The first week of Gulf states and the late nights of monitoring.

02.03.26

Wrecked ships where we drown our love with no room for blunder. The forever sink of maternal love. Ancestral blocks in the hard rule of a mother's reign. The vagaries and dictats of the unhealed parent. MB

03.03.26

Bathroom tales

The one eyed man rises Brute spilled in in a slap of heavy mortal voices. The first ministering of his rage. It speaks slipping under foot. Hitting walls and taps, and tile. The/ forced/ stop of order. Compacted, derranged. And so She takes her self off , quieting down slowly, damp beneath the sheets . Banished to the shame of order with Child ends that no longer sit neat or lay . A closed blind removal. Pushed down and punished. Holy frigid nun ordained. . She's all prim and proper now. Perfectly sequestered. Perfectly put away. No longer, offensive, fecund, sexual, beast. Cloistered sacred in quiet good girl space .For she has taken holy orders. Him, the one eyed man her confessor, Her jailer, her priest . MB

04.03.26

The purity of load.

The pieces and parts we flee to. Small, drownings, of hostage and effort as each particle degrades through the rough and crucial transits, hidden within the higher harder demands of suffering and crumbling domains demanding order . MB

05.03.26

He had fallen out of the war in 65, demobbing quickly returning to a place that had nothing left. and where nobody knew him. All the points of his former life gone. His mother ruined in some facility, under the sharp glare of a flouro strip until a daily habit of bad food and a congested heart had took her life away and they had buried what was left and did not matter. What had followed, were four square years grey, with no letters, or. forwarding address. And where unhelpful memories soon became bottles,the nights repetitive vegetative and all the same. At first he had sought to hold on to some hidden rail, to stay close to the line of others ,but the drink had won out all the same. The city, condensed and crowded had made him just another loveless body unhooked, not firm ,travelling worn places where pain showed and did not tell. Till in the end he had learned - every smile was a potential weapon, each/ new love an unwilling hostage/ that would not stay. MB

06.03.26

He was passing/ the same things again traipsing through old arcs that had already been well trodden underfoot. The signs of their prior passing were there in the wrinkled bark and rooty trees that rose perpendicular bent offerings beneath a sky that was too dark. In the chill of the morning, his breath hung in a web of mist that he could feel but could not see. The monitor in his hand a faint glow still set to infra red, an odd burr within the dark. Behind him following/about the edges he could feel Mcduff and the others, inching forward, bitter s points that hinted at future trouble. Failed and fraught relationships stretching out in a tight tension that for now, at least still followed his lead. In this war/ on this planet cooperation was the only currency in survival and yet too much had come between them/ too much bad blood as they say. Too many things he was sure he couldn't put right. Most of it his fault. From the stary he had come in too hard, too tight too defensive, for soil men like them to relate. So that now he was an outsider. Finding the frequency of the analyser, he scanned between the trees putting the function to red, the last option / to identify/what ever had tripped the sensors in this sector,and that had untill now evaded just about everything else. including the spectrum sweeper. For a moment he stopped adjusting to the small incline, he now stood on, the ground mossy beneath his feet so that he had the sensation that he was standing on sponge. In the distance he heard the others pull up/ that brief rattle of guns faint within the darkness , for now at least they were still with him but for how much longer ? Things were breaking down daily in the compound. From the filtration systems to the grid capacitors. The atmosphere like the planet was too damn heavy to support any of them for very long. Something about the particulate matter outside for very long/ and now beyond the physical the mental effects were beginning to show, He could feel the change, an increasing alienation he couldnt yet decipher Something undefined and amorphous something beyond his usual nat. Something undefined, amorphous and heavy sat amongst then the last fragile/ tenuous link in authority,,was breaking down. He alone was the last line of order on a hostile planet the last fragile/ tenuous link that he knew would soon break. MB

They envy you not because you shine loudly... but because your presence exposes what they have buried. The empath does not compete, dominate and or announce power. And that is precisely why resentment awakens in those around them. You reflect without intention the parts of others that never matured. The feelings they exiled to survive. In your calm attention, their inner poverty becomes visible. "What they call love is often a contract of unconscious hunger. They draw near not to know you but to drink from your depth." They approach to borrow your emotional coherence to regulate a psyche that cannot stand alone. Yet the moment they sense that you are not emptying yourself, that you remain inwardly whole, something turns. Admiration turns sour and affection becomes irritation. Care becomes subtle sabotage. In the shadow, envy is grief for a self they never integrated. Your empathy awakens this grief because you embody what they learned to renounce: sensitivity without collapse, warmth without submission, presence without self-betrayal. "To the undeveloped psyche, this feels intolerably unfair." So they praise you while resenting you. They cling while quietly wishing to diminish you. Not because you harm them, but because your being contradicts their inner compromise. You remind them, without words, of a life unlived. "Their envy is not a verdict on you." It is a signal of unfinished individuation. Do not explain yourself to it. Do not soften your boundaries to soothe it. The empath's task is to remain aligned with the self, even when that alignment makes others uncomfortable. "When love cannot tolerate your wholeness, it was never love. It was dependence wearing a mask." Jung's framework asks us to understand that the people who diminish empaths are not villains. They are unfinished. The shadow they project onto you is a map of their own unmet interior. And the only response that serves both you and them is the one they resist most: remain whole anyway.