Tag Archives: physical

Comedown


flower

i don’t pay attention to the weather forecast
for its broadcast with the same gas I pass from my ass
on a perilous day my awareness grew vast
like dead hands of the past
immeasurable as the ethereal dimension
i can feel its attendance traveling on my skin
directing connection perplexing affection
i can feel the invisible ones watching on
in the shadows of dawn

and when I wake from a slumber grave
and when I lay to sleep off consciousness
i can feel the various factors of providence
i can feel the different ghosts from every consequence of yesterday
i can feel the young man’s murder on Sixth Street
when I heard the gunshots that night
and how I read about his death from a corner away
from where it happened with lack of astonishment
and yes, he may be gone in a physical sense
but he’s not forgotten
i can smell the hot blood of the junkie
the authorities in blue left on my doorstep
and I’ve never felt so powerless;
veracity can be so flowerless

i’m close
i can feel the edges of supernatural empowerment
aerial contact prose
i can feel the rush of the present
a spiritual meadow under my perceptive nose
a subtle pulse of anything goes
echoes of unapproachable distance
feelings of insurmountable brilliance
i undergo glimpses and experiences of a concluding death
i hope won’t arrive catastrophic
and it makes me cold
there’s a blinding light bulb out in the crossroads
it shines and speaks of all the lives I owe
how time is loan
and I must return to where it’s infinite on each of its matchless codes
revisiting a question mark, a veil I failed to recall

-Pennington

DOMS & Addiction Stirrings



Emotional pain is an addiction.

When I think of this fact,  my mind goes into a line I read somewhere, “When a person is continuously stress by emotional pain, there are subtle changes in the body that creates a dependency on stress-related chemistry.”

Is the key word in this line: Dependency or Chemistry?
Or did you find another?

This reminds me of other crying out forms of fixations like depression, food, sex, porn, drugs, alcohol, exercise, justification of the Self and giving way to Ego.  Everything’s an addiction if you wish it to be.  And in my life I’ve went through different types of addictions.  But physical affliction in some form has always been treasured in my beating heart.  Where my mind would crave a razor to skin, my fist to fracture a wall or pills to induce an attention whore suicide:  LOOK AT ME!  I know what it’s like to want to rob your life away because cleaning up your existence in a blink of a rep feels like sweet freedom is right on the other side.

Oh, wait, you  never thought like this? 😉
Well then.  Excuse me.

DOMS feels like a dangerous phenomenon to me.  One I absolutely am obsessed to play with in the pits of violent fire.  I’m completely in love with the euphoria from an endorphins rush.  I’m addicted to the pain I can cause within my muscle bellies and dare I say it?  Sadly my joints.  It’s beyond the rising blood of a bold pump or the voluminous cells and formidable twitching of slow or haste fibers.  I take great pride in the immense pleasure or brutal tenderness of muscle soreness.  At this point in the game, I work like a crazy horse to build a forceful, grinding teeth, overloading rich sore stimulus.  I’m thirsty to hurt!

I’ve yet to grasp the full scope of excitement and arousal levels.  Or even why I hide my smile behind a hood or distract myself by biting down on my bottom lip (something new) in public as if I’m keeping a harassing secret?  All I know is I want no end and I always pine for the beginning, for the straightforward permanence of destruction.  To me, it’s dark, crazy beautiful and downright disgusting!  With a bundle of these emotions and forces I’m drawn deeply in an entanglement of glory, devotion of pain, sufferer of pleasure.

Now, if you’re thinking what I’m thinking on:  BDSM?   To best honest, I’ve never dabbled in nothing more but the occasional whipping, candle wax drippings, tying hands/feet with rope, which was typically seen coming (this doesn’t count, right?).   But nothing where I’m submitting to a partner as a master while I howl at the moon because nipple clamps are about to make me bleed and beatings leave me paralyzed in humiliation.

Mostly because I don’t necessarily enjoy the thought of men abusing me with domination.  I like the Illusion of Control just as much as the next person.  However now I’m wondering if perhaps I must enter an unfamiliar territory in order to understand the different doors within that may be locked?  Maybe this will lead to clues as to where this premeditated arousal affliction to muscle soreness comes from despite the emotional pain on the surface?

Perhaps I’m performing small acts of Light Bondage, Slight Discipline and Sadomasochism without truly giving it conscious thought?  I do enjoy a hard tightening of the grip around my wrists to the point of turning the skin around white as circulation begins to trip itself out and cut blood.  Or the insistence pressure of weight pinning my body down on a cushion of sorts or against a wall.  Or even when my legs, hips or shoulders are being used for thrusting/leverage purposes.  Still my definitive preference is the act of sensual love making.  Pardon me.  *nervous laughter*  I digress.

There are things I’ve yet to discover about myself.  But the growing need for poking, prodding, stretching, tensing, flexing, lengthening, contracting, massaging and drilling my sore muscles as I become invincibly aroused is obsessive compulsive for longer than what I could remember.  Only difference is now I embraced the pain and addiction a good deal.

To end this, there are some folks who believe I train for muscle endurance and  this couldn’t be further from the truth.  Things seem one way always when they really are screaming another.  I train with moderate weights and high reps or collectively with exercise combinations to build extreme muscle soreness.  With sustaining injuries and injuries forever waiting to happen I could only go so heavy all the time.

And this is where I stop. 🙂

-Penn