Tag: thoughts

Feeling all and nothing at once.

I like things,
that make me not know how to feel,
or make me feel everything at once.

Contradictory things,
and nothing.

My introversion depends on it,
there’s a crosswire somewhere,
alone is my cocoon,
yet I apparently need my intellect to get there,
that’s at least what Myers says.

But this is more,
or maybe God chose an optional extra for me,
means I throw out the category I’m meant to be in,
and am switched on by a feeling,
or a signal that I was meant to feel something yet didn’t,
to activate my withdrawal to silence.

I don’t know how not to feel,
even about the sinisterism of all things interconnected and unimportant,
rippling off other things,
mundane as it may seem,
it carries with it a history of influence,
a DNA of repurcussion,
inescapable tragedy and elation from ancestors.

There’s nuance to notice,
I said ‘that make me not know how to feel’, I didn’t say ‘that confuse me’,
I’m glad my soul structures it this way,
I’m rarely confused,
I’ve spent too much time inside to be confused.

My liking them,
these things that make me not know how to feel,
or tsunami me with feelings,
are gene codes for comprehension,
there is no being without them,
every body feels them,
I’m just constantly micro managing them,
and no one likes a micro manager,
except when they’re confused.

W.E.

Void fillers and stuff

We all supposedly have big black holes,
bad holes,
voids…
And we choose the void fillers.

At times it’s love, companionship, children, family.
Some choose adrenaline, others  religion.

Food can comfort some, anger, rage and guilt for others.

Art, expressed through the body, mind or spirit is as fitting a filler as can be.

I chose it all except for drugs and alcohol, but I don’t think I wouldn’t have written any differently, lived any differently, loved any differently, fought any differently, nor do I pass judgement on those who couldn’t find another way, whatever they choose.

I’ve hearkened to the darkness of being alone with it far too long to discount someone else’s hole.

But irony is that the hole is needed. There is nothing that can fill it. It’s there to keep pouring things into, beauty into, life into. To keep finding something to contribute to and throw it into it. The nomenclature of our generation has been hijacked by irresponsible and inexperienced liars, sometimes naive,  mostly materialistic liars.

The reality is, it’s not a hole, it’s the inside of you that needs goodness, love, kindness and poetry, it needs music and fierceness. It needs a passion crackling at times and rain to quell it at others.

These are normal things, balanced.…things.

The uncertainty of being able to live up to its need is the driving catalyst.

You cannot loathe that hole, you cannot fill it ever, all you can do is keep inspired and keep creating.

Keep generating energy even though they tell you it cannot be created nor destroyed, fine then, transmute it. But do something.

There’s no dark hole,
there’s no void you have to fill.

To imply so is falling prey to a lie,
a lie that tells you that you need stuff,
to satiate that void,
and it’s all just stuff.

-Wesam El dahabi

How do I feel about Christchurch?

How do I feel about Christchurch?

Indifferent.

I’ve been asked how I feel about the Christchurch massacre. What I gather instead is that I have been asked to feel. That’s not the same. What that really means and then breaks down to is; we want you to feel, even yet again and more precisely; you are being forced to feel.

I don’t take lightly to being forced. I reject any form of it.
I won’t let people or events sway me one way or another.

Call me cold, but I digress to calling it numbness.

I believe people who are swayed so easily by media are in proper reaction mode, and when I say proper, I am not complementing them. They’re proper according to the swayings of what media wants them to feel.

What’s disturbing is people don’t realise it’s yet another sign of the hour coming nearer….

And yet we’re not scared of that.

We’re mortified by an event but aren’t mortified by our insides and what state we’re going to die in at any given moment.

Look at the first person who died.

His last words were ‘salam brother’, he’ll be resurrected in that state.

What is my state? People are asking each other about it , asking how they feel and I don’t feel a thing.

I’m intoxicated in my disgusting state and occupied in it’s disaster. I have my own massacre inside, I have my own atrocities and they’re on a perpetual replay reel. They never stop, I never get to hear the flickering of film at the end of my movie, it’s on constant replay and I am drowning in that. I can’t surface to catch a breath let alone look at the shore or the scenery.

I’m momentarily torn, mainly angry, I cry a tear for but a brief second of recognition, not because these men and women and children lost their lives, but because I’ve still got mine and I’m a walking disaster whilst they were honoured by their Lord to be taken in a worshipping state.

How will I go? Backbiting? Thinking ill thoughts? Hating, angry, lying?

I’m gathering and walking through these states and don’t know if I’ll be taken in one of them. That’s what scares me and should everyone else.

How does anyone know when they will flip the switch, have the devil take them by the hand to commit any of the above mentioned heinous crimes against ourselves? Because ultimately, that’s what the shooter did, he ignored his insides for so long until they took over.

If each of us stopped to fix five of these ugly internal vices a year, just five, then we’d not be having these conversations, feeling these misplaced feelings, have a lot more honour and respect in dealing with each other and truly love one another more.

That’s why I don’t feel, I don’t hashtag or cry for anyone.

I’m too busy, self absorbed in my own sins to hold anyone hostage for theirs.

Wesam El dahabi

Self inflicted anxiety and depression

Feeble is the mind,
of he who thinks they posses the power,
to effectuate the outcomes of time,
as if to say they control its ravages or its fortunes.

In that comprehension,
they are bound by simpleness,
and we are obligated to remind each other of,
that is,
to point clearly to its draining nature,
and how anxiety and depression,
are both born of it.

Come then my brother,
know well my sister,
sons and daughter,
to what will offer you comfort and peace,
that is,
from times shackles be released.

Wesam El dahabi

Introversion Impulses – 1

The only way for me to connect with you is to disconnect from myself, now that can’t happen, it’s taken me this long to get some current running through my veins, to find a stillness in a swamp bed where all my pungency can lay dormant, and you, with your optimistic rays of sunshine want to disturb all that, bring to surface stenches that I had buried, awaken angels that I slayed, who slayed my demons, who slayed my soul, who slayed the me, the I, the carnality of breath, the inhalation of certainty, the rigidity of polarity, that space in between, I created it, I ploughed its fields and toiled its soil until it became soft enough to nestle there and all you want to do is bring those poles together, light my extremities with union, voltify my mind until it burns to a crumb, what little of it left there is, you with your happiness want to bring a smile to my face, for what, what possible reason, why, who sent you, what do you want from me, you lie, you have ulterior motives, I don’t believe you, leave me alone, I’m fine, I can’t breath with you in the room, I created this room with just enough space, enough oxygen for one, you’ll die being in here with me…. away, away, away, can’t you see my act of kindness?
-W.E.

The above will be my new series on introversion.
The last post for the introversion series was introversion thirty. Short poems, anecdotes, musings, thoughts etc. I may continue another series but for now, the new format will be impulsive, immediate thoughts.
Whenever I get a chance I will pen it, in the above style, unbroken, with little regard for punctuation, grammar or writing rules. They will be exactly as you see them, random, raw and real and time sensitive. They cannot be conjured and planned. They will just be expunged. I hope you enjoy.

-W.E.

Blink of consciousness – She asked how I am.

She asked me how I was, this time I decided to be honest

Kinda’ struggling mentally….. not in an emotional sense, but literally, mentally, I can feel my brain breathing if that makes sense, like it’s struggling on its own and needs a hole drilled in my skull for it to diffuse the pressure, like a veil that’s on too tight, there’s words everywhere…. I need to tame them, they’re wild and roaming, no they’re trying to stay afloat in a turbulent sea, yeah that’s it, that’s why there’s pressure, the sea, it’s chaotic, these words have no chance, the waves are not crashing, they’re bashing them around, rips in the ocean suck them down and then spit them back up, tease them with deprivation of oxygen and surface them to breathe for a second before turbulence takes the lead in this Lambada dance, tis such a dirty dance, teasing, arousing and not effectuating anything like a hot air balloon with no hot air…placid dance, and I have a boat, it’s only small, fisherman’s boat and it is good for catching fish for nourishment, only need my sustenance but I’m trying to save all these words with my little boat, to bring them with me to the shore, the shore that I can’t even see, these fucking words are just drowning, they can’t swim, they’re pathetic, they won’t even try to come aboard, I have to put so much effort into saving them, so I’m stuck between containing the sea and its turbulence inside this vessel called a head or drilling a hole and allowing the sea to settle, settle to mediocrity and calm, boring calm, calm that allows all life form to survive the sea but for shit to just go about its merry way…..i think I will keep my head sealed, I enjoy the fierceness and the violence, the turbulence and struggle the saving if but of only some words, enough for this fisherman to compose a hearty meal, that’s how I am right now and four hours ago and eight hours ago and seventy two hours ago and hours and hours ago, but I thank you sincerely for asking, it had to come out and it came out because you have the balls to ask.

You could summarise that blink of consciousness in a few words;
I’m obsessed with words right now.
-W.E.

This person asked sincerely. Answer is a blink of consciousness, hence the style and disregard for punctuation and grammar. One continuous minute thought in the plenitude of others that haunts an introverts mind.
A snapshot if you will.

Style of post inspired by a recent post of Nina Karadzic, so credit given where credit is due. She has a wonderful blog and style. Check it out at http://www.inoirvelvet.com