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08 April 2014 @ 04:12 pm
shot like a slug. a to b. make the points match up so the holes form a perfect circle through which the sun may fully pass.
bukowski's ghost.
the requeiem echoed silently like the pass from night to day.
day to night.
back again.
another set of footprints
track an unfamiliar but familiar street.
(the concrete and dirt are both mixed elements from the earth.)
the sweat locked to my forehead...dry or wet - both from the body.
i have never felt so certain of uncertainty
or rather in the uncertainty i once knew as its former selves.
confusion was a bad choice of friend
worse choice in lover.
true humility is slowly found in the folds of the days that flow
like a thought
or a shower of rain.
when i am truly at the raw meat of survival on a level i was at once virgin to.
i really had to know what it was like.
to pull strings on the puppet.
having no idea which side i would shift object to.

i've so much to say that it becomes too much to speak - and the words ball up like paper in hand.
paper that should crumble easily,
not mold like clay,

today we harvest!

whatever seeds have been sewn.

will it be a tumor...or a beautiful flower once full picture shown?
02 April 2014 @ 06:22 pm
3 cm  
Room 2708
it'd be nice to go at LEAST 3 years before freaking out and winding up committed to the psych ward. i've decided that xacto knives and i can't be friends, and we definitely can't invite vodka and beer over.

i will say this time was not as bad. i was on my way to getting my meds adjusted and talking to someone as well.

just didn't happen

between job, lack of sleep, meds all fucked up and constant bickering, everything came to an abrupt end, much like the short track on 'the sufferer and the witness' by Rise Against (the approaching curve is the song if you wanna look it up.)

a bit of time each day for 10 days preparing birthday present ideas that were solely from heart and made from scratch with alot of time and detail.
the cake was from the box, but it was still as moist as...well its still awesome.

i was just done frosting the cake, letting it cool by the window as we started some stupid argument that my medication thankfully won't really let me remember. what i do know is that it was stupid, and the underlying problem??? me of course. i have 3 or 4 psychiatric diagnoses that are difficult but not impossible to manage. and just was i frosted the last corner with german chocolate frosting? she tells me she can't do it anymore, that it is over and then she leaves. and there i am. alone with a whole fucking pyrex 11 x 9 glass baking pan, confusion, anger, and a pain so immobilizing i had to grab a chair to breathe and not fall over. there isn't a medication in the world for that, and that's a good thing. it's good to go through the pain you have to to through. it would have been less time consuming, and alarming had i not gone beserk on myself with sharp objects, but hey - last year it was over a hundred razor cuts, this time only 77. the only real difference was that i really saw my lack of being able to effectively deal with emotions that powerful. i tried reaching out. apparently god has a sense of humor or i just suck at trying to get people to spend time with me. what i found out through this all was that i had slowly regressed. i'd stopped caring correctly for my own well being, made some woman my god, and put her ahead of myself. the paradox of putting someone before yourself is that you are unable to take care of yourself properly when doing so.

the old white smocked dr. whose silver hair would have been envious of that old dude in....(this medication includes side effects such as memory loss or amnesia, if they continue or are bothersome talk to your dr.)


"well, you were REAAALLLLY close this time...3 cm and you woulda hit the jugular. We can't even STITCH YOU UP it's that damn close. You'll scar there..." the rest i didn't hear.
i missed on purpose.
i'd already researched it.
luckily i'd sobered up enough by getting distracted and researching human anatomy. i decided i didn't want to hurt the people i loved anymore than i had. so i stopped and cleaned up the mess i'd made. and i'm a bleeder. when people ask me about whether or not i was actually trying to kill myself i don't have an answer i feel satisfactory. cuz there is no answer that would satisfy myself or anyone else had i hit that (i'd also considered the carotid artery and a few other methods.)
mush motherfxr mush!
i'm moving to the twins.

i can't tell you how selfish it is to take what i would consider - most would consider actually - unconditional love from another human being.

i can tell you i don't know how to love in any way that's healthy.
at least not as of late.
14 March 2014 @ 10:58 pm
Tell me something
We don't. Talk the way we used used to
Feels like our I love yous are used too.

I'll bleed out gracefully

Tell me when your love for me
Changed so drastically.

(C)2014 Sol Williamson all rights reserved.
07 March 2014 @ 12:16 pm
its been an effort to keep head above water in this.
04 March 2014 @ 08:30 pm
here we are. middle of the lineoleoum. it feels well gripped against my barefeet. we are sweating standing deadlocked razor to jugular, heart to heart, breath to breath.

yeah oh i your fuck, a toy, a ... what the fuck am i.

they never said the pendulum of time was a thick pubic hair.
in the form of tiny nooses,
in the form of tiny trip wires
to hormonal bombs.

what did i do so wrong
or are you angry that i kept my word and only went so far
with what i need to get
by and pay for some apartment expenses.
part time employee.
full time fighter/lover/sucker/writer.

fuck it fuck it fuck it i want to be stupid and ignorant and explicit.
all the words that i don't normally say in a day if i say a word one.

would you put down that weapon
and pick up that bic?

it scares me that hell pass that ish.
25 February 2014 @ 09:54 am
MY story has been told. i'm not sure what is more entertaining. real life or fiction. the truth is about as strange if not stranger than (fiction).
I am no Stephen King. I am no Ayn Rand. I am Sol Williamson. All of my stories have inevitably been pulled from my own experiences, most writers use what they know unless they research, but usually characters have elements from people the author has known or currently knows. i've seen shitty writing, published. i don't want to publish anything shitty or attempt to. then again, if i can say that it's shitty, can i really say that it is without attempting to do better myself, because - r all, - i am a writer. plot. characters. story line. as much as i'd like not to say i h a v e read about writing, tips, form, etc. i liked english for more than just the ease I felt in the subject itself but my natural interest in it. communication. description. capturing or attempting to capture the way a moment was perceived from the eye of x or y. and it's cathartic. and i'm good at typing. lol. sometimes i am extra vain. i apologize. keep writin, unless yout wrists hurt or you kno. an wish me luck on producing s o m e thing worthwhile :)
31 December 2013 @ 09:33 pm
I woke up around February in southern territory
Coming to
Coming down
Familiar feel of not q u I t e
Dead yet.
From near death to rebirthing

Record this, Sol may b this time u won't wish
To jump into the fall...
And did I see, the light inside the light
Wrapped in the fog

Sure fuckin did
I will caress her
Sans chemically enhanced
Overflow with the joy of life s
Billionth chance.

Just long enuf to say
"I now understand... Further more appreciate,
Life in the second of present day"

920. (C)2013 Sol Williamson
30 November 2013 @ 12:16 am
(c) 2013 Sol Williamson

...your eyes were so vivid in a shiny type of out of focus.
red satin sheets
the light against our skin your back against my stomach as i held you close
not even whispering.
in a sort of silence understood only by two that are close and were one.
in these moments of the human essence that is perfect, my hand clasped against your supple breast and my lips nearly touching your ear.
watching us from a third person view, indian style on a persian rug.
i feel the collective,
that energy,
that purity
and it points to what i've failed to fully substantiate in my life and what each day i try to remember, attain, give, receive, feel grateful for.
the light, the love
what i will never fully attain understanding of or even be able to give
only to the capacity of that which i am capable of in the moment of time and moment of understanding.
however long is everlong?
i see it,
feel it
in you
in us all
and i've felt at all times that lovers have this - and while being with someone physically incorporates this on a completely different level the moments of connection and communication by any means
and also spiritually is powerful.
intimacy surpasses the lines and layers of merely two lovers.
still connected.
30 November 2013 @ 12:05 am
10.24.13 (c) Sol Williamson

bury me in California, some spot beautiful with a wide panoramic view.
ensconced in foliage and trees, do bury me.
let earth receive this child.
bury me out west, where my dreams have lain and not been slain yet by awakenings and discomfort.
promise me that i won't die here.
you don't have to say it out loud.
we will, together as a prayer.
spread my ashes far and wide from side to side of coasts of gold.
near flowers and trees to keep me company, or in water running, carrying my ashes where they choose.
i want to die an unknown star
except to those who knew me well.
please promise me in California gracefully you will give me final rest.
embalmed or burned
so long as i no longer yearn for her, California.
20 November 2013 @ 10:27 pm
Had I any idea

Never woulda fuckin mattered