my brain drain

it's draining the brain
and you will never be the same
it pokes the nerves
and you only bear a curve
or a ride on the bend,
under a ledge,
locked inside a rut,
stuck beneath a drunken schmuck.

that's how it feels
just when you think the fits aren't real
my brain is static
and i wish there was magic
but the notes and the gloats
that goes on in my head
cry out pain and numbness
all at once.

how can it be?
who knows why it is so?
that is how the brain ends up
fried, boiled,
pulped, reconstituted,
then drained.


where it goes?
i don't know...
i hope the maids don't use liquid "sosa"

my brain may fry, boil,
get pulpy, reconstitute and drain itself
but it grows back
reforms itself
yet not in its original state

but i like it
i manage to cope.
as a different person
each time, each day
IT happens.

I live with my EPILEPSY, how else?

Emily Dickinson in her words: What a seizure is like

I find this amazing, this maybe to just my own understanding
But Emily's poetry belittles what I write
For hers is a vision so pure yet unconventional


Her poetry--a creation of the mind, her illusions and vivid images, neural,
true feelings of the heart, pure and possibly unaffected by the outside world




While mine are created from reality...the absurd, the harsh, the cruel and unsightly, full of angst, bitterness, striving for hope and recovery.










Here is another one, c. 1876.534 (1581)

The farthest Thunder that I heard
Was nearer than the Sky
And rumbles still, though torrid Noons
Have lain their missiles by--
The Lightning that preceded it
Struck no one but myself--
But I would not exchange the Bolt
For all the rest of Life--
Indebtedness to Oxygen
The Happy may repay,
But not the obligation
To Electricity--
It founds the Homes and decks the Days
And every clamor bright
Is but the gleam concomitant
Of that waylaying Light-
The Thought is quiet as a Flake--


A Crash without a Sound,
How Life's reverberation
Its Explanation found--


end

Emily Dickinson: an epileptic

c.1862.230 (561)
From Emily Dickinson's Poems by Thomas H. Johnson

I measure every Grief I meet

with narrow, probing, Eyes-

I wonder if It weighs like Mine-

Or has Easier size.

I wonder if They bore it long-

Or did it just begin-

I could not tell the Date of Mine-

It feels so old a pain-

I wonder it if hurts to live-

And if They have to try-

And whether- could They choose between-

It would not be- to die-

I note that Some- gone patient long-

At length, renew their smile-

An imitation of a Light

That has so little Oil-

I wonder if when Years have piled-

Some Thousands- on the Harm-

That hurt them early- such a lapse

Could give them any Balm-

Or would they go on aching still

Through Centuries of Nerve-

Enlightened to a larger Pain-

In Contrast with the Love-

The Grieved- are many- I am told-

There is the various Cause-

Death - is but one- and comes but once -

And only nails the eyes -

There's Grief of Want- and Grief of Cold-

A sort they call "Despair"-

There's Banishment from native Eyes-

In sight of Native Air-

And though I may not guess the kind-

Correctly- yet to me

A piercing Comfort it affords

in passing Calvary-

To note the fashions- of the Cross-

And how they're mostly worn-

Still fascinated to presume

That Some--are like My Own--

end

I feel for her as I feel my pains when It attacks.

I would have loved to meet Emily...an epileptic maybe, but definitely, a poet.

Emily Dickinson's Secret Life

I can't sleep

I can't trip so
who do I talk to?
I guess, with myself.

But, will myself listen
if I tell it to sleep?

Moments later...

I must be tripping.
I am talking
to, guess who, MYSELF.

But is myself listening
to what I am telling?
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

My Prayer on Sanctuary

Sanctuary: shelter, refuge, protection

For many days now, I feel I have coped up with my "X" factor.
That factor that has been disturbing
my elements and neurons.
One key to my coping up
is this person in my life right now,
the vital core of my existence...
crude, yet I'm still living.

I feel low and then light
yet restricted but at the same time very cared for.
I know I am very much needed,
and there are times,
I would crave to be needed more.
But, I am so afraid that if it happens, it's going to kill the excitement.

I also need him, very much like he needs me,
but where I stand right now
I feel I need more space...
then I want him to be around...always.

I am freezing at the moment.
I am stopping at this point.
From where I am, I don't know where I'm going,
but my mind is whirling.

I would like to stand clear of any thoughts
aside from what I am feeling
right at this very moment.
This is the protection I need for now.

When I say to be protected,
it's not from enemy or evil of some sort
but to feel safe inside a wall that's naked to the eye...
that's how I seem to think of it.
And, it works so much for me.

I found refuge for my situation, my thinking,
my ambitions, my joys, my craziness,
my sentiments, my heartaches,
my losses, my inhibitions, my sufferings,
my tensions...especially those what you call
"silly-why-are-you-crying" moments.

Lord God, I know it's still You that I can call
my refuge, my shelter, my home
but it's my being human that's making me think
I need something concrete
to put my head on, to hold on to, to lean on.

I am so sorry for being too dependent on people,
for thinking that I could rely on human help
rather than God help.

It's quite hard to look at something you can't see.
Although, this is what I am actually feeling with this person,
sometimes I can see through him, sometimes I don't.
He is not a "WYSIWYG".

I know it breaks Your heart for me to say this.
Forgive me if right now I have to share my time with You with him.
You are a forgiving God and eventually
You will hand over Your grace to us.

In the meantime, please let me have a taste of both worlds,
I know and You know, I still need help whichever way...

I love You and I love my GUY!

Amen.

original written by soelag 04/15/2003
re-written in dedication to my love

Soelag, 08/12/2010

I CAN'T BE FILED!

If I can remember right, I did something today
I woke up right but I ended up bent
I dressed up for work, and had net stockings on
But when I came home, they were all gone.


I sat on my chair, heard voices again
Thought it was the gremlins inside me,
Geez, it's the girl right behind me.


I call her blabber mouth or sometimes motor mouth
she has this uncanny speedy gonzales talker in her
either you hate her or you H-A-T-E her more....
I thought there was no choice
Until the angels came down from heaven
When manna falls, it pours
I even hoped that time
I should have worn a hobo skirt instead of a mini
So that I could have gathered more manna.
But the mini may have helped me
for when the doc called me in the afternoon
Did a little talking here and there
Braced myself so that I won't go weeping
about that one girl with the big mouth, the stressor,
the trigger, and the auditory stimulus
of my temporal lobe activity.
A filing room---considered first for me to sit in
as my workstation, I could try I said but I also don't think
it's suitable considering the first thing my head
would hit is a steel cabinet.


I can't believe it but the manna was the
ISO back up, medical advise, THE
hope that no one interferes, STILL a big unsure smile
and SOON a suitable workroom full of quiet and peace.
Aside from all these, I did sorts of things today
Which I need not mention
One thing is important
My work is done for now...EPILEPSY...is not a joke.


You trigger it, you poke it, you jiggle it, you choke it,
I joke if I can take it or I croak.
For me, it's not a matter of choice anymore,
but a matter of luck.


NOW, NOBODY CAN FILE ME!

I desire

I desire to be nice
I desire to do good
I desire to be kind
yet, I desire to be rude.

I desire to live happy
I desire to gab
I desire to be groovy
yet, I desire to be rad.

I desire to live how I want
I desire to see it to be
I desire to grow old
yet, I desire not to flee.

I ache that I desire all these
that may or may not come true
for only time and love will bring bliss
to this life I try to fizz.

My Prayer on Remembering

To remember is to recall, reminisce, relive; bear in mind; recollect; treasure; memorize

To be blessed with a good memory, to be able to recall exactly everything, to recollect and reminisce the happy times and learning times that has come to pass and be able to relish them again and again...is one true gift from God.

Sofitel Philippine Plaza on my 41st birthday

Lord, I pray that my memory stays as clear as crystal, as accurate as a ruler, as intense as like being read from a journal and as vivid as it is happening in the present...not like yesterday...but like today. (Such high hopes but that is what I wish for.) Amen.

originally written 02-10-2003

My little fairytale story just ended tonight

And I am enveloped in this dreadful feeling of anguish
Which I have perfectly avoided for so long a time
There was one time I almost forgot how to cry
For then I can only stare and feel nothing

Drowned by other people’s furor or sentiments
Then there was a time my world just looked all peachy and sunny blue
Because I saw the days more than speak it
And discovered I can draw strength in spectating and paying heed

There were oodles of time that I had peace and shared it with intent
Because I preferred to say no with a smile
Acted patiently with vocation, ardor, and less want for recognition

You ask now, “so what is eating you, Millet?”
“What is this predicament you are in?”
“Why all this fussy emotions when you know you can do better than mope?”
Because my fairytale story ended up lopsided, and practically bored me to death.

It is not worth telling nor is it worth remembering…
I stunk and the director called it quits!
Poor mushy mushy me…this is not a slight disturbance
But who gives a damn now?

I know I am not all right, not OK.
I am sad and moping, but I am strong.

Once the sting is no longer a sting, and turns into a sore, breaks into a wound,
and just before you end up mutilated with excruciating pain…
your whole system shaken…and right in the nick of time,
moments after you said “I can’t take it anymore!” because you feel all hell broke loose…

Then…there is a fading noise…none…perfect silence…numb…
Whether the story ends totally or just for tonight, or continues tomorrow
Who knows? Who wants to know? As I said, I bored myself to death.

I Feel Neither by Soelag

I feel neither…love nor hate

but I feel a bite on my heart

and some emptiness inside.

It’s an empty you can’t fill.

A gap that doesn’t match up to a piece

A void that cannot exist, even the letters v-o-i-d

Because it is the heart that’s seeing,

It is the heart that pounds

But this heart is not speaking.

Should I falter now? It asks itself.

Is it time to let go of what was thought to

hold so much meaning, of what built the core of any being?

Yet, tell me, who can take a blame

For something you haven’t done.

You can’t be somebody you are not.

You can’t live in anybody else’s

shadow that lived in the past.

It’s not me you are watching

Not me you need…

it’s someone you can’t get over.

Perhaps that can cure what ails you.

Whatever it is…if I can’t be the answer

Then why do I have to stay

When there is no need for me.

Look at what you are doing to me,

Taking the smile out of my world.

Instead of sharing my feelings,

You break.

Where does this lead?

I feel a void and my spirit can’t be lifted up…