.

[still.trucking]

Had a dream
Wanted to
transfer
numbers of
my Blessings
to Her

Sending Her LOVE
Believing.

over the years since november of 1984
My dreams of my Rose of San Antone have become a two way transfer of blessings given and received.

I am sorry for your loss. After all these years I still don't feel like I lost her at all. Never felt that way again after my first dream of her...blessed be her memory
if dreams are poetry
I wish I had more for you

[silent woman]

“there may be dark abysses before which intelligence must be silent, for fear of going mad.” There may also be different universes. For surely, Santayana thought, the laws of this universe are arbitrary.

To Santayana, spirituality refers to our passion to make a difference in the world.

[SadLuckDame]

We go where we want and in what way we want, it may look different, but away we go.
This was beautiful to me.

[silent woman]

a young woman killed by breast cancer leaving young children behind her, I would like to believe you are right dame. it is all beautiful if we could see it from where G d is.

a post I deleted from here because I thought it might be too autistic

http://studioeight.tv/phpbb/viewtopic.p ... 1&start=30

[Artguy]

Maybe this is the right place...though not sure...but I will try

30 years of psychotherapy, antidepressants and the horror that can be the heavy self...It's all caused me times of putting an end to it all...then I don't...Wrap my self in a blanket of pharmaceutical haze....Back to home and all the love it means....Still it throbs on the psychopathic bipolar depressed madness that resides next to the silent sitting Buddha..Escape into TV and try not to cry...

[silent woman]

Only deliberately tried to kill myself once, I scared the hell out of myself trying to get that belt from around my neck.
I was locked in a dark closet when I was eight or nine maybe it was six or seven, this was sixty five years ago, fuzzy memory of my motives was I just playing around with a belt looped around a coat hoak, playing hangman? What i remember was that I was put in that closet as punishment, a favorite form of punishment by my father. Do you remember the last time you cried, cried like a child in great heaving sobs of despair with such a strong feeling of being unloved...


I keep thinking about the known side effects of some of your meds, the dream about hitting the deer with your car and it turned into your father...

"memory leaks from molecules"


I been staying stoned most of the time, my haze my craze. Like a big sad ape in a Zoo.
The known side effects are milder for me than SSRI's but one man's meat is . . .

For me thoughts of suicide come and go, for a while I had constant thoughts of Virginia Woolf with her pocket full of rocks. Jimboloco was there for me. That helped a lot. Riminded me of her comment about friends,

Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends. Virginia Woolf

That was for a few months when I was going through the melodrama of believing I had lung cancer, on top of all my other psychiatric disorders I am a hypochondriac too.
.
come on Camus
like Sisyphus with a iPod
we boogie down the hill after our boulder
I listen to the music a lot

I had a dream about my father, I was surprised at how young he looked, then I realized I am ten years older then he was when he died.

I am fading into old age and decrepitude, I feel for the young ones like St Jack who got so old so fast,
no the forlorn rags of old age are not for sissies,

Escape into TV
I escape a couple of hours a day, I escape more into the internet, I read and watch many hours a day. Except when I catch a job for a day or two. In the meantime the sun comes up and the sun goes down, it rains, the wind blows, the birds sing, I hear or see none of it. I am in a isolated cave with no window out, complete enmeshed in my technological womb.
I am a prisoner of love.

Don't mind me artman I am crazy jack son of crazy mike, and I think I understand how the energy flows sometimes
in spontaneous in friendship
for what it is worth
I feel Honored that you dropped by
it is all just a GO
Come on Camus

[silent woman]

I must have edited the previous post thirty times in the past thirty minutes.

In 1963 I came very close to murdering my mother. This was after Crazy Mike's death when I could not fall asleep without imagining a shot gun tucked up under my chin as I lay in bed with my finger on the trigger. Then I could drift off to sleep like a kid with a teddy bear.

Yes crazy has been a hobby of mine for a long time. I used to be smart, I used to have dreams of being a doctor, of being a healer, now I believe in friendship, art, poetry, and music, that's what keeps me keeping on, almost sane, or at least non violent.


In 1973 I did LSD with my mother. Well not with her so much, she was just sitting there clueless with a nice glass of hot tea and and a bagel while I was tripping my ass off, we talked till four AM in the morning and we were best friends again.

Sometimes I think drugs have helped me sometimes I wonder if things might have been better without them.

[Artguy]

I didn't want my family to find me ...I took a large quantity of prescription pills stuffed them in my pocket...and out the door I went to the liquor store to buy a mickey of cheap rye whiskey, a staple of the prairie province Polish immigrants who were my ancestors. It was my intention to wander down into one of the deep lush ravines that meander through Toronto, find myself a big ol oak tree put my back up against it and go to sleep. On the way waiting at a red light a taxi pulled up beside me, tears ran down my face, screams rolled around my gut...a blue light glowed from within the cab...without hailing I got in...I awoke from a haze in the emergency wing of a mental health hospital trembling with fear....anti-psychotics lulled me into a deep sleep with my eyes wide open...so there I stayed for 2 weeks at times feeling almost well but with a fear of breathing outside air....panic attacks settled in punching walls... an inner violence that I have never felt... so now with new meds and continued meditation I live on...my paint brush still not quite comfortable in my hand...

[silent woman]

Sometimes a Man Stands Up

Sometimes a man stands up during supper
and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,
because of a church that stands somewhere in the East.
And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead.
And another man, who remains inside his own house,
dies there, inside the dishes and in the glasses,
so that his children have to go far out into the world
toward that same church, which he forgot.
Rilke

[Artguy]

Even the president of the United States must sometimes stand naked

Bob Dylan

[stilltrucking]

sometimes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up

I know a psychiatrist who refused to write a Rx for meds to a patient who was having anxiety attacks. He told her that is was not anxiety she was experiencing it was fear. Fear of not being able to breathe. And fear is all she had going for herself.

The way he explained it to me was she had CPOD, and was on oxygen, but she was still smoking. He felt in good conscience he could not make it easier for her to smoke herself to death.

Back a couple years ago when I had the weird cat scan that seemed to indicate lung cancer, as I lay there on the scan table imagining Gary Snyder looking down at me smiling and saying "What did you expect schmuck."

[Artguy]

I am now reading Dr. Warme's book A cure For Folly...

His thinking which I highly endorse is that in diagnosing mental illnesses with a name gives the stricken a label that is worn heavily by the rest of society...He is schizophrenic stay clear or he will kill you...The few around me that know of my diagnostic label of Bipolar fear so treat me with white gloves....Ii am no crazier than the rest of you...

[stilltrucking]

"why does she have two poles when I only have one" I can't remember who said that, Carrie Fisher maybe talking about being bipolar.

A stigma born of fear I think. I am crazy jack son of crazy mike, I have learned to adjust with the help of a small circle of friends.

An admirable friend gave a link the other day I like a lot.

When the Buddha told Ananda that the entirety of the practice lay in having an admirable friend, he wasn’t saying something warm and reassuring about the compassion of others
http://www.tricycle.com/dharma-talk/power-judgment

Another website you might like.

Pithy Poem of the Day
As a lover of aphorisms, and as someone fascinated with issues of free will and identity (an interest only spurred by psychiatry of course), I couldn't resist this short Goethe poem (which I came across in Alex Ross's The Rest is Noise):

No one can know himself,
Detach from his self,
Yet he tries to become every day
What is finally clear from the outside,
What he is and what he was,
What he can and what he may.

If one can get past the quaint 19th-century emphasis upon "he," it is clear that this is a profound glance at the ambiguities of the free and the determined. All the subjective struggle that is at the heart of life (how to live, what to do?) merges in the end with the inevitable. And in a profession that, drawing from Socrates's infamous "Know thyself," prizes self-examination, it is worth remembering that we can never fully succeed at this (or if we did, we would in fact be fully detached, viewing ourselves as biological machines). In fact, Goethe supposedly said at some point, when the topic of self-knowledge came up (and I'm paraphrasing), "Heaven forbid that I should know myself." He meant to exaggerate, of course, but all the same some mystery must remain at the core of who we are.

http://arspsychiatrica.blogspot.com/200 ... f-day.html