Rejection Session

In this crazy day of complete candor, I want to lay it all out there for the world to make of it what they will, just as I am, and just as it is.

However much it might be a ‘go boldly, go blasé blechedly, or simply indifferently’ in perceiving how others’ might receive and respond to what I have to offer, (including all my nerd-wordy warts, my self-exposed wounds, my flailings upon failings, just every bit of all of it), I am driven to reveal all motives of mine, hidden or obvious, and how we are all truly the same beauty-bearing being breathing in and out of an infinitude of multitudes of various bodies, lives and minds.

When I have nothing to hide nor shrink away from in everything I say, share, and do, (word, thought & deed), I muse to myself searchingly, “How then can I ever be deemed and viewed as a possible fake-fraudling of a friend requestor, someone unworthy of a decent consideration for one’s more ardently desired circle of ‘fahriends?’ I must say that I could be 100% wrong and that those who have snubbed my friendship requests might have very good reasons why they did not accept it, reasons I cannot know nor fathom and which might have nothing to do with liking or not liking me, or not ever wanting to get a chance to like or dislike me. See? I might be projecting my perceptions of the whys and whats of this. Yeah, right.

Am I not saavy clever enough, ‘right-crowd-allowed’ enough to avoid being placed on the hot and hurty seat of a Facebook rejection? Maybe I just don’t get it, don’t see myself as others’ see me. None of us usually do, or even can. Perhaps it’s a ‘buried-in-the-sand’ boneheaded notion of mine in my obvious denial about the ostracism that’s associated with me speaking out against the ‘slick-clique’ club rules of admission … or maybe, Mazie, they really just don’t want you, don’t like you, and don’t like what you present and post. The old ‘you are what you post’ hokey toad road bloatage comes to mind now. Oh yeah. Oooohhh Yeah. Right.

Maybe I’m too forthright. But my drive and passion to ‘burn the house down’ so to speak, is on par for liberational libations being passed around. I don’t want to be a big f*cking phony – ever. In an open-hearted, open-armed ‘Here’s what you get and this is who I am’ blathering, I stand at the ready to answer any and every question one might want to ask of me. I guess I don’t have anything to hide. I have such seriously horrific, unbelievable, incredible AND supernaturally sublime and awesome experiences to share with my friends. A great deal of them are very personal and sensitive stories that some would balk at, perhaps cry foul, and most likely hurriedly scurry away from if they were actually faced with showing everyone, heck, ANYONE these excruciatingly honest redemptive tattle-tales prattled on upon oneself.

The more I might hide and deny my life, and the more I might put on the proverbial, beat-to-death dog in attempting to fake out and pad up an image of what and who I am, (one that isn’t at all my true state), well then, I would be leaving myself open to a more and greater necessity to embellish or to plump-up myself as being someone who I am not.

One cannot for very long, fake kindness or a learned brilliance or comraderie, or anything that calls for personal creativity and true sensitivity to occur and flower on the fly.

The reality-plowing person always shows their open-bowled face, their real and less-than-grace-filled face if that’s who they actually are. Our wolfy-judgey chops and pass-the-buck predatory persona can only hide behind the sheepskin cape of Cheshire-chopped wolfish lies for just so long. We always give ourselves away in the midst of our daily interactions. We can hold a fraudulent pose for just such a time, and then … there be yiking and rreerring and clawing and snarling snoots tilted towards the sky of I, Me, Mine. If I had a dime for every time, eh?

Shall I be selfless enough, kindly and caringly fair enough to rise past my fears of failure and my lifelong ingrained belief that I am not good enough, not loveable enough? Will I be able to arrive at that place wherein I can see through the imposition of my yack-back-in-anger ego, my fragile, primal-dice tossed and stamped human mind? These minds’ of ours, so sadly bent and twisted by our life incidents’ into a fear-wisdom stance, I do not wonder why it so often has us kept on edge and swept-up brutally into karmic knots that we cannot untie easily.

Can I myself put to rest, put to death, all my old useless ideas and archaic beliefs about seeing myself as a loser-failure-freak whose been imagined as being seen as one who has been wobbling awkwardly along Bone-Oaf Boulevard, lurching towards Maroon-Dufus Drive? I can if I’m clear and honest with myself. I can if I continue to inquire, to root out all the bullshit beliefs I still keep and hide about myself.

What will reveal the right (for me) road to recognition-liberation? For myself it’s in my candor and honesty and in utilizing the ability for being completely and totally real. In not clinging to an image needing protection about the unveiling of my foibles and weaknesses and actual humanity, hopefully it might encourage others to be just exactly who they are, exactly as they live and act and interact daily, regularly, sincerely with others.

Feeling Feisty

Though she is quick to learn
& admittedly clever,
her natural doubt of herself
should make her so weak
that she dabbles brilliantly
in half a dozen talents
& thus embellishes
but does not change
our life….

So sayeth the Jongmeister.
I feel rather feisty when I face down the all-talk and no-action clown who tries to hold me back.
Clown schmown, I ain’t gonna go crawdaddin’ back into my hidey hole of an excuse-maker Mazie personifying cop-outs
and bow-outs and blow-offs.
I’m going to crazy-town this wimp-freak fear-frump right the eff back to the reclusial museless refuse heap I’d habituated.
What a whacked-out normalcy belief I’ve bought into.
‘I gotta be me’ sung to tap dancing and high leaps… Shee-ee-eesh. Show this crackpot of parody to the closest door, please.
Feisty-riding high, and I am, (high on writing) I can say it with a straight face: “O, (D’Oh!) I am fortune’s fool! . . . (well then)
Then I defy you stars!” Good ol’ Willy Shakes! For me and mine, once again … Write!
Do write, and do it as well as you possibly can, and as often as you can (like, everyday).

My Place in This Thing

OhDearGodDearLove, here we go again (chagrined)
in a write-out of all this drudge and over-dubiosity
about myself and my place in this thing
I tremble in and crumble down,
round-eyed but fright-less.

Fisting-up these twig burl fingers pumped against heaven,
a lifting out from this crackle-shacked cripple act gains momentum.

In the gritting skin of my grimaced grin stretched
to maximum capacity, I give in to the meme

of this dreamland horror show.

I give notice.

Thunderous across the scorch of a body field razed down daily,
the broad mind refinement of this bone-cage parody gains ground
as the sound of my typing taps in tempo to a spinal jive pin-down.

I cannot be confounded by the believer who would leave me
needy and fearful of a future not meant to be free
from expansive acts of pain.

I have tuned out the shouters of credentials imbedded
in these stanzas that could stand in the way
of the middle ground
shoring me forward.

Sometimes it’s like rising upon sea-weedy waves
from a deep grave filled with long good-byes
lasting into the night …

and I’m crying through the salt-doll babble talk
as I bobble along in probabilities, willing
the scatter-fall death of my fears rib-bone buried
in the past memory of poison recalled in this heart.

I am not God’s walking stick, nor the trick knee keeping me
tied-up in terror-tales bordering on the unintellible ramblings
of a brow-beaten, disease eaten mad-woman.

These crookly feet faltering under my limp-along legs,
they hold the power of earth and sky between them
in a hard-fleshed chalice carved with ghostly incantations.

This lament of my own tongue-less, raptured race
is the faceted face, my face in a mirror
seeking the Grace of a God
long ago gone quiet.