I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; to live so that which came to me as seed goes to the next as blossom and that which came to me as blossom, goes on as fruit.

fully alive - dawna markova

I am so fucking tired of waking up, I am writing this after I just woke up, with my head throbbing with all kinds of nightmares and not being able to sleep at night even though I have beaten the body beyond the edge of exhaustion till after 4 am, to parapharse Springsteen, I was bruised and battered and I was unrecognizable to myself. I saw this qoute yesterday, without music life would be a mistake, but there are moments, so many moments in these days that I think, life itself is a mistake. It makes me remember Kurt Cobain's sucide note:

"So much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad little sensitive unappreciative pisces Jesus man! why don't you just enjoy it? I dont know! I have a of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy, and a daughter who reminds me to much of what I use to be, full of love and joy, every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm, and that terrifies me to the point to where I can barely function. I cant stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable self destructive, deathrocker I become. I have it good, very good, and I'm grateful, but since the age of seven, I've become hateful towards all humans in general. Only because it seems so easy for people to get along and have empathy, EMPATHY. Only because I love and feel for people too much I guess."

And when I sit before the typewriter, we found one in the attic, to write so that the music of the keys hitting paper may soothe me, I find myself writing poems of sadness and anger, that's not who I am but that's what now I have become, a crazy sad angry fuck. I don't want to write my own death warrant, die you motherfucker die, which is what has been happening, so I avoid bridges and building ledges lest that crazy fuck decide that pain is too much and jump off, so is it with knifes and blades. Fingers already hurt from the previous round, this time the fucker will kill me. The traid of good things have almost died within me: hope, faith and love. I don't hope for anything anymore, do I dare to have faith in anything? and love as I know it is a fucking joke that plays out on the April Fools Day. I could laugh at it, if wasn't so cruel and hurtful. Maybe I too am a sensitive unappreciative Piceses and should fucking die. I imagine all kinds of ways they may discover my body, I like the one of splaterred like an egg on the interstate the best, oops accidental roadkill, sorry I didn't mean to.

Goodbye.

Sirens ring, shots ring out A stranger cries, screams out loud I had my world strapped against my back I held my hands, never knew how to act

Chorus: And the same black line that was drawn on you Was drawn on me And now it's drawn me in 6th Avenue heartache

Below me was a homeless man Singing songs I knew complete On the steps alone, his guitar in hand His fifty years, stood where he stands

Chorus

Walking home on those streets The river winds move my feet Subway steam, like silhouettes in dreams They stood by me, just like moonbeams

Chorus

Look out the window, down upon that street And gone like midnight was that man But I see his six strings laying against that wall And all his things, they all look so small I got my fingers crossed on a shooting star Just like me, he just moved on

Chorus

from bringing down the horse

Click here to listen to the song and watch the video.

I have been listening to this song all night yesterday, I guess I slept off to that music, 6th Avenue Heartache. Fever has gone down, still don't feel strong enough in body and more importantly in spirit to get going.

Peace