The funk

I have really become really good at suppressing my feelings th last year or so, no angry outbursts, no expression of emotion, except this sunny disposition i always carry. Part of me, no most of me hoping maybe if i fake it long enough it will turn real.
Most of the time it works, since i push all my problems to the back of my head and if i catch a glimpse of it, i turn to the other side. So here i walk, no fear in my stride, no pain on my face, as i lie to myself all is good with my life. I guess i didn't count on the funk.
Yeah, i found a name for it, "the funk". That ghost who rules my mind. He likes to let me think i'm free and i control all that i am and will be...though now it's 'could be'. Because he occasionally likes to remind me who's boss and yanks at my mind to spiral me into that random mood or whatever the fuck he deems fit. So now i'm face to face with everything i'd thrown under the rug.
Everyday i come across hundreds of faces. Everyday i hear people laugh, as i watch them go about their lives. I also hear tales of suffering and evil. Everyday i meet new people. From that girl who'l get googly eyed over me because she see's something i honestly never see in me, to that guy who wants us to be best buds, and also see's something in me that i don't.
Each time i look in me i sometimes imagine i can hear God chuckle. You know, that silent chuckle when i turn around after talking to him, as he nudges his son with his elbow. I hate thinking life is one big joke to Him, not for fear of blasphemy, but the fear that if it's true then all this suffering is not the setup to something good, but just a cruel result of somebody's sick sense of humour.
So who am i? I'm not the first person to be bipolar, neither will i be the last, so why should my problems matter?
At times like these when i'm in the grip of the funk and there is no alcohol or sleeping pills at hand i just turn and face the huge gap it has left in my soul, each time digging deeper. The rationality it took from me to the point even normal me barely has any emotional connection to most people. Do you know how frustrating it is to be around 'friends' yet there is that huge emptiness in you that you can never fill(ok, most of them are backstabbing bastards and probably deserve hell's wrath). Being lonely among your friends is akin to water everywhere and not a drop to drink. It's worse, when you are with that somebody who is probably the only one you can really 'feel'/connect to, and understands you. You know they deserve all the good you have to offer and worth a shot. But it's impossible to tell them because your damaged soul tells you "they'll probably leave anyway, they all do eventually". It's better that way because it will be easier in the end. But is it? Would you rather try and fill that hole temporarilly by having somebody close, give them the chance to surprise you and stay, or you are better off never knowing. Ignorance being bliss and all that bull.
Last year i was all for getting medicated, "down with the funk" and all that. I guess i kinda gave up or stopped caring. Most of the time i convince myself it isn't real. What can it do to screw up my life that it hasn't done already? It takes my writing ability when it wants, it progressively pushed away my best friend, it constantly hides to give me false security and doubt its existence, it makes me hyper one time and depressed the other making people doubt my sanity. So really what else is left in that bag of tricks? Nothing! Nada! Zilch!
I don't really have any lower to go. Being lonely is like having slightly ill fitting shoes, so by the time you get to the shoe shop you don't really give a crap about new shoes anymore. Hell, people will probably confuse that limp for a swag.

My cup over flows

In the blaze of th desert i hold my cup. A mirage in the distance, hints of shade and rest. I watch them pass, not a glance do they raise. For my fountain drips, not a gush to be seen. Just the regular drip.

I watch them sneer, at the dents in my cup, the cracks on my lips, and the lines on my face. But only for a fleeting moment. For they all opt for the trees shimmering in the distance.
Still i hold my cup, dents rust and all, on the outside. Still i stay beside my fountain and wait. The drip my constant companion. The missing bricks a reminder of the storm and hail.
I hold my vigil, waiting. For one shall come, and realize, my cup may be worn but it's ever full, of crystal clear refreshment. My face may be lined but my eyes are calm. For i am the keeper of the fountain.
I know of the faces that passed. I heard the moans in the wind, of hopelessness and despair when the mirage disappears leaving just swirling sand in its place.
They spoke of the one, voice like the sea, breath like the breeze. Who shall drink from the cup and once more the fountain shall flow. For i am the keeper of the fountain, and i know how deep it goes. Once more it shall overflow, and the sand will give growth and life shall flow.

The Diaries: Death to santa III - Die 2010

to my best friend, kind, strong, patient, loved and missed a lot...

Dear diary,
It's the end of the year when we meet to compare notes on how the plans to eliminate santa and take over the world have advanced, again. What can i say, i'm sure glad this one's over...
How the year was you ask?
Pretty much the most fucked up year of my life. When i'm 90 and taking my umpteenth hike on Mars with my pals and pet Venetian(rare breed of feline-like creature found on Venus), and as we are sitting in our camps trying to spot which star is the earth, and they ask me,"Say ben, what can you tell us about 2010?" I'll go, "Say what?",sick the venetian on him(and make him walk back to camp). I think I'l name it bob.
If anybody asks me what's so bad about 2010, you know what i'll say? I'll tell them to pick a month.
The 2009-2010 segue was the most fucked up ever for reasons i reserve mentioning, coz you, my dear diary, have been known to spill prematurely...maybe i'll ask the guy doing my biography in 2050 to throw that in.
It has been a year of so many knives in the back, a pocupine hit on me once. I know, right? Wasn't even holding a scrubbing brush or pineapple!
Where do we begin? Again, pick a month...off the top of my head...july. Found the ass wipe colluded with the stupid suppliers to skim extra cash from us. And we wrote him a polite notice saying before the company is dissolved we shall take the liberty of deducting the amount he stole from the supplier and us, before giving him his stake. It was my idea to throw in the "fuck off you incestous piece of shit". I curse the cunt that bore him and it shall forever bear the burden of the mark of cain on it. Why i say these mean words? Because, diary, in December of 2009 we consoled a 'close friend' because his momma died and catered to th funeral/cremation from our pockets, to help the 'dear friend'. Flash forward to August 2010 and we find the dead woman is alive, my account short 150k, and a case time barred. Pretty much recipe for revenge...but i can't stoop to his level. Enough of the knives now.
Oh, yeah, i quit my job too. Not fired, quit. It was for several reasons actually...depression, need to graduate, screwing investors by the big man, and the big one...fucking with my money. But we are still pals with my boss, aren't we Mr. Boss man? (Boss man:"fuck you, ben!")
Yes diary, i'm letting it all out! Pick a month.
I read somewhere that misfortunes come in threes. Pretty sure they were wrong there and left out "multiples of". So as i waded through the mud of lies that enriched the jungle of betrayal, i looked for that lone ray that broke through the canopy. That small beam of light in the distance that made you forget you were getting swallowed up into the murky existence, that you will give up and die and be absorbed into the very system you abhore. In the face of all the negativity, greed, lies and predictability that had become my environment, i had a ray. Small, steady and strong to guide me. In the darkness that had become my heart, body and soul, i stumbled around and almost gave in to it, but i had a hand to guide me out of it. And finally i did come out, a strong middle finger aimed at the world, "fuck you very much, but my soul is mine to rule." All i have is a couple of deuces left as i fix the rest of me. Alas, the one that guided me was weakened by the battle, and i swore to stand by them through thick and thin, good or bad. One good person is worth all the suffering in the world.
Yes, santa came bearing gifts, gave the bad kids the bikes and remote control cars. But for the kids who were good, he threw up in our presents, as if the lump of coal he was giving us wasn't bad enough. You know what we did? We pooled our pieces of coals and made a fire, then we grabbed one of his reindeer, the one with the red nose, and cooked it, and it tasted good prickled by santa's bitter tears, as the rest of the good guys beat up santa for the deed and location of where he got the coal. We left him the hooves though. Coal is the new oil, bitch!
So you know why i know 2011 will be a good year? Because i am taking fate by the nuts. If it doesn't play ball, we give it a little squeeze.
So dear diary, please inform 2011 that 2010 has been wiped from history, there shall be no knocking. Neither shall there be a "we're selling girl scout cookies" routine, no huffing and puffing and no, we didn't leave bread crumbs to show us the way back. We'll take the goddamn house down and build the road to our future through it!
As we push all the sorrows, sadness and disappointment with 2010 into the grave, we wash and cleanse ourselves in the rain; a sign of hope and fresh begining for the new decade.
Hello 2011, this here leash goes on that scrawny neck.

Ben.

~Happy holidays pals, may the alcohol bill and decibel limit not be a buzzkill as you usher in the new year. Don't drunk drive~