Chosen Mayhem

In this life we meet several crossroads and for almost 60 percent of our in awaken states are at pivotal points of transition. I have been in a stagnant point of career transition and in an evolving emotional transition for the past year of my life and am feeling moments of eruptions bubbling at my core. I have dreamed of writing for most of my life and have been told that to do it is to write daily but mostly would never be a dream realized. I have been mostly inspired in times of overwhelming moments of unrequited love. Or I have been entirely inspired in states of a feeling I have identified as love and I have tired of just loving and have yearned to be loved yet now the most inspired moments have been in moments of intellectual and cerebral states of lackadaisical and lonely activities. But most of all for most of my life I have chosen dramatic Mayhem. In days of normalcy as the world has put it, I have been stagnated by the process of living and therefore have used likely moments to earn money. The jobs have been boring mundane versions of sales and customer service jobs that become catalyst to seek out the Mayhem of the unknown, the worldly unpopular and I had let the inner voice to write die within me but then I found love years ago with a she version of male roles and the dramatic mayhem arose from illicit behaviors and my pen began to move inside of my heart, my mind and then my hand. The stories that have come from titled experience is a contaminated puss of life’s infection and it’s gory and a chosen Mayhem that has labeled me a self destructive problem among my family and friends, yet now the dream to never be realized seems real and the emotional growth stunted years ago is in a growth spurt. The marriage of my heart, soul and mind has bore children of faith and confidence. Yet to be a winner among the eyes of the world I must produce something. Late this evening doing what others find as problematic I have began to think of ways to prosper in this world of calm a new type of productive chosen Mayhem free of negative influences, people and love unrequited. A new active force of myself that allows me this normalcy that world desires of me, a forgiveness of those and a unpolluted day to day magnet to what is good. I want to write and I have been doing so in states of emotional tyranny in states of inspired awe and in states of out of mind highs induced by narcotics, be it the wine from a store, the blow from a party, the grass from a freedom thinker, the speed from the forlorn doctor and I love all those different states of me as much as I hate thinking of rent, bills and days without a man who has chosen a woman for sexual sales over my faithful dedication to he and I am wondering will they applaud my “writers” honesty when my pages are printed or will they baffle their own perceptions of what they thought judgments to the point of hating the me that is revealed the girl who enjoyed her chosen Mayhem. The woman who has found a faith in a God so many use as a weapon instead of a common love supplier dealing his forgiveness as willingly as the neighbor dope man deals his dope. Will the world always see the different as crazy and will I be labeled and filed under that category myself.
I am of the crazed creative clan that feels music when it plays like vibrating touches, notes scaling the skin and words permeating the air inhaled like oxygen. I am a watcher of movies who sees the beauty beyond the words but in the depth of the lessons that love is the true currency in this life. The eyes that see the fear in the dialogue lost to monsters for they are products of true hate of the different and unloved. Jason killing for the desire to be taken to trick or treat yet left to the pain of youth, the freddy burned for his childlike innocence to the point of corrupting dreams yet most see just the killing the blood but care not of why? Walking the reality streets of our everyday world as the high rise building house zombies seeking only more green tinted number denoted pieces of paper for status so why is exhibited and never needs to be investigated. Yet the mayhem they have chosen is acceptable in the eyes of this world and still the homes of this fanatical currency chasers still desire what their why can’t create. Love and companionship. Their stereos blast words of bitter, brave, longing, touching, feeling lyrical prose that darkened hearts have bleed, sweat and cried to have heard while they down sweet darkened spirits, inhale green image provoking trees, inhale chemically crowning white clouds, to quiet the pains of those they pass, to dull the leech like fire of loves emotional and mental pulls. Then they croon, write, paint, create versions of emotions that these others cannot explain yet somehow relate to when see, heard, or even tasted as we starve for their comforts, yet smile more days, cry more days, draw from more faith then they. It was a chosen mayhem to walk among the emotionally dying, be lost to the darkness of misunderstood pain and just ask why? Why are you angry? Why don’t you believe? Why not me? Why did you? Why do I? Many laws with I didn’t comply. Many rules left broken. Yet many souls have called to me to just be heard, asking for my way with words to transcend what in me was broken, to be the gateway, their love the token to pay my way to entry into the minds of the zombies who ask me to chose the mayhem that can be noted acceptable, I wasn’t detectable so I rode alone until they asked me to share that sweet brown spirit or inhale they tree, and there is where the story began to seep free…

Find Me In My Written Word


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