Oh misery
Once all I had was my love and my work. One to fuel my passion, and one to loose my fire. Now I lie here at the climax of something incredible; to be proud of and to be grateful for, and yet I am more numb than ever.
I don't want to see it, I'm disgusted by anything I have touched. What was once such a source of pride and achievement is now no more than a sticky hindrance; sand in my gears.
Losing both my fuel and my fire, I don't know where I am. What should I do when all seems to be so opaque. In the past a direction has been clear; a path to seize and a hilt to grasp. Now I see nothing. I am tired and unhappy, and I have no clear remedy for that. I could once again lie and pretend all is well, but that makes me feel ill. When I am dishonest my dreams explode, more prolific than before, with a violent fervor I fear so. Instead I am honest, I do not want and I do not need. Oh misery.
I've never had to lie; I love! I crave, I need! No matter how fruitless my efforts or how dire my circumstance, I was true. For love, and for what is next I will enjoy the letting of blood. Now, even with a hopeful escape hatch provided, an honest hope for a hand is no longer.
Oh lust, where hast though gone? Oh hope, why have you left me? At last, I may have given up. What a shame, what a loss.
Keeping afloat
Sometimes I find myself unable to stop sharing things I probably shouldn't be. Things about myself that are unsightly and unbecoming; at least as others might see it. It feels completely compulsive, and I can't stop. I've spent many sleepless nights considering this; why do I have to share these things that people might find shameful? Why do I need to make such a poor case for my own propriety? Why do I need to set myself up for failure when I know how to find success?
I think it comes down to my own anxieties and my ability to value myself as I am. I'm stoic in my dedication to uplifting myself, and nourishing the parts of me that are beneficial to others… but no matter how strong the stance I hold, the cracks always form, starting from the top and making their way all the way down to my soles. Maybe it's not okay to be the way I am. Maybe I am unlovable. Maybe I am too problematic to be a friend or a lover. Maybe I am too difficult.
I think this act of verbal self-disacreditation is an attempt for me to find outside reinforcement of my own value. I want to be accepted, even at my most unclean and unwell. If people who don't know me and the good I do for others are able to find value in me, then maybe it's okay to be the way that I am in the moment. If they find weight, in my spew of disconnected verbal expressions and in my crude, childish markings, then maybe I have value! Maybe Noah is worth something! Maybe I can keep believing too!
A hug from a stranger who knows little of me often seems more valuable than that from one I love dearly, not because I hold little value in those I'm closest to, but because those I know to a lesser extent don't owe me a thing. I haven't done them any favors nor have I cared for them in their times of need. I am a stranger, and to strangers you owe no acceptance. When gifted to a stranger, acceptance is a tithing and a blessing in one simple act.
I hope this isn't sick; I love knowing new people, I love being seen, and I love being accepted for who I am. Thank you to all those that have told me I'm okay as I am; it keeps me afloat.
A consideration of wu-wei and Benjamin Hoff’s books
Wu-Wei is the Taoist belief in effortless action and non-action. A way it can be described is "doing everything without doing anything". On the surface this might sound contradictory, but it is a simple and elegant way to describe flowing with what life provides, similar to the Western saying "go with the flow". I think wu-wei is accepting the good and the bad life provides, and reacting to whatever is provided with love, appreciation, and happiness while knowing that all that is needed will come, and all that is not will not come. To me wu-wei seems to be achieved when one aligns themselves with the Tao and the rhythm of the universe.
I think wu-wei is an effective philosophy to adopt. It was created and practiced by Chinese Taoists in ,arguably, the most successful and long lasting society in the modern world. If Taoism is such a popular religion and philosophy in Chinese culture, and Chinese culture has been so successful and pervasive throughout history, it seems to me that these beliefs are likely quite pragmatic. From my personal perspective I find wu-wei to be a practice that improves my life in the everyday. When I was younger I read “The Tao of Pooh” which formed the basis for my concepts of Taoism and wu-wei. While I may not have been practicing these concepts from the perspective of an academic, I did integrate some of its easily understandable ideas into my daily life. I grew up struggling with relatively severe mental health disorders, as well as social misunderstandings, and large life-path upsets. These issues were difficult to overcome and adapt to but I found that the core concepts I learned in “The Tao of Pooh”, especially its descriptions of wu-wei, served as an excellent tool for my adaptation. Why be unhappy and fight against what is, when one could simply be content with what is? I believe that conflict is always unpleasant and unhealthy when it is not required. I was embroiled in the act of “going against the flow” of life for many years and it only seemed to bring suffering. When I learned to stop warring with the direction that was provided, life improved. When I learned to stop being dissatisfied with what was, happiness blossomed. When I learned to stop trying to take what I needed, it was provided to me. In my life wu-wei has been extremely practical, and I am grateful that my love of Winnie the Pooh drove young Noah to pick up “The Te of Piglet”, and later the “Tao of Pooh”. Lucky me.
Another bad day (but I love Mondays)
I'm so scared right now; scared that I'll lose all I'll love, and scared that this fear will break my will to keep avoiding the thing I most want. I want to tear into myself, rip through skin like it's paper and bash bone against meat like I need to remove recognition. I love so much, and I feel like that's falling away to nothing. I hold so much hate for myself, I always have. The black dog seems to have followed since I was young. I don't know why, but I haven't been able to beat it. No matter how happy, no matter how safe, no matter how good I make myself I always fail to stop it. When I fail, when I misstep it comes right back and bites down. I always know that I am alone, I'm never deceived, but sometimes I can convince myself that the moment is safe… that I can let a breathe out. Those moments are what I live for, peace. There are times when I can find so many of them, but recently they have felt so fleeting. Right now the rug has been pulled out from under my feet. A failed love, the wrong partner, and a misunderstood friend. All the points that I used to find fleeting moments of joy now feel like a mirror to look back at my inadequacy and failure. I try so hard to help and to speak kindly and yet I just seem to fail. I try so hard to support, and I think I am but at the end of the journey I am told I never did. What a miserable dolt to think he's so helpful when he's really so destructive.
When these realizations solidify the urge pulses to the top like bubbling oil, sticking to each thought. All I want it to hurt myself. Bash, cut, bruise. They've told me not to, and I don't for them because it would hurt them, because it would scare them off, and because it would make them sad… but what if they're leaving anyways? Why should I keep holding strong if the only thing if meaning that kept me from terror is closing the door behind? I still am out of hope that they come back but fuck am I scared, and hungry. All I want is to cut deep enough to see layers extrude, I want to bleed until I pass out on the floor in my own puke, I want to see the blackness pulse from the corners of my vision until there's nothing left but silence and dark. That's what I want, every day.
I don't think anyone will ever understand me. When I run away it's not because I'm avoiding, it's because I'm trying to stop this rush of violence. If I get quiet it's because I'm fighting off thoughts of how I will leave long lasting marks that cannot be ignored, if I snap it's because nobody feels the urdges I do to eviscerate meat and they cannot understand what it feels like to fight that every single.second of every day. When I get a little sad, I want to take a finger. When I feel lonely, I want to bleed myself out like a cow on a hook,.when I am abandoned I want to fillet myself in front of a crowd as proof of my unworthiness an my filth. I am alone, always. Because if.i followed all the things I wanted, people would leave without a second thought. They may not always know why, but I think they feel it lurking below. That's why when I'm scared and sad they run away, that's why when I cry they feel disgust, and that's why when I protect myself that get angry; because they feel what I am protecting myself from.
Even through all this I am still managing not to hurt myself, I'm still so fucking hopeful that it will be okay. It doesn't feel okay, though. It feels hopeless. The love of my life, my everything has decided I'm unpalatable and unappealing. My friends follow her away, and my thoughts rip harder than they ever have. What do I have without others pure love? Nothing, I have nightmares and pain and misery. I am a sad, lonely, filthy person with nothing to give except the creations born of that dirty suffering. Like a circus freak people peer inside until they're deep enough to smell my stench. Then they leave, the choose another, and they misunderstand. I try so hard to speak what I mean and it never comes out right. The most capable imbecile that's ever lived, I could have anything I see and yet I can't what I need; safety, love and peace. This devil's dilemma strikes daily.
Keep holding out against violence, something else will break and it might be okay. All I want right now, though, is that it could be the final day where I break first. Where I take my own life in my hands and decide to be free. One-day I will be gone, by my own hand; I think I know that to be true.
Yet I still desperately clutch to each and every sliver and grain of hope that I will be loved, that I won't be abandoned, and that it might still be okay.
People are good! I'm not evil! I'm good! I hope this can be true; it's what I'm changing under my breath to keep my hands from my neck and the knives from my grip. Godspeed deliverance, and pray for an unbound supply of lorazepam and a glucose stuffed reprieve.
With honesty,
pee-bee
it’s just what I know?
Nothing ever seems to last;
thoughts lost on a late summer shore's breeze.
Who said that love of the moment
is what makes life's heft so beauteous.
You said that?
Stamina to endure the unending hurt
will right all that seems to be.
It's just what I know.
Lost again
A newborn trapped in a tsunami of your tears; a babe lamb stranded without teat.
Another notch in the door
Self-righteous bloodletting; for who?
Flowing wounds trail seductively away,
swaying into all that you grasp dearly.
Closing off airways, no room for peace.
Proximity based toxicity grips;
clawing towards my mouth agape.
I wanted an elective.
I need a sedative.
Did I know?
I knew I shouldn't have come, I don't feel good.
Too new is my heart, too old my grit.
Is this fear of trying times or just a longing for peace?
I thought I knew, but now I know I never did.
Two fawns
Two fawns caught in the roiling soup.
Further than we once were,
but still fresh as morning dew.
Growing new from rusty salted dunes.
While hearts beat against bone and broth.
Pounding ripples trace every breath.
Each touch reflects.
Each taste to be remembered.
Oh night how your call rings,
and the stars lean.
In life, and in death.
Our heat collects and creates.
Two fawns born in the muck and green.
19/06/2026
Fingers crawl, while thoughts race ahead.
Quick hopes, deep marrow; light floods to red.
Tides billow, walls rumble and my mind is wracked again.
Touch glistens, spit dribbles... Our heads rush to the bed.
Last evening, where were you?
Tonight, where will you be?
Neverending moments (thank you)
Neverending moments; fleeting but not lacking. Whose noose coiled tight? Not mine! Which hand held tight. Yours! Thank you for the welts upon my skin, and for the marks left within my kin. Long branches crawl to sparkling stars while comets rain down through snatching fingertips. Bright lights, city signs, and bricked streets soon return to me. I look to my everyday, this holy manor I get to be. Whether short and sweet, or long and tender, it's of no matter. I am grateful for the sweet sin of pleasure and pain that I let drip down my chin. I'm awake, I'm alive, and I laze in winding rivers of the ecstatic centre. Thank you for sharing; I feel alive.
A poem about sitting on sun covered grass.
Whose heart could be so cold while mine is so full? Black pants; sun felt through. Long breaths as breeze catches in my rags. Deep shores pull great walls of wind towards me; never ceasing. I miss the valleys, but oh how I worship standing above the sea. Hold me tight, ye mountain tall. Hold me down on grassy knolls so muscled. I feel anchored here, like a solitary stone holding out against mighty seas. Build me a tower on its brim, build me a fortress from its stoic stability. Let me stare into the sun, let me breathe in its lust. Oh life, how you make me whimper!
Moments away from it.
Ichor transposed, drops of sticky matter exposed.
Red waves explode over blue flames bowed low.
Slide high to drink from the golden rapture.
Tongues between; blight filled with light.
Pain whispers while love shines so bright.
Sweet dreams little angel, remember our name.
Tell me something
Tell me what you think, tell me what you know. I'll be here ear turned in your direction as long as I need to catch up. Small doses, no overflow. Basin catched more than fallow fields could bear. Small hands grasp against vines tied tight around breathes barely caught. Who's realm is this? So constrictive while every breath is free. No hands tear through my throat, no hands stealing air not yet caught. Why then must I think so effortlessly, and speak with such force…
I do it because I am free! I do it because I am pee-bee.
Tell me something pee-bee, tell me your name.
Collapsing arteries
Collapsing arteries; wallow rolling down the back of my chalky tongue.
Stumbling through in rotten cocoons, mumbling breaks speaking to city lights.
Who knew (blue thoughts) you rose through the mildew filled rouse.
We called the cab again, picked up our friends, and rolled towards something we already knew.
king for a day
The series of three instant photographs is a collaboration between pee-bee and Latina, captured in the heart of spring, 2026. King for a Day attempts to capture a distillation of the beauty found in growth within a partnership, and the sense of safety that can emerge between two deeply intertwined people. Over the past two years, pee-bee and Latina relocated to the island and began weaving a new life together. Latina is primarily focused on her work in science, studying environmental genetics, while pee-bee is, at last, fully devoted to developing new bodies of artistic work in their new nest together.
Closest friends,
hands held tight.
Lovers breath,
in arms so right.
