues to behave as the trashcan where we throw our opinions our collapse becomes more obvious from a distance.

Jack vents in this angered piece.
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Many of us exist in a perpetual denial of our own design. Screaming at each other, it’s unclear if its for change or to disperse the pint up energy. Casting blame in every direction of what we feel most guilty of. Unable to control these impulses.

And we continue, and continue, and continue, and nothing ever changes.

The ever increasing rage of society which began with the children which felt neglected and voiceless, like a plague contagion spread to the adults and the elderly.
But it’s never real. Our virtual personas are the monsters. In person, we’re too coward to make the same stands, but behind the safety of our electronics we find it justified to diminish the life of another. Because they aren’t real. Because we’ve never met them.
Enlightened or not. With reason or not. We believe we are justified in a pursuit. The world must know what we know, and believe what we believe the way we believe it. Because we believe it.

We’re unable to stop. It’s who we’ve become. The pause button was lost when we gave up on developing our voices in person and now even the elderly behave like children, simply trying to disperse this brokenness we’ve been handed.

There’s no fix in sight and the rain clouds will make it over the hills soon. They’re coming our way. We’ve never seen an umbrella so there is no protection. We’re stuck screaming.

It’s what we do. We point fingers here, and…

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Backwards

 

I’m an Extrovert living an Introverted life.
I’m a polygamist in a monogamous relationship.
I’m a rude guy being nice to those around me.
I’m blunt candy coding shit for emotional disasters.
I’m honest while deceiving others for family and friends.
I’m a creator surrounded by people with no input.
I’m a polymath around people with nothing to teach.
I’m a logician dealing only with the opinions of individuals.
I’m the free spirit caught in a computer system.
I’m in love with self-improvement facing self-destruction.
I’m standing on the edge of a cliff that I don’t seem to fall from.

And they tell me I’m the one not trying to hold on.
They tell me I’m the one not making sense.
They tell I’m the one that needs to change.

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Static Breeze

In this short poem Jack attempts to express his mental prison to the reader.

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Bird watching from inside a cage is no fun
All the flight possible is witnessed with our own two eyes
All while bound behind bars, the cage door open
What fun is flight alone?
What fun is gliding the wind without a flock?
There’s no point in leaving the cage
But staying inside no flight is possible
Having clipped wings might make it easier
But not all caged birds learn to sing
Iron bars become the norm
Comfort the enemy
The rainbows never come visit
Neither do the rain clouds
A bird that learns to hum a fallen soldiers honor
It needs no more than another fallen soldier
Is this its purpose?
What good are wings on a corpse?

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Pure Anger

Jack discusses his battle with anger control problems in an attempt to be more open emotionally with the readers.

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It's stuck. Pinned up against the walls of my mind. There's no reason or source. It just is what it is. No control over it. It doesn't come out. It doesn't get seen. It lingers, frozen in place. Assuring me it is always there. Assuring me it'll always be there.
Assuring me there is nothing I could do to rid myself of this perpetual anger. It's ever graduating to a more intense version of hate and self-loathe. Warm from the inside. The connection to others is melted away by the furious heat.
No meditation exists powerful enough to subdue the broken will of a tortured monster. Destruction is all twisted minds know when rage-filled and out of control. There is never any order.
Hopeless is what they call it in the mountains where the cold rules all and the calm sit frosted fighting the physical pain with the mental.
When the mind is what attacks the body is what needs to control and that is what the rage has held onto. There is nowhere left to go.
Loathe.
Disdain.

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Never Idle

Most of us want to give up without ever realizing that the struggle is the part that teaches us, not the accomplishment. Jack reflects on this matter.

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It's becoming a fight to stay conscious. Find myself fighting the gaining dark against the fading light. There's not even a tunnel at this point. It's a void with a spot we'll call a star. It's too far to reach out for. It's too small to tell apart. Managing to ever reach it might mean getting scorched. Never trying means being consumed by the everlasting empty. No floor to run on. There's nothing to grip. Can't close my eyes questioning how I'll ever close the gap and escape this black trap. There's never an answer. It's not in me to quit, so forever I suffer. It's the lessons I learn from the struggle that matter. And although there is no way in sight, seeing is not believing when my eyes are all that see and expect me to believe what they feed is accurate. It's difficult and I've accepted this. What can be done when life is a quest where we reach for the sky, keep climbing hoping one day we get there, but most of us fall and die. At least if we try our lives don't turn out to be a waste of time. It's the middle stuff that matters as things pass by. The destination means we're finished. That's the end of our lives. I don't plan on being idle and standing by.

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Closed Off

In this piece, Jack reflects on his life and his craft

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Trying too hard
Not getting too far
The gas in this car is going empty
The pen running out of ink
I'll miss my thoughts if I blink
Closed off
Can't think
But I can talk mad shit
Spit real quick sick lines
Slick rhymes
But they don't mean shit
They're a waste of time
The words don't feel mine
They feel like I'm committing a crime
Against my insides
While they're dying caged
The blind rage I'm flung into lingers for…

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Opt out of Success

Jack expresses his thoughts on success and accomplishment in today's world and how it manifests in the general population. 

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The human mind is of dreams and desires
We hope and fantasize over theoretical pleasure
We long for purpose and freedom with it consuming our moment to moment interactions
Always present in our conversations and manifested in our actions
Yet, the human condition prevents us from going further than the want
We don't strive or fight to bring things out from the ether
We've settled for our place and time as though it were etched in stone
Feeling like victims to our current state
As if things that aren't already will never come to be
Once the possibility is understood, though
That is when the fear of failure sets in
The discomfort of having to move in order to accomplish overwhelms us
Static inaction is familiar
It requires us to spend no time of our empty meaningless lives
Seeking purpose is too tiring if the success is not immediate
Self reflection is not present
So we accuse our environment
The systems we live in
But we never question our ability and motivations
In our eyes our failures are all but our own faults
Thus, we have a direction to blame in
We can opt out of it being our own doing
And we do

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Drained

A short poem about friends becoming distant as we age.

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Memories of the “used to know”
Left turn into alone
Stamping the clock draws a line
The steam whistle of separation
Same place to different faces
Different time the same reasons
Another wall to drill through
Ten now
Still not through the first
The tool’s battery died
More rains from heaven
A fortress of isolation
No energy for the cord
No power for effort
Drained trying to not get buried
Not get forgotten

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