Donald Kalsched, The Inner World of Trauma: Archetypal Defences of the Personal Spirit
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Donald Kalsched, The Inner World of Trauma: Archetypal Defences of the Personal Spirit
Sayume Tachibana, Anchin and Kiyohime, 1926
Hypnotism, its facts, theories, and related phenomena, 1893
Soaked in the bathroom with tears of an angel
Holding the smoking rifle on the other side of the glass
Wings turned to ashes and plates of charcoal
To the gunshot I screamed, broke all the mirrors
Now I am left bleeding in a trail with a hammer
You will come knocking, come searching
To the vision these blackened teeth will crumble
For there isn’t a darker soul I’d rather swallow
A frailer body Sickness would rather poison
Than that of a Narcissus I was unable to capture
Unhappy and shallow, you crawl like a maggot
As on earth as above, my conscience will tremble
You could have had the key
To this rotten soul-temple
But no one shall see the secrets I treasure
Never grow old
Never grow old
You and I, we will never grow old
Your lovers all died or found a new god to worship
Humid sheets rusted, moldy with vomit
You look above, searching for answers
Blood rains on your rugged skin covered in cancers
Time has destroyed even the prettiest picture
Narcissus in pain screams: “reflections must linger!”
Can’t escape faith, karma will hit you
All those you killed, revengeful, will eat you
Never grow old
Never grow old
You and I, we will never grow old
Why did you dig me up for this?
Silly little boy, I stretched myself open in front of your judgmental eyes once again. My skin teared apart, ripped open leaving muscle fibers on the frozen asphalt of your heart only for you to look inside and laugh at the pale figure within.
A lonely child, playing with her toys rumbles in silence within a wooden casket. Evil and kind like only children can be, she manoeuvres the arteries of this dead vessel, pumping life into it with my every breath while I bask in the torpor of eternal sleep.
You saw her, but couldn’t utter a word. Not a phrase of comfort came out of your mouth…couldn’t believe the violence it took to be this kind, this understanding in front of my own pain. Yes I love and I will protect her, even from you, as her intentions are pure and she loves with unmatched depth and commitment. I carry her burdens daily, while we wander aimlessly in the fog of this corrupt world, from shelter to shelter, from heart to heart in an eternal spiral of madness.
To the funeral of my own illusions, I showed up naked in your land of snow. Ancient stalactites and ice caves squeezed my eyes shut, pierced me like all the memories of these years together. I too have become an inconsistency in your long-meditated perfect plan, I too have become inconvenient for your freedom…yet I would have never stood in your way.
Tears burn my fingers spinning devils of snow…and the hands of these clocks don’t move fast enough. Why did you dig me up for this?
Desiderio, incessante. La perfetta solitudine e la necessità illusoria di potersi bastare incastonate come perle tra le ore di questi giorni persi. Due occhi ambrati mi ipnotizzano di tanto in tanto, mi perdo nelle galassie e vie lattee che sgorgano dalle sue pupille per ritrovarmi sola a bere sangue nell’universo creatosi dal big bang dei nostri egoismi. Mi spoglio di ogni difesa dinanzi alla grandezza del Peccato, tarlo insidioso del pensiero, fai grondare questi bendaggi alle mie gambe di saliva cristallina e divori ogni mio concetto per renderlo indegno di esser concepito.
Il fallimento è sempre dietro l’angolo in questa corsa affannosa verso noi stessi, ma niente è equiparabile alla paura di perdere Te o perdere me stessa in preda all’ossessione.
Sarai assente nel momento in cui ne avrò più bisogno, quando le porte del paradiso saranno spalancate ci sbraneremo per assaporare il piacere del successo e nei meandri più torpidi degli inferi lasceremo la nostra carne bruciare in solitudine pur di non supportarci, questi siamo noi amico mio. Non illuderti che in questa guerra quotidiana si possa essere poco più di vittima o carnefice, ho le dita corrose per quanto queste unghie hanno lottato in cambio della quotidianità che ci assale. E non voglio vederti crescere nè sorridere, nella speranza che tu possa aver sempre bisogno di me, che il nostro legame possa solo crescere e rafforzare le catene che consumano la nostra carne ad ogni nostro futile dimenio verso la libertà.
John Keats, from a letter to Fanny Brawne, featured in The Selected Letters of John Keats
O, The Blood!
"Oh the blood I would give, just to convince you to stay", just to look into your puzzling eyes once again...surely you were never meant for me, but I let you in anyhow for a moment of pleasure, no more. Was it worth it in the end? I could have slept those three days and created a better scenario in my fantasies, one where you actually try to see and understand me, one where I am not the entertainment of your miserable hours. In this world where we only use and abuse, I let you inside of me for a second, no more. I kept you warm and tight in your sleepless nights, robbed you of your monotony and drank from the infinite fountain of your ego only to be alone again. Was this your plan all along? Or did you stop liking the pray once it revealed itself? The object of desire shines only for a minute, but it's the dirt and misery we have in common you should have appreciated...I listened and listened to provide you comfort, and now I don't even know what to do with all this useless information about you, which God...I bet it was even inaccurate and filtered from the lens of your shallow perception. Was Stella ever as alone as you said she was? And were you ever a dad figure to her? How could you have been...if the frenzy of your lifestyle does not allow you to ever be there for anyone fully. You live in a constant party, victim of your impulses and constantly chasing the next dopamine rush. At the same time you are surprisingly boring and simple in your needs, shallow in your thoughts, with a touch of arrogance common to those who always had everything in life, but don't know what to do with it. That's why you spasmodically try to fill your time, Terrence, you can't stand yourself and the silence around you. For me, loneliness is a gift and a conscious choice, while to you a curse and at the same time, the only way you know how to live. Did you ever figure out who you really are? And is there a real you under all the social constructs you embody?
The only thing which permeates your being is your constant sense of duty, the notion of how a good brother should behave, how a good boyfriend should provide...but you constantly fail to match your own self imposed expectations and the boat of reality crashes miserably in front of the cliff of your morals. There is how Terrence should and wants to be and who he really is. This dichotomy haunts you and prevents you from looking within, to fully explore your genuine self and come to terms with how others might perceive you both at work and in your personal life. I also saw a highly capable and intelligent man, with a great sense of humor and an excellent sense of curiosity, a kind and sweet person overall, a companion who takes lead and tries to be caring and attentive. Like you said, we are all equally good and bad, so let these words not be a harsh judgement, I am just trying to process and make sense of what it was, if it ever was...you hurt me, it's true...I can't deny I took a hit everyone warned me from. I can't help being naive and trying to live life fully even if it means making the same mistake over and over again. In this circle of madness, I revolve around you and eat from the crumbles of attention you leave on the way, but no resentment shall be held in my heart. I will not grant you the power to break me or deprive me of my hope and courage. I will rise no matter what, or sink in the mud I am from as I always did, but you will not deserve the obedience you were looking for within me so desperately. You will always be alone, but with somebody else and I wish the best to both of you. May you find your happiness Terrence and may you build a family of your own, but please stay away from me, as I live in the Truth and that's where you don't belong.
“The path isn’t a straight line; it’s a spiral. You continually come back to things you thought you understood and see deeper truths.”
— Barry H. Gillespie
Joscelyn Godwin, Robert Fludd, Hermetic Philosopher and Surveyor of Two Worlds
There is a Light that Never Goes Out
Amico mio,
Il tempo si muove astutamente tra gli anfratti delle nostre dita consumate. Le linee che disegnano sono sfocate e distorte, come i contorni che definiscono i nostri ruoli in questa tragicommedia da quattro soldi. Tra essere e apparire, ci assegnamo identità provvisorie così che le gabbie in cui siamo confinati possano sembrare spaziose e confortevoli ai nostri occhi bendati. Non guardarmi dentro, voglio continuare a mentire fino a che non riuscirai più a mentire a te stesso, fino a che quello specchio non ripudi la tua immagine creata a tavolino dalle mie fantasie ribelli. E dolce è il tuo veleno, dolce è il pensiero ingombrante che fa di te un’ossessione onnipresente in questi giorni bui. Nella tua veneranda chiesa, confesso al tuo cospetto i miei peccati e ti ripudio, perché troppo simile ai tuoi predecessori e troppo diverso da quest’ultimi per esser definito tale. In quale dio mi sono imbattuta questa volta? Sono io che ti taglio la gola e sono io che te la ricucio al suono del tuo eloquente bisbiglio, ad ogni parola elargita nella sua banalità dalla tua bocca inesperta. Che venga il prossimo, e poi un altro ancora. Imboccatemi e lasciatemi vomitare sull’asfalto l’infinito velo della menzogna che mi avete conficcato il gola. Lasciate spazio alla mia ennesima ossessione stagionale, così da poter scandire a suon di lacrime questa misera esistenza che ci avvolge e ci incatena, in un turbine di emozioni artificiali io giuro che non voglio amarti. Ti osserverò da lontano amico mio, lascerò che il tuo pensiero mi culli e mi tenga al caldo, ma sarò immobile dinanzi alla brama dei miei desideri. Sarai felice senza me, come in passato così in futuro, colmo dell’amore delle persone che ti hanno accompagnato in questi anni. Ti proteggerò in disparte, veglierò su di te senza sfiorarti, lascerò che la vita faccia il suo corso per entrambi senza le complicazioni del caso. Forse questo significa amare, sacrificare se stessi ed i propri egoismi per la felicità altrui. O forse accetto tutto ciò pur di non perderti, pur di poter continuare a leccare il miele delle tue parole.
Sei un fiore delicato, Tu.
Sei un fiore delicato tu, rinchiuso per l’eternità in una teca di vetro. Non mi è dato possederti né toccarti, mi inchino dinanzi alla rassegnazione che caratterizza la mia condizione, quella di chi ha imparato che non bisogna sfidare il destino che ci è stato imposto, quella di chi ride dinanzi al riflesso sbiadito della propria figura negli occhi altrui. La maledizione che mi assale, è doverti veder sbocciare, amare, soffrire, vincere e appassire come se il tutto fosse estraneo alla mia essenza anno dopo anno…ma tu mi cresci dentro. Hai le radici ben conficcate nel mio cuore, le cui estremità si intrecciano e diradano tra gli anfratti del mio animo inerme dinanzi alla tua insidiosa presenza. Tu che sei estraneo e affine, vittima e preda delle mie stesse contraddizioni, legame invisibile eppure così reale da riempire le mie ore in questo luogo dove tempo e spazio sono incastonati con specchi e l’argento delle tue pupille. Mi scoppia il petto in preda alla congestione che mi assale, piena dei tuoi bulbi e infinite diramazioni, non posso che vomitare i nostri egoismi sperando che tu possa guardarmi da dentro un’ultima volta prima della mia imminente dipartita.
Vampyr, 1932.
from mayakovsky by frank o'hara
Leila Chatti, from "Postcard from Gone"