Monday, June 29, 2015

A POEM BY AUTHOR/POET GARY G PELOW ,UNTIED

I am tied to the past, shackled to horrible events of the past,
I am tied with a gordion knot to psychosis and depression, the past is here,
now, it rises up like a dragon of legend that breathes fire to destroy
any chance of happiness in the here and now, my now has been stolen
from me, I shake in fear there will be no recovery from the madness of
the past. There are no outside heros in this war to rescue me, I am alone
in this, in this emptiness, I have done many things wrong in the past,
I seem to have no compassion or forgivess for myself, none for the enemies,
the Buddha has tried to help me to show compassion for my enemies,
also forgivness , without these, compassion and forgiveness over past events
 a person can burn alive with hatred and revenge, a rage so hot it burns holes in my
stomach, this happened once before, in anger and drugs, with germs of the
gut, a hole opened up in the lining of my stomach, I vomited pure blood,
I almost died, but did not, a reason not to die by my own hands, to live.

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

A POEM BY AUTHOR/POET GARY G PELOW, IT.

IT IS HERE, IT IS ALIVE, IT HUNTS US, IT THREATENS ARE VERY EXISTENCE.
IT IS POWERFUL, COERCIVE, SUBVERSIVE, IT TELLS MANY LIES TO GET WHAT IT WANTS, IT IS NOT ABOVE STEALING, IT IS NOT ABOVE LIES OR VANITY.
IT IS EVERYWHERE WE LOOK, ON TELEVISION, IN BUILDINGS, ON THE STREET.
THEY ARE POWERFUL OVER THE PEOPLE THIS CRIMINAL ENTERPRISE, FOR THAT IS WHAT IT IS, IT HAS NO SHAME IN COMMITING FRAUD, OF STEALING MONEY BY LIES TOLD AND TRUTHS WITHHELD,  IT SCREAMS AT THE TOP OF ITS ABILITY TO THREATEN US, TO MURDER US BY WAR AND VIOLENCE, IT COMES IN ALL FLAVORS,
WHITE, BROWN, YELLOW, RED, NO ONE IS INNOCENT OF THE CRIMES IT COMMITS, WELCOME TO RELIGION, WELCOME TO THE FAIRY TALES OF GOD. CAPS ALL

Sunday, June 21, 2015

A POEM BY AUTHOR/POET GARY G PELOW, UP AND DOWN

Up and down my head goes, up and down in mood,
like a blue angel pilot screaming with speed up and down in the sky,
the pilot is Limictal, in bipolar, I am the passenger, with a wreckless pilot,
there is no control on my part over the velocity, speed and direction.
Am I the pilot or the passener of this jet? Am I the mechanic?
If the plane is damaged or running low on fuel, how do I gain control?
Can I gain control? Is is it possible or am I a captive in the jet in my mind?
I have flown and lost control in many ways, lost control to tobacco, to sex,
to craving.  The Buddha use to say that craving is at the core of human suffering,
I am full of such craving, unable to temper or control my habits.
I do not like being a slave to craving anymore than I want to be pilot out of control,
was the Buddha correct about human suffering and craving? Is there
hope for self control in the Buddha's teachngs? Can I learn these lessons
from 2,500 years ago, before Christ was ever born?
Are these lessons of long ago really valuable or are they fruitless like all religions
that promise peace and and health and life and deliver nothng?



/

Friday, June 19, 2015

A POEM BY AUTHOR/POET GARY G PELOW, HEAD STRUCKED

THE POUNIDING WILL NOT STOP,
I SCREAM IN SILENCE
I SCREAM ALONE, IN PAIN, IN SOLATUDE,
MY HEAD IS STRUCK, STRUCK LIKE A ROCK TO THE SKULL,
IT FEELS LIKE SOMEONE IS CRUSHIING IT WITH AN IRON BAND WRAPPED AROUND MY FUCKING HEAD, TIGHTER AND TIGHTER,
THIS DOES NOT HELP THE PSYCHOSIS OF MY BRAIN,
THE ILLNESS THAT I SWALLOW CHEMICALS FOR, TO TREAT IT,
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IT HURTS,  I AM DIZZY WITH PAIN,
ALEVE DOES NOT HELP, NOR TYLENOL, NOR ASPIRIN,
I WISH I COULD SHOOT MORHINE FOREVER TO MY BLOOD STREAM,
YET I CAN NOT, I WRITE THIS IN PAIN, FUCKING PAIN, IN CAPS OF SILENT SCREAMING, TO LET YOU HEAR MY PAIN, THE FUCKING PAIN.

Thursday, June 18, 2015

A POEM BY AUTHOR/POET GARY G PELOW, THE NERVE.

The nerve is raw today, opened and exposed.  Their irritating behavior burns across the nerve, I hate the fucking pain in my mind, the head aches are constant now, there is no respite of this torture.  I am dyeing inside, I have emotional cancer burning in me, draining my life.  I look for a cure and only find poison, both mental and physical, it is like my nerves are being ripped out of my body, this is not an exxageration.  I am alone in my pain, isolated, alone and unloved, of course love is no cure for pain of body and soul, it only adds pain.  The garbage I have to put up with never abates, it is like I have to tread water for ever in water that never dries and is turbulent in its tiring waves.

Monday, June 15, 2015

A POEM BY AUTHOR/ POET GARY G PELOW, RAGE

The rage is strong today,
it will not go away,
at least not easily, my head is poundingwiith pain and anger.
I am frustrated beyond just my normal psychocis and symptoms,
I want to hit something, to throw something, to smash it into pieces.
I hate ny fucking life of boredom and no friends,
fucking ground hog day, ever the same boring fucking shit of my life,
I am sick of being punished for the fucking same shit others get away with,
fucking room mates of mine trying to fucken punish me,
who the fuck are they? Fucking thugs, fucking animals.
I want to fucking scream at them and others or even when I alone, to no one in particular, the whole fuckiing world sucks today, I want to say fuck you to everyone and their dog,

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

A POEM BY AUTHOR/POET GARY G PELOW, SLOW AND EMTY

I am slow and empty inside my soul, things are to routine, to boring, not enough to do, this is extra difficult with schizophrena, an empty schedule, nothing to do leaves you or me wide open and vulnerable to delusion, hallucinations and psychosis, I try to stay busy, with my spanish lessons and knowledge that is self taught, I write my poetry and prose to afffect hope in those who are like me, yet it does not seem enough to do, I am bored, irritated and lonely in this spring and summer heat that beats down on my house from the sky, beats down on me and my empty soul, a soul devoid of hope and happiness, I struggle with the pain of no change, no new challenges, of banality in my existence that can not be truly called life, I am a parody, a joke, a symbol of faking importance and talent, an empty self taught lie to ease the pain and hide the truth of my empty soul.

Monday, June 8, 2015

A POEM BY AUTHOR/POET GARY G PELOW, SHALLOW BREATH

It was frightening to experience, to not breath and knowing every breath may bring death, respitory failure may cause death the doctor told me last night, so I sought medical care, afraid as hell as I struggled to breath, not wanting to die, this is true even in my deepest psychosis and depression, suicide is not an option, death is feared by me, I suppose in a manner of speaking this fear saves my life, last night in the hospital I was sweating with fear and shaking over the impending feeling of death, there is no clear answer to why this happened, there is no found lung or heart disease, yet I feel there was a physical reason for my struggle to breath, that it was more than just panic gone insane, it felt so physical and  as of yet, there is no answer to the mystery of my breathing problem, but it was frightening, facing death, only wishing life and not obilvion, for an atheist death is oblivion, nonexistence, yet I cannot believe in a cruel evil dictator in the sky, I will not believe in childish fables of god or gods because such lies would compfort me, I am an adult, not a child with an imaginary friend in the sky, that fake horrible dictator.

Saturday, June 6, 2015

A POEM BY AUTHOR/POET GARY G PELOW, THE DOOR KNOB.

I broke it off, not on purpose, I broke off the bath room door knob, I shook in fear of being punished for this event, yelled or screaming at me, I do not wish to bring anyone to rage and anger, I try my best to avoid such errors, fruitlessly looking for perfection in myself and others.  Jesus fucking tap dancing masturbating Christ I am so afraid and worried right know, I am fucking exhausted and tired from the energy that is drained from me to maintain constant fear and paranoia.  You see this is the reason for my sureness that god or gods do not exist in any form or conception, such a good if real, from the Old Testament, or Koran, is so cruel he or she would be unworthy of worship and devotion by any man, woman or child.  I know in my heart of hearts, mi corazon, that gods are no more real than leperchuans and unicorns, why the fuck would I worship a god or gods that either allow evil to happen or can not even stop evil from happening, so the question of the ages is this, is the god or gods just ineffecitve or a perfect liar as he speaks to his followers of imaginary love for man or imaginary mercy and compassion.?

Friday, June 5, 2015

A POEM BY AUTHOR GARY G PELOW, THE CREATIONIST.

The creationist believes in a superstitious lie, the lie of a young earth, the lie of a god who cares, yet does not exist.  The young earthers cling to fables of the bronze age, an age of ignorance and no understanding of how nature and reality behaves.  If their god does exist, which it does not, as they the creationists describe him, this fake god, is not worthy of my worship or yours.  The fable of christians, muslims and jews alike are violent and dangerous, they create war, death, murder and genocide world wide.
Yesterday someone had the nerve to tell me they wll pray for me, fuck your prayers and the time wasted in sayng them, do not have the arrogance to force your beliefs upon me by way of fake concern for my nonexistent .eternal soul and fake salvation.  Jesus fucking tap dancing masturbating Christ, your evil of arrogance is born from lies told for ten thousand years of mans existence, they vary in detail these lying fables of history, but the theme is the same, be afraid of my sky god, or gods, or be killed and suffer in hell, this is the refrain of all religion and spiritual beliefs.  The imaginary friend in the sky is dangerous, not because he is real in any form, but because grown adult world leaders mke major decisions for all base on lies, a truy violent journey I have already mentoned.  SO KEEP YOUR FUCKING LIES TO YOURSELF AND DO NOT CORRUPT THE CHILDREN, EVEN YOUR OWN, WITH THESE LIES.

Monday, June 1, 2015

A POEM BY AUTHOR/POET GARY G PELOW' CONTROL.

I have no control over others, that is true for anyone yet I still seek such control in defiance of logic and reality, everything is confusing, moving to fast, god I wish I could calm these nerves, I am steeped in despair over the ideas that everyone hates me, I feel rejected and hated by others.  Of course I know that is not a reflection of reality, but a reflection of my paranoia, fear, and too much caffiene in pill form.  I am alone and shaking, absorbing the hate and anger from people that are not real but a mirror of schizophrenia, for three years now I have been running in fear, moving three times over the idea, some true, that people want to kill me, for I have offended a man called Kevin, he did indeed threaten to kill me in Brockport New York, and the  fear fed itself  and spread from Keving to everyone, everyone folowng me, crowding me, gang stalking me, I am tired of living in fear of violence yet I will not commit suicide or acts of violence, so I sit in a pile of fear, like someone sitting in their own excrement, for years on end with no help or water to wash it off, Jesus fucking Christ I hate this fucking world but I fear death and jail and homelessness, so I keep fighting to stay alive, to stay active, I am not surrending to ghostly aparitions and false enemies, it is odd I believe, to be psychotic and be totally aware of that fact, when many other crazies can not see their own sickness and are completely lost in a universe of psychotic unawareness, unaware of their own pain, or solutions to stop it, so what is control? How is that word defined and who gets to define it? I once was told by a mentor, you or I have the right to try and influence our physical reality and people, yet no one can reasonably expect you to control them.