“You’re Late. We’re Waiting”Published April 30, 2018 by Nan Mykel
Via Krista Stevens and Discover hedy bach photography
sometimes, i feel like i can do anything and
sometimes, i’m so alive
sometimes, i feel like i can zoom cross the sky and,
sometimes, i want to cry
Dwell not on finding Truth my friend
for it shall drive you mad.
The eyes that spy the way things are
will only leave you sad.
Bedlam is filled with clear-eyed folk
whose blinders were shorn away.
Unalloyed truth can scorch
and even love betray.
Telling it like it is…
The Bipolar Writer Mental Health Blog
I wrote this poem on April 3, 2015. I was in a dark place. I was close to suicide for the first time since 2010. I had been mourning my grandfather and my life was in a bad place. I was in the depression cycle that started in the summer of 2014 and didn’t end until the summer of 2015. I haven’t had a depression cycle quite as long as this cycle.
This poem is one of my more darker free thought poems. I just wrote what I was feeling.
This poem came weeks before I started therapy.
I know it has been a long while…
I have been lost.
And even tittering on the edges of suicidal thoughts.
It has really just been that way.
I am so afraid.
So afraid of what could happen.
What might happen?
I am going down a…
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What caring is all about…
Nan has realized that one of her more insightful poems appears on page 9 of her Time Wrinkles :
Here’s the thing:
I’ve been talking
found in my crib
82 years ago and
just now notice
it’s not plugged in!
Upon waking from a nap today Nan reviewed her life and called upon her Witness of the Waking State to help her take stock. She’s temporarily lost the name of the book she got me from, but it has to do with the One who observes our fleeting emotions and steadfastly remains.
She’s been caught in a web without the spider. Throughout her life she’s been dropping writing spoor along the way. She’s been trying to be heard but has nothing to say. Decades spent via Public Access television, with nobody watching. Months spent now on Word Press with a couple of visitors. Books published with almost no readers. What is she doing! She’s been responding to the itch by scratching, declaring to an empty auditorium. Pig-headed, she continues to forge ahead, squealing.
MORE TO FOLLOW….
Blood is thicker than water. Money is thicker than blood or water….
Maurice Cunningham is a political science professor at the University of Massachusetts who has become an expert on the subject of Dark Money. He has his own name for the billionaires devoted to charter schools. He calls them the “Financial Privatization Cabal.” That’s clever and accurate but I stick with “corporate reformers” because there are fewer syllables.*
Cunningham (no relation to the charter-loving Peter of the same last name) has done a deep dive into the Dark Money funders of the 2016 campaign to expand charter schools in Massachusetts via a referendum called Question 2. A New York City organization called Families for Excellent Schools (FES) arrived on the scene to bundle and dispense Dark Money and renamed itself Great Schools Massachusetts. (FES was funded by the Waltons and has now been replaced by a new group which calls itself Massachusetts Parents United, also Walton funded.)
What is Dark Money?…
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When I go to my Dashboard I don’t go to Posts first–I go to Activities. I want to go directly to Posts.
Wanted to share this experience.
Pain killers did not play a part in my death
Featured, light fizuring definition, as star
You captured my appetite in a jar
Left it to pickle sour
We dissected my heart and ate slivers
Outside, like a fevered tongue
Merrymakers ran and dragged
Confetti and plastic cups of eels
Young girls with birthing stretch marks, shaking double chins
If they had three lifetimes it would still not be enough
To celebrate their unfolding life of cards
Queen of Hearts, she sat watching oragami crowds
Easier to be cloud cover, sensing rain in the air
The quiet of needing to say nothing, emptied of small talk
She didn’t need to ever attend a party again
That was another version of her out there in time
Straining to be a light bulb
Her long dangling line
Fishing for fragments of who she had been
How did a wizz, bang, bang…
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This old violin has lost
some of her strings
and like many an ACOA*
she’s filled to the brim
with lizards and things
but mainly her stuffing is jello.
When I awoke in the night
and turned on the light
I prayed (to the Universe)
that today would be free
in its entirety of fight.
*Adult Children of Alcoholics
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