Between Door and Key
Wherein a deadbolt is given description...
Between Door and Key
Locking Me Away
There are two keys I need.
The first key lets me out. The second key lets me want.
My loved zones have a goal: protect the children🗓️. I, a child. I don't want locking away. Protecting means keeping things from happening. Protections exist: a firearm and deadbolt.
(security light comes on, exposes deadbolt) A deadbolt is a severe lock. A key insert unlocks the lock. No latch on the inside exists. Just another place for a key. Locking inside what is locked inside. I don't get out much.
One way out of the house: open window, and push out screen; to exits into pointy holly bushes.
So wear jong sleeves and jeans. And bring a change of clothes. And water, it's hot out. Windows close very poorly from outside. This is immediately noticable. And expensive; the A/C is always on.
Paycheck hurt, window-opening is disciplined. The discipline for our own protection. Discipline has a number of definitions. It adapts. So, too, the pain.
The pain migrating, the protection follows: and all for my own good. I am child six of seven. My wincing subsiding, diacipline listens, learns; where can I still be reached.
Spoilers, Nowhere
I fail to exhibit pain response. Not that I "am hurt nowhere". Only, I learn, adapt, grow still. Protection achieved: I feel nothing. Painlids.
Eyelids, but for pain. Occlusion. Silence. My god flees a burning building; I am the path this takes; and I can hold very still.
My mom protects me from herself; or removes me from her house. I attend high school very drunk. And I finish high school unhoused.
She keeps me safe from herself. How animals lash out at pups. As the pups go through puberty. Her dogs, understimulated, bark at nothing; I pray they protect something else.
Grief - a pain response - walks away. Recognizes it isn't helping things. Or years pass, and grief resurfaces. As moss might, after a meteor, die, become soil, and die again. The muldavite does not break down. As mosses chew dust and spit. Pick them from the wind's teeth.
Pyramids slow the rotation of earth⛰️. Moss slows wind. Artifacts, for movement.
Podcasts are my dust and spit. Or first kind word I find. Outcasts from a radio broadcast world. Posts, flowers, to live out here. Left anywhere listening might frequent, files. I get internet at the library. Append search terms with filetype:mp3. Read magazines while the downloads finish. Disconnect, and am on my way.
Grief Dying Down Like Winds
Once, this floor opens to me. I pass out pieces of paper, each paper arrving with a pen; walk a group through folding zines. Zines made, I ask for questions. I collect them at day's end. The zines, made questions, and pens.
That night, I answer each one. And post this to the chat. Each zine titled with a question I respond to for seven pages. I write with the question's pen.
One question: "How do I live with dignity?"
"Die; it's a real threat."
One zine opens, making its case. Concludes: dignity is the photosynthesis of death.
Mine, for you, might read: What keeps me safe from protection?
I am a safe, drunk child. My mother, drunk, shoots the bed. Then falls asleep watching horror movies. Her movies autoplay all night, looping. To screams, I wake, get up; power off screaming television; and retire.
I sleep through passing trains, now.
Protection Racket
- You will never stop protecting me.
- I am unable to stop you.
- You love me, no matter what.
- And you leave me no choice.
- I must stop existing for you.
- This is for my own protection.
- A pain response put on silent.
- Well done; I am now protected.
- And nothing will ever hurt me.
🗓️ - https://theharrispoll.com/articles/what-children-are-saying-about-phones-freedom-and-friendship/
⛰️ - https://bgr.com/science/massive-buildings-are-actually-slowing-down-earths-rotation/