The Great Nothing

A violent storm brews on a sunny day, internally,

a disconnect between the thoughts I think and the world I see,

the great nothing attacks with calculated poignancy

and a million little no ones have their fingers pointed back towards me.

 

A lot of names it goes by, the DSM gives it definitions galore,

an idle mind be wildin’ out, creating fake,

demonic children running around my inner self’s candy store –

breaking down all the shelves, they’re giving the clerk hell,

until I restart my mind it all subsides, this grand swell

of my mind’s river finally dies down. Sometimes it takes a nanosecond,

other times the inner storm rages all day, and I just gotta lie down.

 

Nothing motivational here, just an expression of

my thoughts, breakdancing sideways, inside of a closed confessional,

chaotic combinations coming to crux with the pressure from

not the atmosphere, but reality/society/these phantom obsessions, bro. – RSM

A Cold Plunge

A silent battle yearns for an armistice
Within the trenches between the earlobes,


But it’s kinda weird, tho, not in a bad way,


How a sudden burst of icy waters give the fiery tides of the mind such a cold crush, brother!


A reset button, “mind-body hacking,” if you will,
No toxic foam needed to fizz out the flames that spontaneously blaze and overtake brains,


Just, ice the body quickly and the mind will be freed
From the clutches of the unsteady hands of anxiety.
Quietly, piously, the change in temperature always, always does the right thing,

it might make you scream at first and your skin will perk up and sing,


But after the first few seconds, you’ve made it, a quick dip in cold water is a sobering thing

and a return to peace of mind is the blessing it brings. – RSM

Blank

I’m on a journey where things just tend to get stranger,

I have a stoic face on, from a chemical brain changer.

my emotional range has been strictly maintained

so I stare down bliss the same way I look at danger.

I’m a feather, slowly floating along through sweater weather,

whether the winds are weak or strong, I’m just gone

and the song in my mind is on a short loop, perpetual,

It’s the same time of the day, no matter when I look at the schedu-al,

Third eye’s view is laser precise, cuz all the colors of emotions are void,

I can only see in a sharp black and white, I can hear a loud silence, I can feel the noise;

each moment is vivid, from the inside out

But I’m on Saitama’s vibes all day, without a doubt. – RSM

Conveyor Belt Woes

Run, walk, move, the conveyor belt keeps you going,

the travelator pushes us along until we’re pushing daisies;

to conform and put yourself last is to “be strong”

as we trudge along around the black an yellow tarred lines

while looking at our rectangular mind magnets, our attention – occupied,

worrying too much about these crazy times instead of the curvature of our spines.

Factory errors are laughed at, pointed out by the products

because to not be ‘in line’ is to be ‘out of order,’

how free are we if we still have to be like the bees

of a hive that work until our wings no longer flutter?

The puppet masters at the top reference a utopian time and place

that seems long gone, but never actually existed,

and the average Joe from yesteryear

would probably be more appalled than proud of how much

the oligarchs have chipped away from the working class –

basic needs are a privilege, our principles have been twisted.

People locked out of basic shelter are dying,

spikes installed to keep them off polished windows and away from old money limestone walls,

Instead of humans helping humans we have a space race exploding off the blocks,

top 10 money hoarders trying to be like “I’ma head out,” hopping from penthouse to cockpit,

Union-busting tech barons don’t mind leaving the earth sweltering, melted, and barren.

Jump off the conveyor belt – life is more than just numbers and industry –

we’re not just the products, we’re the power that electrifies this grand machine.

Look around, look toward the future, and don’t forget to remember suppressed history. – RSM

Brother Zachariah’s Journey

Walking off the ship that brought him along,


the sun is strong, he hasn’t had water in a long –


Time as the clock slows down while it ticks forward,


Another headache, lower back’s screaming from yet another heavy sleep’s bed ache;


Tasked with the duties that God gave him,
Brother Zachariah put on his old robe and prayed again


to his favorite patron saint, Anthony, to pray for him;

Along the S.S. Italopram it’s been a rough trip,


Sea sickness so severe, the young friar wanted to jump ship,


but he’s come a long way since his days in the monastery,


retaining the teachings, and now refraining from reaching


for the devil’s hand as his bare feet presses on the wooded plank beneath him;

Coming off of the vessel he had traveled on for months, he’s on a different island, and,
learning a different dialect,


The friars of his new mission welcome the well-traveled monk, they exchange rosaries and call him “Bro-Zach” for short,


“Lord, I’m trying to do right thing, and play the long game,” is the prayer he recites when he feels out of sorts. – RSM

The S.S. Ital O’Pram

I feel, hungry but full, and just a little bit dull,

my, pupils are a bit bigger, saliva a little thicker;

No longer on a short fuse or a quick trigger,

and, my waters are calm now, I can see my own picture –

reflected back on the water’s smooth surface quite clearly,

the lake’s waters are still, but the sky is so dreary,

It’s the same day, different shit, just all square and swell, bro,

but my boat’s hardly moving cuz the water’s turned to Jell-O,

and I wave to the other captains, cruising along,

but, It’s a bit heavy lifting just to say the word “Hello.”

I sleep steadily, heavily, keeping it low-key, mostly,

my boat’s engine’s going slower now,

so I’m just posting up along the coast, B –

Just trudging along in the thick, slow waters, and,

trying to go with the current, currently I’m not faltering,

my course has been altered, though; GPS – I’m not following,

the fastest route I threw out, just hugging the shore and admiring the clouds,

sailing a lot smoother, but this new fuel got me a little mellowed out. – RSM

Seven Years Later

It all worked out, despite the odds.

It’s on me to keep the good going.

A setback or two has no place in my mind

cuz I crush those with one hand now, without even trying.

The strength gained from it all isn’t seen on the physical,

Rather a strong mind, soul, my ‘guns’ are metaphysical –

I love the love that I have, it’s a skill

that’s built through the storms of life, even still,

I know our lives are a painting or a novel unfinished

as we look back on our bad times when we felt diminished;

But trust me, my guy, my ‘rock bottom’ is a flex

Cuz I know the grit and grime it took to manifest

The present, past, future that rises each morning,

Seven years later I’m not just flying, I’m soaring. – RSM

Thanks, Tony – to Anthony Bourdain

Source: Twitter @bourdain, CNN -- https://twitter.com/bourdain/status/469593294834794496
DJ Kool Herc (left) with Anthony Bourdain at Moodies Record Store in The Bronx.

(My goal was to emulate Anthony Bourdain’s writing style and narrative voice while writing this.)

2015.

A lot of details in my life were, to put it softly, up in the air.

Fate had pressed the reset button on my life.

I had more couch time during this year then ever before. Not a good thing, folks.

I was used to the thrill of the night, the crisp smell of New York City hot dogs, pretzels, and streetmeat permeating the air of wherever I ended up for the evening.

I neglected my mom’s couch and TV for years and didn’t look back, until the time came where I had to, as us literary types would say, ‘gracefully surrender the things of youth.’So with no job, an upcoming IT course to take in the summer and a will to resist my former temptations, I got comfortable and found a few shows to watch.

It sounds easy, but for me it wasn’t.

When it came to TV in 2015, I was a strict ‘only movies and sports’ guy, with a hard pass on any TV series. Back then, I couldn’t sit still. I hated being inside and sedentary for too long. I figured my time was better spent outside, being with human beings than watching other human beings on the idiot box.

I started watching ‘Last Week Tonight with John Oliver’ and ‘Ancient Aliens’. I had a good laugh every week and a plethora of alien conspiracy theories to catch up on. I loved both shows but was easily bored after a few months, which is why I tended to shy away from TV shows in the first place.

Then I stumbled upon an old rocker-looking type fronting a travel show called ‘No Reservations.’ I watched Anthony’s Bourdain’s trip to Colombia. And then to Beirut. And then to Seoul. And then to Tokyo. And then I re-watched the Tokyo episode two more times. And then Johannesburg, and then Madagascar… I could go on.

I was more eager to cook new recipes (or even cook at all, at first) after watching a slew of episodes documenting his delicious meals, late nights, and heart to hearts with friends and strangers alike.

Watching Parts Unknown and No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain became way more to me than just finding a show to watch. He was my tour guide, giving me and his audience a casual, blue collar-esque, gritty yet beautiful view of the world. He spoke my language, and I don’t just mean English. I loved the way he interacted with local communities abroad. Bourdain focused less on ‘high-end cuisine’ and landmarks, and more on the people that passed by, lived, and worked in or near the famous, touristy crowd magnets.

He seemed comfortable everywhere he went, interacting with any and every local willing to give the white-haired, tatted up American man with TV cameras the time of day. Bourdain showed me places I never knew of before that by the time the credits rolled, I often had them listed on my travel bucket list.

While I applied to jobs, learned a new career, and stayed out of trouble, every new place he showed me strengthened my aspirations. “I want to be able to travel like this,” I thought. Bourdain had a traveler’s dream job, through his culinary and writing skills. I thought maybe one day my writing skills or something else could afford me the same.

Of all the tens of thousands of TV shows ever made, there’s really only one time my actual neighborhood was shown at all, and it was Anthony Bourdain’s episode about The Bronx. It blew my mind to see him walking down White Plains Road, 233rd Street, and meeting DJ Kool Herc, the founding father of Hip Hop music, at Moodies Record store in Wakefield, the Bronx. Tony was already my self-proclaimed ‘old man goals’ before this, and it was a uniquely heartwarming moment for Bourdain to walk down the streets I grew up on, looking around my neighborhood with the same admiration and curiosity as he would to any other place in the world he had visited.

It’s pretty clear he has influenced me a lot. I don’t like to think he’s gone, he’s just on his way, traveling somewhere else. – RSM

Immersive Daydreams, or Dissociation?

It happens so many times a day, I catch myself coming to, right before I walk right into you;

Yes, you, whoever’s right in front of me, walking towards me, almost a victim of my daydreams, since reality is sometimes bores me.

I’m surely thinking of 5 to 10 other things, at any given time, give it time, I’ll find a way to weave them all together, and altogether I’ll make ’em rhyme.

My daydreams have always been a bit strong, but it was never a concern until I learned of a certain word:

‘Dissociation’, the extremes of one’s consciousness stream distorted by a purely imagined false reality, identity, or scene.

I don’t suffer from anything official of the sort, but it’s a bit eerie, the level of daydreams on a daily that I report;

If my mind could record, it would catch a few dozen memories distorted and replayed in the mix of impromptu imaginary screenplays.

I like the way this works, a vivid brain does not necessarily make me insane, but I get a little paranoid, hypochondriac style, when I realize reality is sometimes tapping its foot, waiting, saying “You and your immersive daydreams need to stop playin’.”

I’ve always loved the way my thoughts flow, and along with my imagination they put on a show; I also know that DID is all too real, a different league, and hope that those who suffer from it get the help they need. ❤ – RSM