vortex = 1. fluid dynamics: region within a fluid where the flow is mostly a spinning motion about an imaginary axis. 2. me: region within a mythical sum of wheres in which colors and sounds and motions and unfini.sh.e.d strings of  le t te rs not yet raped or bound in words but spiraling with these whirls of windy stormy bright and sunny puffy cloudy moody emotions as the mixed rapid chaos is spinning and stirring  the remains of my R__as__ing as it pushes my brain into my skull a pain that’s there ’til my mind lets go as it’s momentum shreds me yet i’m not truly gone… nor alive, or dead, or comatose: just vortexed into this place i now can’t show. 



sTaTiC (…………………

………………….) it’s loud in my head. usually a vibrant multi-layered landscape to die for (………….…….) now as empty as a blank slate yet to meet the effervescent muse of all (……**….) except for the static stroking my silence until (..****…….) it comes loud ecstatically though totally from another static thus (…………………….) quiet has gone loud quite deafening with its lack of tangible sounds and amplification of the quiet voids behind the curtain of my battered mind within the chamber of my brain where (.*.*..**) the void does have sound and dare i say it’s loudest of all certainly (..xxxxxx..) for it echoes the waves of suppressed chaos and (…*x*x*…*x*x*…) untold words threads them into this fabric of iridescent static only some of us can see. it’s loud in my head (*…x..***…x…..**…x.*.xxxxxxx.)


I: cry loud and unpretty or quiet and doll-like or just in my head I: cry inwardly tears so bubbly as energy rises and I: cry out in silent vanity so easily overwhelmed turning pragmatic I: cry and scream yet not letting it out in races of thoughts that never win but increase my sensations transforming sounds and the hues on my perceptual palette also shifting my internal architecture thus I: cry once more like a baby who must cry because of being soaked little head to big toe in scenes of many sensory images and sounds and smells and tastes baby isn’t equipped to handle in a way just like I: cry now and for many evers just a side effect of mania whether dysphoric or not because the over stimulation of senses and words and meanings and images and sounds is too much for my bearing until I: cry but differently for my mind is gone bland the imagery dull the world seems almost grayscale with sounds indistinct just a side effect of being depressed one way or another I: cry 1,000 and more different ways mixed up and I only fail to describe.


And the salty water flows incessantly, raging, in manic pace leaving a mark as it runs yet fails to escape for it evades nothing but its own current which is going anywhere but away. And I ponder if sink or swim is best as I’m dragged along these murky waters I failed to fight, hit side to side in aimless motion, until I’m left ashore, in the rocks, a blood thirsty bed I feed. Again undecided, life or death- although alive I am not anymore.And though I breathe it ain’t fulfilling, it is heavy, with shards of sorrow cutting my need to speak. An inevitable undoing of selves before this is over, as the current builds in waves I at times can see comingterrible beauty consumes my sights, takes hold of my senses, shoving lust into me, a sensation both dreaded and welcomed in this depressive state within a manic trance…. once more, a better worse-ness I fail to embrace or describe. In fear, my inaction must suffice, against this current (of mine) and your doing.

Por que?

“Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?” Words in my head, also biblical ones, said by an agonizing Jesus. If you refer any search engine, they’re eager to translate. This is no religious post, I’m just borrowing words.

“Why hast thou forsaken me?” I ask one of my half- people in my head. My peacemaker or referee or (insert authority figure) has gone missing- I’m left here, abandoned, between the 2 other half-persons in my head whom demand I take a role… as if suddenly I’ve unlearned the past 2 years, the stepping back as chaos ensues… coping neuropsychology stuff… thus my ‘peacemaker’ taking a hands-on approach. Most times…”Por que me has abandonado?” “Por que me haces sufrir?” “Por que dejas mi conciencia?”

dissonant break

… and hell broke … not loose or completely … and i’m here … not lost or complete …

my Self disengaged half along the way of there – though where I have no fuckin’ clue… in these once bright ruins turned gray, secure walls turned to ash spreading, not just them but me… in consistent motion – except for the inert aftermath painted in anxious hues of black i can’t describe now – this solution is certain just not yet here- in terminable blankness, surely I must be blinded by this painful weight… in numerable crowded words and images I stand not feeling my Self– in this integration… transient result of broken elements of conflicting physical,cognitive,affective states– again I am mixed in episodes, potent notes of madness in crescendo… but some non-restorative sleep broke it, in dissonance- and as much as it is hell, it is all so Mestrings of sounds in diminuendo, as images in this saturation fade, overexposed shades gone truly grayscale … cycle unending, not yet repeated… my Self defeated… and I wait, not yet in repair.