with the brush itself removed, presumably for cleaning.
in permanent marker I wrote on it
“SHOWER DEMON WHACKING STICK”.
ow. sick. ow ow. must go. despair hurtsss.
waiting for the flip into wildness and paradise of mania that hurts too and wherein i get into trouble for having sex with too many pretty girls even though i never cheat ever on anyone except in SCCRABBLE..
I don’t seem to be able to stop being too hot or too cold. I should probably get a house with air conditioning (I will just spray the conditioner I have in my bathroom up n down and all around and see if that helps.) I USED to have air conditioning at my house – I wrote on the controls in purple felt tip pen “for permed or colour treated air.”
OK well I have done all the remarkably simple tasks necessary for this morning and for me they were mammoth undertakings requiring much sweat and most of all, courage. Just have to ignore all the fear and go DO IT ALL ANYWAY.
Hm…I love the names of paints. Not the ones that they come up with for you to paint your house with. I have always thought I would be good at that though –
For your lounge “autumn moose” and for your kitchen, “happy exploding sunflower” and in your dining room, “fragrant maroon mice” with a split level in “hungry hungry hippo.”
Real paints have names like crimson alizarin, burnt umber, spectrum yellow, French ultramarine, titanium white and cobalt blue.
So I sit here, naked in the cold because I choose to be, because I don’t care. I do believe, I do, that we are brilliant and unique, random, an act of somewhere silent, sliding through the world on the diamond flaws that everyone tries so hard to believe. Arbitrary, indiscriminately created, hacked open and carved from the world.
I have been remiss but that does not indicate that I have not been paying attention.
Stretch strong and beautiful in the morning sun.
Just the tantalizing threads of it in my blood making me bite my cheeks and begin, once more, to push the worlds of my mind onto paper, to hold their drifting and stinging forms.
And it surges and falls like the sea, beats like wind against glass in my head. The despair slips from me like a caul of wet black, black, paper soaked and still wet with poisonous ink.
Before the storm. I have rational rationale that I must follow before I get all carried away and covered in paint inside and out.
It’s all so silly. But I have a silence of tingling tactile so quiet and I know I will soon be mad and mad and it will hurt but i will incarnate an inferno of will wild endless sleepless horny in the fell act
ABSURD. And while I have this stillness, this ineptitude for subsistence there is always the star monster, world eater, inside me. It is inside us all, somewhere, elsewhere, else-when, telling us, calling to us in the night…
Don’t ever stop asking don’t ever ever stop reaching the answer to the question what is the meaning of life is the question what is the meaning of life.
Breathe the sweet breath of madness tie your mind to itself in switches and arcs of pleasure and lights and pain, in stutters and twitches and flights and bursts of colour in your vision.
We are all so bound to lucidity. To rationalism.
Ah hell. And to it we eventually return.
I wish I was my cat (the cat is dead, long live the cat!)
“I am a brother to dragons
I am a companion to owls.
My skin is black upon me.
And my bones are burned with heat.”
Ah my friends, my loving mad friends. I do so hope we all survive.
Spin through the random sky… faithless, of course. Faith in what?
- I have chronic bipolar disorder… it sucks, mostly.
I am quite perceivably mad most of the time.
fOr those of you who do not believe in mental illness.GET. A. GRIP. pEOPLE DO NOT GET SHOCK TREATMENT. FOR FUN. as i have.
anyhoo – bipolar…
sometimes it is F**King fantastic – visiting a sombre serous residence I found in their shower the handle of of scrubbing brush,