By Cameron Bramley
I wanna slow all this down.
I think my dad knew when I was in the womb
He knew he had to stop me, but he failed
All he thought I was, was pain.
He could see no light I could have brought to his life.
In his pain punch, he gave me light and darkness together.
Pain and pleasure, no pause, no stop, just blow by blow,
My essential stuckness is ever moving at paces beyond my comprehension.
He lays his forceful hand on my neural existence and stamps it alive into my attempt at Being,
Creating an ever-rushing, doing force – like wind, talkative yet shy, powerful yet meek, alpha yet omega.
And into the life I run; I cannot walk, yet I run; I can think, yet I can’t talk; I can breathe, yet I want to choke; I can live so awesomely, yet sometimes I wanna die.
I can feel so much, but when it hurts, no one can hear my screaming.
I lip read, move to see, time plan, everything scan.
I talk of me too much, too fast, ever trying to learn why I yearn.
I yearn to understand where, when, and why. I seem to know but still can’t put my finger on it the when, where, why and what’s of life.
I have become what all seemingly traumatised people become.
The seeker, controller, the life master, the ego sentry.
Ever watchful, least thoughtful, drone me out of the rush or hype me up on Skype
And hey, let’s meet there on WhatsApp so we can recall our Facebook and post our life lessons that ever repeat with different pictures, the same lessons.
I am pain, desire, fear, less. I was or thought I was alive,
Awake all this time.
Suddenly it’s fading into one afternoon with one sunset left.
All I know has awakened; what must I do with it.
Who can I share it with, pass it on how, to who
and will they listen?
Oh, no, I need to change my lifestyle, eat and offer
up a cabbage in Tupperware in cars on roads and everywhere I go.
Prescription after description
Again and again.
I am who I want to be and who you think I am, not at the same time.
I am trustworthy and trusting yet always suspicious and second guess,
Always need my plan b or back door.
I sense animals; they sense me; I am an animal,
Ever running for the first-class plane,
Loving the airtime interchange of life, coz its there where I cannot be,
In the middle of row c, alone and silent, economy classes of life.
I’ve become a button pusher;
I feel less and think way too much more than I should.
My habitat is failing me,
I need to self-manage because typing, Facebooking, Whatsapping and geo-mapping are just not doing it anymore.
The paperback writer is replaced by a screensaver.
I regulate my pain, challenge my blood and veins, and lock all the doors so you and HE can’t see.
I am occupied, always defragging back into my mother’s womb, someone else but me, please.
I look in the mirror and become less or more and panic to become more or less.
I struggle to breathe. I explode only to implode.
I am occupied but vacated
I will try to control all but lose everything, sedated
I can feel all of me in little bitty bits, awakened
I am starlight, bright and frightened all at once.
Is everyone sleeping, or is it just me?
Is my gun loaded?
Oh yes, it is.
Hidden in all the data, there is only one bandwidth amongst satellites, radio waves and autosave/automate lies. Mmmm. I don’t quite
know yet.
Mmm.. there is an insurgence of us, we cannot rule, but maybe we can govern given our insights to the promises.
Hahaha. I don’t have a licence for life, yet I think I can drive, believing I never really die.
Somehow, somewhere I carry a dis-easier feeling,
A drug of sorts, yet it is not mine and never was.
It is not my burden.
There we lie, comatose traffickers of trauma,
Thinking we are clever, knowing Noah. Those that
hunt us, our own trafficking traumatised mess, yield their guns and aim.
I am untouched, yet I am dying; I carry knowledge,
Yet my feet are sore; I command you to look, but I am yet unable to see all.
Ok. Stop. Geomap on, I command you to listen;
We will see the pain together, alone.
I enter the room of knowledge; you are supreme but never fooled.
You are grey-wise but experience fooled.
I deform to reform. I think I am the one,
Yet there is no number that makes me;
Time measures me, yet I waste it, complain about it, wanna leave it or not experience it.
Sometimes I wanna abuse and sleep Through it.
I will, however fight to the end, trying to tell you what I know.
Let’s party; nobody move, camera roll, blood body light infuses.
Boom, boom, bang bang, all my life words strike lightning into one rhythm, one energy, one of many statues of human-like fake honour, an abyss of originality.
A newborn child.
Rather sooner in this life from knowledge than in the next from ignorance. Wow.
Here I sit, amazed at me.
The sin of the Father passed followed us, as we were free, or so we thought,
Yes WE thought, and WE were never there,
Except as passers of knowledge and angels of HE.
I am everywhere. So are YOU.