Alone in a Private Hell

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Alone in a Private Hell

An amicable soul, in some ways childlike

Unadorned and understated, sometimes silly, never frivolous

In some ways always lonely and misunderstood

Now trapped within a mind like a house long abandoned

Where the light of love cannot touch the soul-crushing loneliness

~Cie~

Notes:

We are currently not participating in blog hops although we still like to use the writing prompts. 

I personally am not really up to doing much in the way of return visits, and it's kind of rude to ask people to visit me if I'm not going to visit them back.

I'm also not much up to having me or my work be scrutinized right now. 

I'm sick and tired of being the crazy person getting the conciliatory pat on the head. 

"There there, Crazy Cie. Isn't it nice that you express these feels of yours through your art? Aw, how broken you are. So glad I'm superior to you." 

I'm tired of having it be implied that the way I feel is somehow wrong or childish or sick and twisted. 

I'm tired of having it implied that there should be a time limit on my grief.

I'm tired of it being implied that my every thought is due to my fucking brain chemistry.

I'm tired of being told that I shouldn't express my heart because the soul is an outdated concept.

I once had a (sanctimonious) person ask why I publish what I write if I don't want to receive "constructive criticism" on it.

Well, I didn't publish it for you, Asshole.

I publish it on the off chance that there's someone out there who's like me; someone who's adrift in a sea of misunderstanding, who may really need to hear what I have to say, to know that they aren't the only lonely, misunderstood weirdo in the Universe.

That is who I do it for.

Then I do something else.

I read it aloud to the man in the picture above. 

I'm not in the room with him, so I'm not reading it where his physical ears can hear it. 

I read it to his soul.

Because he's lonely and afraid and doesn't know what's happened to him.

So I hope his soul can sense that someone cares about him, and maybe he'll be a little less afraid and sad.

I do this, and I believe it may help, because I choose to believe it does.

The end.

He would actually get this better than most people. 

Which is one of the big reasons why I've loved him for the past 38 years, and will for all time.

A Year of Firsts

Someone let Cie loose in Photoshop again

A Year of Firsts

A Gift

You opened my heart

For the first time I know love

Wish I could heal you

A Double Shot for those who would judge my emotions

I shoot from the hip

For the first time in my life

He taught me that too

My experience

Was not lived for you to judge

Think first on your words

~Cie~

Prompt used:

Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

One Soul As Two Minds

Born in two bodies

Yet with a union so close

They were of one mind

A love of this kind

Survives death of the body

Or loss of reason

~Koni~

Koni's Notes:

Angus Young (L) was the first person to notice that something was amiss with Malcolm Young (R) when the bright and hyper-organized Malcolm began to become disorganized and forgetful. Angus covered for his brother, at first helping him remember things that needed to be done, and eventually covering for Malcolm during performances when he would miss chords from songs that he'd written himself.

Before Malcolm lost the ability to remember what he had done during his life or even the ability to recognize the people he was closest to including the brother who seemed to be the other half of his own soul, he told Angus to keep making music. Not long afterwards, it became necessary to place him in a long term care facility. 

It is my belief that a bond like this one survives even death, be it of mind or body. Not everyone is fortunate enough to know the reflection of their soul. Such a reflection is not always romantic; as in this case, the reflection is platonic and/or filial. In any case, such a union is to be treasured. It can never be destroyed.

~Koni~

Cross-Posted to:

Dream About Me, Sweet Brother
(Note: Blog overall is NSFW; certain posts contain explicit gay erotica)

Poetery of the Netherworld

“Every song must end."

Where once there was an energetic soul

Creating melodic legerdemain

To the accompaniment of a raw beat pulsing like a wild heart

The untamed desires of the audience reflected in the sound created

Now there is only a void

An empty hollow, where a short, shy man once stood strong

A gritty Bodhisattva in a tank top and jeans

Who had no patience with parasites

Who inspired broken souls to keep on fighting

The dusk has fallen over his mind

But perhaps even in dying in such a heart-breaking fashion

His spirit reminds us to keep compassion in our souls

Every song must end

His song deserves the grandest of finales

Love,

Dolly

This image is not our creation. 

Props and all to whoever made it!

Prompt used:

Red Wolf Poems

This poem is dedicated to Malcolm (duh)

Also to our Real Cie, who loves him so much

So sorry your heart is breaking, Darlin'

If I could I'd heal up his mind so you'd both be happy

A Bodhisattva is anyone who, motivated by great compassion, has generated Bodhicitta, which is a spontaneous wish to attain Buddhahood for the benefit of all sentient beings.

Photoshop manip by Cie

Original Eye in the Sky image:

Copyright: zadvinskiy / 123RF Stock Photo

Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds

Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds

I

In an industry that praises a man for being a blackguard

You refused to behave like a swine

You were tolerant, but not amoral

You chose to cleave to what you deemed important

Refusing to be some sort of cog in the machine

Your voice was an understated baritone

Your style in no way operatic

You preferred to let your axe do the talking

Coming up from a humble background

You led the poor in a quiet revolt

By teaching us to be unashamed of who we are

If anyone had ever referred to you

As a knight riding in on a white horse

You would have laughed

But you were a hero to many of us

We saw you as strong in spite of your diminutive stature

Which is why we were shocked when it was revealed just how fragile you are

There was no antecedent to predict

How swiftly and fearfully you would be felled

II

When I found out the reason

Why the world would never again hear your restless thoughts poured out in music

It made me shiver and sway

My soul was left a jittering mess

Tumbling into a sick, hellish abyss

My heart landed in the basement

And there is no consolation

Nor any chance for denial

My eyes are swollen from crying

Everybody knows that something's wrong

I never was any good at hiding behind a mask

This is the worst, the absolute worst

Because not only are there no expectations for recovery

There's nothing left of what you were in your head

Although the curtain's not yet drawn on vital functions

The obituary for your soul's been read

I thought it might be whiskey that would take you in the end

She was the one mistress you had trouble resisting

Because she temporarily quieted the voices of self-doubt

That screamed behind your placid demeanor

Quiet people have the loudest minds

I loved yours

Love it still

Love it always

Cie and Mo

for

Malcolm

Writing Prompts:

Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

The Reverie

Cross-Posted to:
Dream About Me Sweet Brother
(Warning: Blog contains explicit, unapologetic slash/erotic gay fiction)
KHEL 666
Poetry of the Netherworld
Rattling Bones Undead Musician Magazine

Notes:

Morella La Muerte (Mo) is the primary writer on the first poem, The Real Cie is the primary writer on the second.

Mo wanted to use the words from both Wordles but became overwhelmed. She emailed Cie asking for advice. We've been collaborating since five this morning! Three point five hours in, we've finally got it cooked to delicious imperfection.

Delicious imperfection could also describe the subject of the poem, although that sounds kind of lecherous. We actually are referring to his personality. He was flawed, but extremely well-intentioned. He created wonderful things without knowing just how wonderful they were. He was also extremely hard on himself. He never measured up to his own exacting standards.

I doubt we'll ever stop writing about this situation. We certainly will never stop thinking that it's a steaming pile of crap on the part of the Universe. We'd have been sad to have the man killed off, but to destroy his mind on top of it, that's fucking insult to injury. His was a beautiful mind. The world has been robbed of a real treasure.

Ignoring the fact that we have to get a spotlight over here because Angus is taking off his clothes again, could we just for a moment pause and ponder the absolutely solid foundation of this very tasty blues-rock number?

Angus spoke about his admiration for Malcolm's style in a January 2014 article from Guitar World:

"Sometimes I look at Malcolm while he's playing, and I'm completely awestruck by the sheer power of it. He's doing something much more unique than what I do-with that raw, natural sound of his. People like Malcolm, Steve Cropper, Chuck Berry and Keith Richards-they're all doing something better than the rest of us. I can't deny that Eric Clapton's and Eddie Van Halen's lead stuff has influenced a stack of people, but for me it's the rhythm thing that's way more impressive and important to a band.

Malcolm is a big inspiration to me; he keeps me on my feet. Even when I'm tired from running around the stage for two hours, I'll look back at what he's doing and it gives me that boot up the backside I sometimes need."

Absolutely.

What a great loss, not only to the world of music, but to the world as a whole.

Photoshop manip by Cie

Original Eye in the Sky image:

Copyright: zadvinskiy / 123RF Stock Photo

Perched on the Edge Of...

Perched on the Edge Of...

It seems to you that I’m perched on the edge of sanity

It may be cool to be callous

But I never got mistaken for cool very often

Maybe I’m dense

But I can’t understand

Why something so bad

Happened to someone so good

You don’t get what you deserve

You get what you get

I still want to know why

So I’m gonna keep asking

Until I understand

And I’m never going to understand

Until the day I die

Because I’m not perched on the edge of omniscience

Or I’d figure out how

To give him back his mind

~Cie~

Also sharing at The Reverie, where the prompt was to write a poem based on a news story.

 For those who don't know the background on this, Malcolm Young, the founder and rhythm guitarist for AC/DC, has been placed in a long term care facility. He has Lewy Body Dementia. His short term memory is gone. He can't remember events that transpired mere minutes ago, and he doesn't know the people he loves best.

Cie's Notes:

To the person who (rudely) asked if this is now the Malcolm Young blog.

Yes. It is. Now go away.

I honestly don't write serious poetry unless I'm depressed or feeling something very deeply. I tend to write ridiculous stuff most of the time.

I'm feeling this very deeply.

Malcolm Young meant a lot to me, and to a lot of other people. Mostly, of course, to his family and friends, who are now deprived of his presence thanks to a horrifying disease.

I am not kidding when I say that he saved my life. My bipolar disorder was not properly diagnosed until I was nearly 40. I was badly bullied in my youth. Malcolm gave people the gift of something to take their mind off their troubles, and of being someone who was just a regular person who happened to make music that reached a lot of people. He was never a "rock star." He was just a really nice guy who happened to be a musician.

Malcolm struggled with addiction (alcohol) and depression during his life. So I related to him on that level too. I never became addicted to any substances, but I did drink heavily for quite some time. I also have a tendency towards other addictive behaviors, such as shopping and gambling.

I honestly don't think I'd be reacting this way if I found out he had cancer. I really don't think I'd be reacting this way even if I heard that he'd committed suicide. I'd be sad--demolished even--but it wouldn't leave me with the same sick to the core of my soul feeling that this does. 

With the disease he has, he's already gone, but his body is still walking around. That is the most messed up shit ever. I hate dementia. I hate how it destroys lives. I hate how it destroyed this amazing life. I hate that he can't remember the things that are most important to him. 

If you want to read my further thoughts on this matter, you can go here.

Another One for Malcolm

 

Another One for Malcolm

 

If I could give you a gift

To thank you for your thelemic attitudes

It would be the gift of allowing you to remember

Your memories have blown away like leaves in the wind

Left scattered for some gluttonous, soul-eating monster to lick up

This fiend demands to devour all the sweet aspects that shone through your expressive eyes

And made your weathered face as soft in aspect as one still in his brittle youth

It consumes your mind like gooey cake batter left on Mother’s spoon as it clings to her apron

Like a petty thief, the monster Dementia steals in during the night to swipe your soul

Robbing your tribe of your wisdom and your kindness

I would have much more than a tiff with this monster

If I could, I would strike it dead and chop it into pieces

Not so I could get horizontal with you, even though I could drown in your beautiful eyes

But just so you could remember

Who you were

Who those you love are

What is truly important

Just so you could continue to be

You

Cie

Prompt:

Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

 

 

 Malcolm Young

61 years old

Victim of early onset, rapid progressing dementia

Cannot remember his lifetime of accomplishments or even the people he loves the most

There is nothing about this that can be considered "right" on any level

The picture was taken when he was still healthy

The expressiveness leaves the eyes when the mind goes as his has

Maybe someday there will be a cure for such horrific conditions

A Soul Lost (Though The Body Lives On)

Malcolm Young, age 61, suffering from early onset, rapid progressing dementia; he cannot recall things that happened two minutes previously, and he doesn't recognize people he's known all his life. The person in the above photo (which was taken when Malcolm was still healthy) no longer exists, although his body still does. And that is the worst of tragedies.

 

A Soul Lost

(Though the Body Lives On)

 

That the light has dimmed

Behind vivid rainbow eyes

Fills me with despair

 

With love for someone who touched my life,

Cie

 

 

Blooming Psycho previously wrote about Malcolm in this poem.

He touched a lot of lives for the better.

If anyone should have interest in my further thoughts on the matter, they can be found here. Keep in mind that the linked blog does have an adult content gate, mostly for language and potentially disturbing themes. The post contains strong language and the discussion of death, including suicide.

Some of the posts on the blog contain explicit erotic material, mostly verbal.

The linked post is probably safe for work. The blog in its entirety might be considered NSFW for occasional nudity and depictions of sexuality.

For Malcolm Young

For Malcolm Young

A gentle, elf-like man with a razor wit and soft heart

Devoted husband, father, son and brother

Loyal friend

Talented tunesmith

Shrewd businessman

But most of all, decent to the core

To have everything you worked for swiftly wiped from memory

Along with your recognition of those you love the most

A greater tragedy cannot be imagined

I believe you will remember them again when your soul flies free

I believe you will always love them regardless of what your mind allows you to recall

Those who loved your music grieve for you

And for those who love you best

Dear Malcolm, you don't deserve this

You are better than whatever disease has taken your mind away

Nothing can ever remove you from the hearts of those who love you

Especially those who were a part of you

And will be forever

You are a special person

More than a music icon

The world was a better place because of you.

Love from Blooming Psycho and Team Netherworld

Brothers and best friends, forever

AC/DC's rhythm guitarist Malcolm Young was sidelined by fast-moving dementia. At only 61 years old, his wife had to opt to put him in a long-term care facility. His short term memory is completely gone. He can't remember things that happened literally minutes before and doesn't recognize the people he loved the most. 

I wrote a little tribute to the deep bond between Malcolm and his brother Angus. Our hearts go out to Angus. This must be like losing a piece of his soul.