user since
Tue Aug 7 2001 at 17:37:29 (22.9 years ago )
number of write-ups
261 - View O-Swirl's writeups (feed)
level / experience
19 (Poobah) / 20017
C!s spent
mission drive within everything
To heal, to see better, to help others when I can.
En route to finding.
School of holding on and letting go
most recent writeup
April 5, 2021
Send private message to O-Swirl

Photo is from 2015. I like it because I'm listening to my music feeling a wave of comfort at the time. Song playing was London Thunder by Foals.


Dissociative disorders are mental disorders that involve experiencing a disconnection and lack of continuity between thoughts, memories, surroundings, actions and identity. People with dissociative disorders escape reality in ways that are involuntary and unhealthy and cause problems with functioning in everyday life. ~from a website on mental disorders


All men live in suffering,
I know as few can know,
Whether they take the upper road
Or stay content on the low,
Rower bent in his row-boat
Or weaver bent at his loom,
Horseman erect upon horseback
Or child hid in the womb.

~excerpt from poem Wild Old Wicked Men by W.B. Yeats


"Institutionalized rejection of difference is an absolute necessity in a profit economy which needs outsiders as surplus people. As members of such an economy, we have all been programmed to respond to the human differences between us with fear and loathing and to handle that difference in one of three ways: ignore it, and if that is not possible, copy it if we think it is dominant, or destroy it if we think it is subordinate. But we have no patterns for relating across our human differences as equals. As a result, those differences have been misnamed and misused in the service of separation and confusion."
~Audre Lorde, Sister Outsider

March 2021: I continue painting when I can and volunteer at the Humane Society but still dealing with a lot. Working on positive affirmations, gratefulness while still trying to find a medication for my depression that works like they once did. When I occasionally check in here I am sometimes embarrassed by the writings I posted so long ago... feels like several lifetimes back. I'm not the same person as I was so many years ago. Fellow noders have been quite kind toward my most my stuff on E2, which was very encouraging considering the quality of writing on E2. Whatever I may post now will be more gentle and less over-dramatic; also back to basics in regards to love and kindness as this is more true to who I am as of now. Wish me luck in my process.

A few great reads to consider:
1Q84, by Haruki Murakami
The Elegance of the Hedgehog, by Muriel Barbery
The poetry of W.B. Yeats
When Mystical Creatures Attack!, by Kathleen Founds A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, by David Foster Wallace

"All sane people resemble one another. Each crazy person is insane in their own way."
~Playing with Anna Karenina's opening line.



Love is in the math on the leaves of trees. It embodies the ocean sand. The heart of the universe shines along your thumb, forms your feet and mine, Godly affection saturating every atom and equation so perfectly one might marvel at it's shimmer off an iridescent angle, if granted a divine symmetrical glimpse. Hunt for them if able. Search out the angels in our maths; Heaven's heart might offer it's shape along the shadows of the trigs on a wall. They have a purpose.
-more recent poetry I dids and not html formatted for the moment. It still reads.


"When all the archetypes burst out shamelessly, we plumb the depths of Homeric profundity. Two cliches make us laugh but a hundred cliches moves us because we sense dimly that the cliches are talking amongst themselves, celebrating a reunion... Just as the extreme of pain meets sensual pleasure, and the extreme of perversion borders on mystical energy, so too the extreme of banality allows us to catch a glimpse of the Sublime."
~Umberto Eco, Travels in Hyperreality








My fiction:
China bones
Since his eyes were like perfect packed suitcases
College girl's minuet
Vasco Da Gama's sense of smell
The Inch
Save your tender loving care for the nuclear fireball in June.
The Daughter: Me. The Game: Shantih
I need more violence, more violins.
Mickey Moone
Each one was the scene where you hold your breath
My Bolero
To the drive who keeps taking me
Prosenoder's Cup 2003
We are only guilty of living. It's unavoidable being art.
At night, her eyes closed, she would
All these things we'll one day swallow whole
The trouble with Satan's son
Fit for an island
The Jogger
Wal-Mart greeter throwdown

Excerpts from my book of fiction "Item of Closure," 2001:
Remember me, I used to live for music. Remember me, I brought your groceries in.
There is a panther stalks me down
Her photography captured little beautifuls and me
Dream, discord, and a cricket concerto
Ducks can swim. What about her pearls?

Here's a handful of personal pieces that were well-received:
How fast do you play the piano on speed?
Tina's dirty parts
Time is a river without banks
We are only guilty of living. It's unavoidable being art.
The Power of Art
Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
One afternoon at the laundromat
What The Dukes of Hazzard and Mystikal have in common
Brushy Fork
Low Smokes With a Cartoon
Severance from a Ravishing Spirit
He'd experienced a horror I had not
Everybody knows a Kramer