Monday, September 18, 2017

Evening Dhamma: Purification of View

Crashing Thoughts Imploding Together in My Head

My mind is fucking racing, my emotions switch at the pass of a second of time, one minute I am in XTC, then I am suicidal.
Then I am furious, such injustices surround me, life is not fair and then I slam into music fired mania.
My head is suddenly swinging into paranoia, I think people are passing m house trying to plan to kill me, and then, I am thinking about my dead girlfriend who died from AIDS 20 years ago,
In the mean time I have music blasting in my ears, Michael Jackson to drown out the voices no one else but me hears.
I am terrified, everyone is a suspect, an enemy, a gang stalker, a spy, a gang member trying to stalk me.
It is almost midnight and I am fired into confusion fear and mania, changing every 10 seconds
The Pointer Sisters are blasting into my head right now, upside down, turn me inside out, her song goes, that is me.
I feel totally unstable and I know my neighbors are spying on me and laughing at me, those mother fuckers.
The night comes earlier in September, the more darkness of the fall the more danger, the more the number of the dark places my enemies can hide waiting for me to walk down the street to pounce and stab me.
Fucking synthesizers, blasting in my ears, I hate fucking synthesizers, but I hate my voices more, it is going to be a long night of terror, fear and suicidal ideation.
It is fucking hot for fall, it is midnight and I still have to have the fucking air conditioner on, it is muggy, I am sweaty, smelly, a filthy , worthless person.
I walk down the street with my mobile smart phone at the ready, to video tape those who are stalking me, the only weapon I have, to document my enemies presence in real physical evidence.
Fucking disco music, Celebrate! Holiday! Holiday of death, fear, anxiety, self hatred, others despise me, I am worthless.
But I am 51, not dead, not dead like my sister patty, who blew her head off with a shotgun, I have not inflicted death on myself, I doubt I will tonight, or ever, I am a coward.

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

A poem by Gary G Pelow, If You Are there God, by any name, Fuck You

I do not believe there is a mean, magical old white man called God living in the sky constantly spying on me and who hates my fucking guts and wants to punish me in Hell for something I did not do.
This imaginary clown has been given many names like God, Jesus, Father, Lord, Allah, Jehovah, Zeus, Yawey, Krishna, Vishnu, Jupiter, Master, King of kings, The Prince of Peace, Christ, Eli, Elijah etc. etc ad nauseam.
None with a shred or crumb of physical evidence of their actual existence in any form, plural or singular.
One famous scientist, it may have been Dawkins, I am not sure, pointed out that in Africa, in the filthy drinking water lives a parasite, a worm.
A worm that enters into the body of a child through drinking contaminated water.
The worm then gestates in the child, reaches adult stage, the worm, not the child, and proceeds to work its way into the eyeballs of that child and literally eat there eyes out.
Nice, huh?
It seems odd The Great King in Heaven only appears to a small number of privileged people when they are alone and there are no witnesses and the people receiving revelations are usually ignorant, uneducated paupers and goat herders.
Jesus, a carpenter, poor, in an isolated desert area, Moses, alone on a mountain top and a talking bush or shrub with fire for special effects, like the movies.
Joan of Arc, no one heard the voices but her.  Mohammad, an uneducated, illiterate Arab alone in a cave talking to Gabriel for decades and no witnesses.
Bernadette, from Hollywood fame The Song of Bernadette, and of Roman Catholic lore, a star child, a poor, uneducated French girl, alone, not witnesses, sees the Virgin Mary and they discuss the upcoming World War before it started or actually happened.
Yes, that makes sense, God sent his mother to talk to a nobody prepubescent girl about world geopolitics and war.
An odd occurrence in India for hundreds of years is a child is born with literally several working, functioning arms and legs, a severe birth defect seen by the locals, the child, as a god.
Oddly enough many Hindu Gods Are multilegged or multiarmed.
A deformed child is God because the child is deformed.
Do you see where I am headed with this?
If this or that god or gods do exist and let worms eat out an infants eyes, fuck your god(s)

Thursday, September 7, 2017

A poem by Gary G Pelow, Paint, Primer, Pills and Poison To Cope

I was sixteen, alone, with no friends, I was vaguely aware that drugs were out there among my high school crowd, but I had no friends and I did  not even know what would be the first step in getting weed, acid or coke.
Oh there was booze, the same shit that my mother drowned herself to death in and my father maintained in the house near the dining hutch, it was easy enough to get booze and after it being my first drug, I found it bland and boring, although I would continue to use it through my stay at the state psychiatric hospitals, group homes and into college.
An accident happened in my bedroom, I was bored and I had gone to the basement to take a piss because my bitch sister was hogging the upstairs bathroom.
In the corner of the basement was a gallon size can of primer, the kind you would put on a car in body work before paint.
My brother was a mechanic and such chemicals laid around unused for years.
The primer had a smell to it not unlike glue, glue used to make model cars and airplanes.
I never thought about it before, the glue had fumes and I was not unaccustomed to accidentally getting dizzy from it.
So, for some odd reason, I read the label on the primer can.  The main ingredient in model glue was here in this primer, Toluene.
And so I put the very large opening to the can to cover my mouth and nose and thus I accidentally discovered how to get high without a dug dealer and without raiding my father's booze, which he ignored and knew about, but he did not know about Toluene.
After that I became very interested in the chemistry of household chemicals that could help me escape from reality as my mental health was already in trouble even before Toluene or booze.
For my mother, the combination of alcohol and schizophrenia would kill her when I was eight and in me by the age of fifteen I was sliding gradually into psychosis.
Schizophrenia. Delusions. Paranoia. Violence.
Then the Toluene huffing was only accelerating my mental breakdown, my father refused me a psychiatrist but the point became mute when I turned eighteen in 1984, it was no longer my father's decision if I would see a shrink and be put into the local Rochester mental asylum, both happened to my father's dismay, and I had a new list of chemicals to play with, Black Hash, and pot I used with the other asylum patients, booze, Thorazine, Valium, Stelazine, Mellarill.
Some how I manged to leave Rochester and actually got to college where the chemical play ground only expanded for me.
Tricyclic anti-depressants, Lithium, and I was by the age of 21 a heavy, one pack a day, paranoid cigarette smoker, and nicotine to the chemical play ground.
They actually gave away free tobacco to state mental patients until the antismoking movement kicked in, it was to late, I was already hooked.
In Johnstown, NY I was accidentally or purposely introduced to PCP without knowing what I was using, I thought it was just pot, My college room mate, I suspect even today, gave me that shit without telling me what it was.
I became almost violent and tried to jump out the second story dorm window but was stopped by my other room mate, a Japanese student who stayed with me until the Dust wore off.
And cocaine, that was deliberate on my part.
I had several more breakdowns and still managed to graduate high school and Community College.
Years later, around 2000, the internet was picking up speed and I wanted to escape, the death of my girlfriend of ten years was imminent from AIDS.
On a computer you can get anything with a credit card, which were also easy for me to get, I had no real good or bad credit score.
The shit I bought online, diet pills, amphetamine, Klonopin, Valium, Phentermine, Ambien.
All illegal, delivered nice and promptly by Fed-Ex, who the government would go after later charging Fed ex with knowingly trafficking illegal prescription drugs from China, Pakistan, India among other countries.
I had grown up in the late 20th Century taught that taking pills was equal to being healthy, so I popped aspirin, Tylenol, Caffeine tablets, Benadryl.
I drank cold syrup that was 20 % alcohol and filled with dextromathorthan.
One day, from the aspirin abuse I started suddenly bleeding internally and almost bled to death vomiting pure blood in an ambulance on the way to the hospital and I risked liver failure from the Tylenol abuse.
I figured if this shit was over the counter it must be safe, in any dosage.
They are not, and there is my chemical soup that still washes in my brain in the form of legally prescribed Seroquel, Klonopin, Hydroxazine, gabapentin, Protonix.
I have never been able to function without chemicals, never got caught, never went to jail nor forced into drug rehab and the chemicals of coping I use today are legal, properly prescribed for my Schizophrenia, which as as an aside, my older sister had Schizophrenia and blew her head of with a shot gun.