From: kenshain@gmail.com   
      
   Gotcha!   
      
   How's this?   
      
   This Bleeding Heart   
      
   The passions flow   
   And ooze to the floor   
   Uncaught   
   Dripping    
   Into a puddle   
   Of unrequited love   
   And pure emotion.   
   With gusto   
   The heart leaks   
   Unnoticed   
   And unseen   
   Flooding   
   The basement   
   Of my soul   
   And every recess   
   Of my mind   
   Dousing everything   
   And damping all.   
   What a mess!   
   But it keeps beating   
   And drips away   
   Soaking everything   
   In raw feeling   
   And unfulfilled excitement.   
   Where is the bucket   
   To catch this flow?   
   Whose parched lips   
   Thirst for it so?   
   Yea to swim   
   Or at least to drink   
   But nay you are wet   
   And fear to sink.   
   And now choices:   
   To mop the pool   
   And remove the stain   
   Or to stem the tide   
   And still the heart's refrain.   
   Shall I save it in bottles   
   Or let it down the drain?   
      
   - K   
      
   On Thursday, April 22, 2021 at 5:45:09 PM UTC-5, Rachel wrote:   
   > Thank you, K., for joining in. I just wanted to apologize. I was instructed   
   to share uncomfortably, above my desire to receive for myself alone, and my   
   mother had always said to me, act as if, and fake it 'til you make it, and I   
   didn't feel that that    
   was honest or had integrity, and that's not who I wanted to be, and it   
   ultimately came tumbling out, all my anger and resentment, which I felt was   
   (and I was correct) honest, as I forced myself to finally share something   
   special, that I was saving, in    
   the hopes that one day I could show it to Bob himself, in person.    
   >    
   > So I guess maybe I just didn't understand what the instruction was all   
   about, how it would help me, to come back into this group, when I am so   
   ashamed, that Bob never comes back, even after all these years, and when I   
   need help, and I went running to    
   him, and now he is singing about it, and it never works out when I go back to   
   his house, and I don't know what to do about any of it. And I wanted to have   
   things to share with him, but I barely have anything now, he practically knows   
   me inside out after    
   all this sharing online, including in email, and he still hasn't come, and now   
   he stopped talking to me privately, too, and I am dying of loneliness and   
   boredom. And on top of that, my living situation is getting progressively   
   worse. And I really wanted    
   to have something to show him, so I was so pissed off to post a new poem, and   
   also, it made me realize, just how stupid it is, in the grand scheme of   
   things, how small, how insignificant, and now, I don't even think it is that   
   good at all.    
   >    
   > I just....didn't want to be fake, and post it as though I were proud of it.   
   I guess I thought it was good until I was faced with posting it in this group,   
   connected to, about, for, Bob Dylan fans. But I don't want to make others   
   uncomfortable either.    
   How am I supposed to share uncomfortably, and then like attracts like, and I   
   attract someone else who is uncomfortable, too? Maybe you know how they call   
   property real estate, what that real is all about....like the kabbbalists   
   might say it's fake. Or    
   you know how they say, what is that, the illusion of luxury? Like I have all   
   these creature comforts, but maybe it's fake, and the reality is, I have no   
   close friends, really. Not in person. Nobody in my "real life" is really   
   anybody to whom I relate or    
   connect well at all, coming from my same kind of background. I mean, I suppose   
   I have grown a lot (?), maybe, in being a more all-encompassing, accepting   
   person, but I do not wish to do this at the expense of my own well-being or   
   even things like    
   standards, as to what is okay, and what is not okay, like when bad things   
   happen to me, whatever they may be, to change my mind, and say to myself, oh,   
   this doesn't matter, this isn't important, it's all good.....that's probably   
   what the Jews in    
   Nuremberg were telling themselves as the new laws were progressively being   
   handed down, before they were shipped of ghettos and then camps.    
   >    
   > I have no idea how or why I met Bob, and now I have no idea how to get him   
   back, and this is a Dylan group...I don't know where else to find him. It's   
   not like he has a front door with a knocker and/or a doorbell, and I can't   
   believe he thinks he had    
   the right to sing about me, and drive me crazy, and not even come to help me   
   after he said he wanted me, and I've shared all I know how with him, and he   
   still won't come.   
   > On Wednesday, April 21, 2021 at 5:36:56 PM UTC-7, Just Walkin' wrote:    
   > > On Wednesday, April 21, 2021 at 1:55:57 AM UTC-5, Rachel wrote:    
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)