Holding neon leopard antlers you zipline across the valley. A calm sky and high cloud watch with the sound of a buzzing aircraft above. A conduit lemon wire around my wrist assesses my conduct. Dark holes in the ground. Holes all around out of which the sound of rain caresses your ears. With the heavy weave of my jute trousers chafing my legs. And the large ostrich egg organ keys in my mind. And the seven godly wounds in the sky. The shining, the bright convex reflection, a grim frown of a bleeding mouth, and an obstacle course designed for a much more fit version of myself. A friend with good hair with a bouncing rubber mallet attack the wooden dowels into their rain filled orifices. A gloomy look from a dice that rolled two. A tall towering tree housing piano keys unlock a sordid door in the ground. A cold fox shivering. A poor construction of a model robot by an amateur hand. Several eyes surprised on the trunk of the tree as the robot walks. The aircraft falls from the sky narrowly missing the mouth below my floating corpse. Awareness returns. Reanimated we see a golden glow enveloping the hills. And the covers of your bed provide sanctuary for you and the fox. A point of light and newly summoned silence. Hovering above the holes the fliers fly and my mind loses it’s goblin teeth keyboard. Discordant jazz threatens my friends. Disordered thoughts and a carrion crow sing to them. A wall of sound. The zipline’s searing string snaps and falls. As the holes open up. And the tree is felled. And all the lights fade to black. Too many songs madden the mind as she she thinks a new world into life. A easel and a brush. Just water and earth to use as paint. The fox goes swimming in search of fish. The endless becomes a finish line split into two. One for me and one for you. A spirit seeking shelter occupies your desire. A vacant messenger agog from seeing too much. As twelve pigeons land out of the night sky each carried a rough piece of bark. New lights appear as the air splits in two. The bed crumbles and we both wake up. A sun is born in the sky as the day starts anew. And frequencies of energy connect us with the great fissure. Two wildcats chase the pigeons and then flee our gaze. The robot beeps and flickers white hot sparks. Keeping the earth a glow. With seasons coming and going. And all around us in the know. There’s nothing to know here. Where all the dark contains light and all brightness is blunted. A greyscale jelly. A jelly and a tube. Including apparatus for detection. I cannot fathom aeons of authority, a whole lot of passed down belief, manifest as excuses not to ask questions. Sat here the world collapses and sings a last goodbye. Water in a cup ripples at the end. Seventy percent of the sky burns away. Leaving us stuck in a weak atmosphere. A lunge towards the switches out of reach. Cliffs cave in. The seas engulf the land. The sickness spreads. Dissipating a decay from the godly synth in the ever diminishing sky. We renew our pacts and promises amongst this chaos. Compartmentalising and comparing without meaning to. As we go to books on the shelf we start a resistance to lonely ignorance and isolating power. A colossal store of information connects everything until we animals seek retreat. Earthly paintings drip down our skin. Markings of meaning. The mouth begins to talk. As we sit around feeding each other and settle down for the continuation of our stagnant journey on the wet rock we call home amongst the stars and the huge planet sized aliens that outnumber us all quietly and secretly enjoying themselves in the abyss.
If the quality of our differences outweighs the quantity of them we can make a good team.
Since watching the world together we can see the same scenes from our different views.
The set will be constructed by us for us. Outward looking at the illusions we perceive within.
Two is greater than one over time. Encounters may come and go. Together with time on our side. We build foundations.
The only enemy we have is selfishness.
I like to read books slowly. Digesting what I’ve seen. Yours is a book with no end which I can never put down.
Being deaf on one side doesn’t quieten the dialogue in my head.
I must do this but I can’t. Why? I don’t know I can’t do it. I don’t want to anyway. Although, I really need to. I need to so I want to. That’s how I work. Except, I don’t work do I?
It’s annoying because I can only hear half the music. Half the euphoria. All the disquiet.
Acceptance. Observation. Awareness.
I love you. You are worthwhile and your feelings are valid. You are on a wet rock floating around in outer space hurtling around a ball of burning gas that is in turn flying around billions of others in a mysterious dark matter powered galaxy. That time Donald called you an arsewipe doesn’t matter.
Take responsibility for your thoughts and actions. Nothing else is your responsibility. Nothing.
And with that syntax ‘nothing’ will always look after itself.*
Access the unlimited potential of the darkest void on a bad a day. Leave your mark and create something because the darkness can’t hide the light. And you are, after all, made of energy vibrating at different frequencies experiencing itself subjectively.
Make love to yourself if you have no one else. I know it helps me sleep.
You are going to be ok doing your thing. So do it now.
Or if in doubt drink tea.
*syntax error. “Sense” not found/n
5000 words? What can I say? How many times can I continue to contradict myself? I’m running out of insight on this particular topic so I’ll talk about some things I like about it. At length.
Oh, now I’ll talk about what I don’t like. That should be another 2000 words. But honestly, who cares? I know I don’t. I’m almost shitting these words out at this point. Meaningless descriptions that don’t describe. Opinions that don’t make sense or have a point. I can do it all. Your modern day “freelance writer”. Eat me up for breakfast. Read me just before bed. I’ll write today. I’ll write tomorrow. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll write about you.
I’m only relevant talking about relevant people. Hiding behind my keyboard. I am the king of smugness. The king of criticism. My court mustn’t have brains I’m that vapid. Give me work. Give me money. I will write you your quota and don’t you worry.
I keep my limitations on the surface but I have learned to draw upon the unlimited in times of crisis.
That time is now.
I must feed.
Maybe the universe is an infinitely fractal brain cell.
Influence, manipulate, then control. I mustn’t tread this maternal path. A pattern of the her life. Repeated and repeated. Until it is herself.
I have low to medium amounts of gorm.
Self hatred is fake believe.
Drop the ego and vanity. You are the universe’s bitch. Start behaving like it.
You can’t see me because I’m not looking.
I spend my day looking after my none existent children. It is exhausting.
Q. Which Ancient Greek invented a means of transporting large African animals?
The cat sat on the mat.
I like cats. They sometimes purr when they are happy.
Cats are my friends because they sometimes sit on me and fall asleep.
Cats like to play and eat treats. Some cats like going outside. They are very clean and wash themselves often.
I love cuddles with cats.
A floor made of bleeding mouths sewn shut by heartstrings. Each footstep a kick in the face. He gets stabbed in a dark alley. ‘Oh my spleen!’ He cries out as his attacker opens his wings and flies off into the night. A curtain a creek open lets a blade of light shine on to the wall, sending the cats crackers as a car drives past outside. I’ve had my hole sealed with super glue and I’m desperate to go. Yesterdays cooking is the smell in the air. An hourglass on its side rolls off a table and smashes in to pieces on the ground. A gently sleeping mouse is toyed with and brutally killed by my cat for my benefit.
Dear Future John,
You have been living in a fleshy husk with some unreliable grey jelly in your head on a wet rock in outer space somewhere in a potentially endless undiscovered universe. More important than that, if you are reading this, you have survived for more than 34 years!
Well done. That’s a good achievement. I don’t know who you are, or where you are now, but I hope you are doing ok. Whether or not they still label you with Schizoaffective Disorder is beside the point. Life is tough and you’re a good way through yours. It’s time for a pat on the back.
Writing to you today, I will begin to steer a course towards you, to put in place the groundwork to become you, the person I will talk about below.
You have helped yourself by letting life flow through you like water down a waterfall. Yes, this sounds like impractical, poetic nonsense, so look at it this way. Water stays to the lowest possible path, a bit like a depressed person seemingly unable to climb to a higher mood, but it feeds plants and replenishes the soil around it, like the empathy and experience of a depressed person. It is completely yielding and weak, yet it lifts up rocks and carries branches down stream. This is you, still achieving survival and self care, even helping those around you. So, put in a more straightforward manner, with an open mind you can adapt to changes. You have learned this. You have conquered episodes of depression with acceptance and flexibility. By letting yourself be low, you can draw upon empathy for others, then help others to improve your self esteem. You have proved this by enjoying being there for your closest friends again and again. By staying to the lowest places you have met people like the heroin addict on the psychiatric ward who taught you about resilience. She taught you against all odds the worst situations are not permanent and can improve. She demonstrated the most immense strength and power to recover and become a loving mother to her child and a dear friend to you and many more. By treating her as an inspiration instead of a lowlife, you have learned from her, you nurtured her and helped her recover. You are the flowing water, John. Continue this practice and you will only grow more comfortable and content.
Learning to listen, to really listen, to focus on only what I can hear at any given time, is a skill I’m working on now. Hopefully if I keep doing it enough you’ll be a master by the time you read this. Sensory experiences are often overwhelming. So let’s try and make it a skill! A rare gift, even. By simplifying experiences into component chunks and being aware of what they are, you can control your responses to them, and tame the irritation caused. First we do noise, sounds, nature’s song, music, and everything the ear likes. Then we can do smells, the residual sweetness of this morning’s aftershave, a slightly damp cat, and the musty warmth of the blankets on my settee. By processing and analysing them one by one we can make these skills transferable. First you must finish off with senses with tastes and physical sensations. Then move on to thought, feelings, and behaviours. I believe if I can control my reaction to one thing; I can improve all of them.
Allowing yourself to be caught up in the moment can make you feel like a monster. It’s ok to feel things. Let life happen! Your best friend and her Emotional Instability Personality Disorder has taught you how to laugh when you want to cry and cry when you want to laugh, and that that is valid and makes for an attractive personality! You have got the gift of an extraordinary imagination and an extreme emotional bandwidth; use these things, enjoy them while they’re there.
Self forgiveness is like taking a shower after a run. It is self care for the mind. I already use what you could pretentiously call ‘a dialectical diplomacy with myself’. I argue and debate ideas, thoughts, and therefore feelings and behaviour with myself to process and accept then return a base of unknowing unexpectation. A happy ignorance of letting things be. I would like to expand these practices to my interactions with others. I hope I’ll be able to feel more comfortable with the things I do and say. One could argue that will happen naturally with ageing and gaining experience. I don’t really know but I hope so. Nevertheless, continue doing your thing.
Only worry about your own thoughts and actions. Everything else is out of your control. Resilience is every bad thing that has happened to me can be flipped to show the other side of the coin. It isn’t just pain, vulnerability, uncomfortable experiences. It is strength, sensitivity, and flexibility. If you are reading this aged 50, remember how I already have this and how much I am growing through all the ups and downs, hour by hour, day by day.
The further back or forward you look the more uncertain life gets. Try to remember this before beating yourself up for something bad you did once twenty years ago or worrying you’ll die alone, decrepit and lonely. It is not possible to see things from every angle when you only have two eyes in your head.
Put others first. As much as your dreams might crave it at times, you are not the most important thing in the world. Practise compassion, love, and kindness. Forgive mistakes by yourself and others who show remorse and love. Practise simplicity in living, prioritise what is essential to you, live with these concepts, ideas, and things and don’t replace them unnecessarily. Humility is important, accept you don’t know it all, you will never know it all, and the biggest delights are in the smallest things. Moving forward try to learn how others see me, but ask for feedback from your most trusted friends and family only, there is no need to entertain bitter jealousy from those who don’t care about you.
Don’t take yourself seriously. You are one of over seven billion humans on this planet, and one of countless more living things, keep that in mind. Don’t let your ego want all the things that aren’t there. There is no point chasing perfection when you could chase something easy and achieve whatever that is. You can achieve more by lacking ambition and finding value in the things you can already do. That said, achievements aren’t everything, if you are happy then surely you have won where others fail every day.
Tomorrow will probably be the same as today so don’t put things off. You might feel unable to get things done but jumping to unhelpful conclusions about everyday problems will just slow you down. Try to make a small start on things right now even though conditions might not be ideal. Encourage yourself to get things done and don’t stall or criticise your motives. You’ve got this, John. Dismiss the excuses. You can do things when you need to and that is worth remembering. Yes, you can feel great anxiety before trying to do something but once you’re doing it, it doesn’t seem as hard. Tolerate discomfort, life is hard and this is a reality, even if you just do a little bit, you are doing well. When you’ve got something done, don’t stop there, do some more and promise yourself a reward for later.
Value yourself and your self care. Please. This is something you find difficult but if you apply value to the things you find difficult you can use truth as a reason for getting it done.
Never stop running. The high you get is great. Getting out of breath, and I mean really out of breath, it’s uncomfortable at first, but it really gets the endorphins flowing and makes you feel unstoppable.
Keep doing things you enjoy. You love making music, painting, walking in nature, writing, reading, cooking, and eating. Use these things to your advantage. There is so much pleasure to be had creating. Don’t focus on the end goal, that is of no significance as long as you enjoy the process, just keep putting that paint on the canvas and express all that pent up emotion. You do these things because they are essential to maintaining your mental health. Think of new ways to do things. Don’t just draw the same old things, make something different every time, be curious enough to experiment without fear. If you get stuck creatively, call a friend, tell some jokes, have a laugh, forget where you are, listen to the sound of someone’s voice and let them inspire you.
Let yourself trust people and trust yourself. Grab the opportunities you have so often missed in the past. Take more risks. Gain confidence, accept compliments, yes, it IS possible for people to see you differently to how you see yourself. Do it all. Live for love. Live for heartbreak. Live for life.
Get a job when you feel ready, maybe be a postman, walking, mostly by yourself, it’d be perfect. Consider getting experience as a support worker, you have been in the mental health system for years, you know the system inside out and have more than enough empathy and love to help others start the journey you are on.
Education is a lifelong pursuit. Until free tuition fees are a thing and you feel like university, don’t forget you can follow your desire for learning right now, read, listen, and learn. Be brave enough to read opinions of people you don’t agree with. Understanding different perspectives is vital for gaining wisdom and creativity.
You might not have achieved all your goals or even shared many of them here but that’s ok. I hope future me looks back and feels ok with the guy writing this letter and myself throughout the past. Whoever you are. Whoever I become. I wish you all the best, lots of hope, much love, and the ability to cope.
If you can, do all of these things. You are well on your way. Stay on that way and I’ll be proud of you. Of me. My future self.
Do you believe in the things you can’t see, feel, touch, taste, or hear?
Have you ever had a conversation with the wind only for your words to be blown back in your face?
Confusion and disillusion. Is this from my mood or my past?
You don’t understand anything about me. You’re in for a shock.
How can I speak sentences when you acknowledge my every word?
I get it you are listening. So why is taking an interest so one sided?
When I sleep you seem more interesting but you’re so anonymous I miss you even when you are there.
Lets blow our North wind on those in the capital enjoying the fruits of our labour.
We can defeat corruption with solidarity, unity, and fairness.
Educate the masses to the hypocrisy of the ruling class.
Channel this anger into kindness and causes that cease suffering.
In the past I have been described as all these things by friends, lovers, relatives etc.
A gift to womankind
Creepy and weird
A god amongst men
The most genuine man alive
It’s a mixed bag
When noisy adoration turns to quiet respect, what can I do except try not to repeat old bad habits, accept what I have and make the best of it. I’m in a good place despite feeling loss and melancholy.
There is something to be said for being alone and happy, even if have the company of my cat, I should appreciate what I have achieved to feel this contentment. It is a great standpoint to fight any unwanted thoughts.
Emotions that were nurtured by a significant other can easily unravel when they have left. There is an argument that God has left us at the big bang or whatever happened back then. Is she dead? Is she bitter and ignorant ? It is of no consequence. Look after what we still have left of that creation and create for ourselves.
Love is from nowhere and if any potential higher power can use it so can we. Plucked from the abyss like a hair from my never ending eyebrows. What is it that smells so good. Something that satiates our satisfaction for life. Petrichor after a summer shower. Or rotting leaf mold in the crispy autumn calm. It’s all worth appreciating.
What the fuck am I talking about? I may be uttering pretentious high powered nonsense but I’m just clearing my throat.
I can form ideas but cannot express them.
Conceptual secrets I want to share.
I invite you to my lair.
Absorb all my creativity.
Feed from me. Feed from me.
Amid pandemics, corrupt governments, mass inequality, mass poverty, mass fear, unprecedented climate change and ecological damage. There is still hope and there is still love…
That’s what I’m living for
Does the sun make a noise?
I can only but wonder as her silence speaks volumes.
Broken promises and a broken mind.
There is no fixing but we continue living.
Hush. I hear rain. I hear the onset of autumnal hope.
A cool breeze makes a warm hum on the window pane.
Traffic planing on lying water on the road.
A whoosh of joy as memories warm my heart.
The same horizon; the same place.
Things are somehow different.
A catalogue of comfort is no help.
Too different. Too unknown.
A carrot can be a treat for a hungry deer.
What I’d give to hear from the trees.
Living a slow life, perfectly still.
I can only be ponder what life has in store.
Living young is full of strength and unknowns.
Maturity brings adventure and misplaced confidence.
Old age brings acceptance and certainty.
I feel old before my time.
Sleeping aged 15 in a room full of heroin addicts.
I can appreciate the kindness of the inn keeper.
The night before in the cells did me no good.
A life of deserved mistrust for those in authority.
Fast forward eighteen years and I walk past the shops.
Police racially profile black children for a stop and search.
I walk slowly so they know I’ll be their witness.
We cannot let our friends live with this injustice.
Gathering bilberries on the moors is therapeutic.
A small handful may take five minutes to pick.
A five second chew, an explosion of juice and flavour, they are gone.
Time well spent.
Why did her words mean so much to me?
– Were they empty?
How do I fall out of love?
– Do I really want to?
When will I feel like this about someone again?
– How will I trust them?
When will this pain ease?
Is she in any pain?
Let’s forgive each other and forgive ourselves and live our best lives.
I feel like a Nissan Micra with a Ferrari engine stuck on a 20mph road.
If I start I’ll be stopped and if I stop no one will notice.
Playing with the constraints of my mind.
I can keep hope but it seems only of use to spread.
I hold on to cords of my dream.
Fraying fabric felt through my fingers.
I’m holding tight but gently to the memories.
As to not to sever the bonds.
But they cannot compete with reality.
A dream is a dream. Nothing more.
Yes, dreams can be real, and it was.
I need to repair and make new cords.
Healing my connections to the outside.
I will fly my kite atop the heather filled heath. The wind will blow my fear across continents. And turn it to love. The thrill of suspending reality in the sky.
My home is where I am happiest but I get lost here. I know the moors like the lines on my hand, yet the wilderness is no home for love.
Transformation exists in every element. Change in every concept. Doubt cannot trap truths that might tear us apart but it keeps us safe. Safe in our homes where nothing can be permanently wrong.
I need to adjust how I see you.
You came to me with love.
I’ve never been loved like that.
Now it’s gone, or on hold, or changing.
I hope this is just act two.
There are things I haven’t said.
Things I haven’t done.
Maybe I should look for someone else too. It will not be the same. That scares me.
C’mon! Why do you keep sparing my life?
None of you are that bad. Let me live for once!
Don’t you fucking hurt me. Don’t you fucking dare. What threat am I to you?
I’m powered by tea.
Fallen dreams and new realities.
Corruption and lies is not exclusive to governments.
I hold my head high.
A new caffeine start.
Self care is my priority now.
This fleshy husk on a rock in space needs a shower and a walk.
I will always take a new leaf over the ending of the book.
The slow burn of a heartbreak injection
Injected first thing this morning
Fight or flight was truly tested
A heavy weight of pain hangs around my chest
I must let myself love again
Rebel against the fear and doubt
I’ll choke up getting ready for bed
Using help to shut my eyes
Closed doors in an empty house
A fresh breeze awakens my face
A few days sleep needed for self care
I may have administered it myself in her shoes
Alas, a healthy dose of pain may just be what I needed
I looked down at his cold dead face. It was tilted slightly to one side; up against a lumpy plain white pillow. It was not the first time I had seen him in make up but this blushing powder pink was not his style. I didn’t want to stop looking at him knowing this would be the last time I could see him with my eyes. Thinking about the last time I saw him alive I felt a prolonged pang settling in my gut. Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes causing me to blink. A long, slow, heavy blink. For a moment he was gone. It hadn’t dawned on at that point that this would be the norm. As darkness set in with clouds blocking the little light that was seeping into the room; my consciousness returned to the moment, hearing a sudden muffled shriek from a relative, I turned quickly, not really knowing what to do, I looked back me at the queue of mourners waiting behind me and uttered a gentle “F” under my breath and walked onwards towards my seat.
How much food can you eat while someone else is starving?
How much can you sleep at night while someone else has no home?
How much can you cope with your friends while someone else is being beaten?
How much can you do in a day when a supercomputer could do it in a second?
How far can you run while someone drives on past?
How do you breathe with all the pollution in the air?
Why do you do these things?
Do you enjoy them?
Give me iron.
Steam my engine.
Rocket to the moon.
Riding my cognition cycle.
Beetroot and sour cream.
Warm and wet.
I fall off my bike and tear up my knee.
A door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway.
Put down the book. Get back on.
I’m tired of all this sunny weather. Give me perpetual autumn. Cozy nights wrapped up in thick jumpers next to warm fires. The movement of falling leaves. The cold breeze against my face. The washing up a treat for my hands after eating some comforts.
A fallen star is just some grit to harden my chicken’s egg shell.
A positive move. Just smile more.
Just smile more. It’ll make you happier.
Smile more. It’ll please them.
Smile or forget.
Nothing is forgotten because it was never remembered. Not truly.
…give me strength.
They let their intelligence detach from their sense of helping others and helping themselves. Their needs and reactions.
If you lose yourself in knowledge you must first build yourself up without knowing anything.
I sink lower into my chair. Both slouched and hunched. Uncomfortable but listless. Aggrieved, I listen.
It sounds correct in their example context. Yet I apply this to things unexpected and I cannot react. It would seem like wisdom to seek the truth but how can they see it with eyes closed. I cannot react. I am lost.
Washed ashore with the driftwood I look for patterns. Repetition. Things to get used to. Things I can cope with. Trust in virtue. Trust in self. Be disobedient. Disregard all you know in the moments it gets too much. In the moments you need to.
The war of semantics in my thoughts can be tamed with acceptance. Temporary as it may be. It is a machine. It needs maintenance.
Putting square bricks in round holes, no longer. I can fly. I am abreeze the clouds. Lifted.
We seem to pick up those still afloat. Let’s do this.
Ignore it now and eat some chocolate.
There are bellies to fill. A tiger on a wall. Fire risen from the wood. A roar of thunder. A torrential downpour. Feeling shaped from thought. Not from knowledge. Survival.
The periphery is the container where I keep all my knowledge, my memories, and my habits. Everything I can conceptualise lives here. Who I think I am, who I think you are, and my cat.
The centre is where my waking state lives. My feelings, my senses, and everyone else’s. It is nicer in the centre than the periphery.
We will all die.
Money will become meaningless.
We will regret not doing nice things more often.
Nothing is more valuable than a smile on a loved one’s face.
Everything is burning
A spark in the darkest mind
He should have kept it in the ground
Now it’s nearly gone
The children won’t be able to pay
Trapped in his grip of debt
Created thanks to his greed
Castles of gluttony
Belong to families few
Their defences of riches
Will one day burn too
I listen to the whispers from the rocks. “Don’t step on me. Step on the soil; it is silent.” The soil cannot speak but would it complain if it could?
The grass here grows long. Thick and dense. Stems snap and screams; more screams fill my head.
Should your voice be different? Of course, but it isn’t, at least, not always. You say “hi”. I can’t hear myself think which is just as well. I’m scared of what I might be saying.
The cars go past my window far too fast. “Honk honk honk” someone toots. I cannot see out but it has been raining. I can hear the tyres slice up the water with a harsh crescendo that diminishes into the distance.
Leaves are falling. That’s nice.
I am writing nonsense again. Good. What to say? What to do?
Why I am breathing so loud? I sleep still. All but for the bellows squeezing back and forth. Until I turn and turn and turn.
The air is cool. No wind to speak of. Feeling my heart beating away in my chest.
Bright blue skies and fluffy white clouds. Every tree, every leaf, perfectly still.
My mind is buzzing with everything I’ve ever learnt. Not all at once but it’s all in there somewhere.
My cat is mellow today. Affection is going a long way. Thinking about last week’s confusion seems a long way off.
My flat is a mess but the speakers are singing to me and I have a cup of tea in my hand.
(This is a very negative rant. Feel free to skip this. It’s triggering and best avoided unless you are doing some psychological investigation into self hatred or something. For the record I don’t feel like this very often and was written with misdirected anger which produced a false reflection of my state of mind even for that moment. This rant is my worst possible way to see my reflection. My worst thoughts aired.)
Fuuuuuck! Just melt away like I know you will. Droop low enough to touch the floor. Or fatten up to fill the cracks. Time will age you before you hear a tick because you are a stupid fucking idiot prick.
Don’t worry, nothing will wipe away that vapid stare. Your face aloof because no one’s there, the lights aren’t on because no one’s home, you’re slow and dumb, why do you think you’re forever alone?
You’ve never succeeded, you’ve never won, you lose on purpose because your life’s a pun.
You’re starting to love yourself. You fool. No one loves you. Why would they? You fool. Obviously they must be idiots too.
So why do you hate yourself after so much progress? You don’t achieve anything; you just have process. All you do is try to cope, everybody thinks you are a dope.
You’re not so bad, you try your best, yes you’re getting good at lying, next!
You’ve still got brains, you’re pretty smart, then why don’t you use them you boring fart.
Go to sleep. You look tired. You have never been someone I have admired.
Wake up soon. Don’t look at me. Forget everything about yourself in your dreams you’re free.
An enormous furnace of radioactive burning gas just pitched up on the horizon and blasted my bedroom full of luminous energy. Fuming! It’s almost everyday at this point…
I’m not sure you will like me once you have met me.
You will see I am a featureless dummy holding up a mirror to the world.
I hope you realise you are not so bad after all when you look at me.
You might forgive me for having little substance of my own.
I find myself on the floor again. I kick myself one more time.
Brittle and unkind. No intent towards others just to my own expectations and desires.
I need to want the things I already have.
I’ve got to draw a line between things out of my control and my own thoughts and actions.
I’ve got part of my brain exposed to the world. It’s a strand. A cord. Red raw. Sensitive doesn’t go far enough.
There’s a clip on it. I’m feeling the pressure, hearing external noise amplified.
I need to make distinction between incoming sounds and outgoing frequencies.
Without this filter there is just unsynchronised resonant discord.
Detach the clasp. Ease the pain. It’s not my fault. I can handle this now.
Time makes the highs low and the lows high.
The esteemed are just the flavour of the month. Change occupies all.
Ambition at an all time low but I feel bliss sat next to a cat.
Adapt to the situation don’t try to change it to fit you.
Water dips and flows into every crevice of the rocky sea shore but is slowly shaping the hard, strong cliff wall.
If you are like that, you are life sustaining, the lowest of low, making all those around you feel high.
Feed your friends and treat them well and they will return the favour. A painted glass teardrop can mean a thousand things. It can be treasure. It can be crap. The value is not in the pieces you hold; it is inside of you.
A tic is an sudden, repetitive, voluntary response to an unwanted urge. It is our way of measuring time.
What is this chaos?
I didn’t choose to be born.
What is happening?
I see patterns that are destined to go awry.
My brain is not clear and calm.
Driven by a predetermined tick.
Pushing through the things I do and am going to do.
An addiction is holding on: Don’t stop me yet.
These stories start with a moment of intense change.
Curves flatten out and plateau.
You can be the catalyst for me to refresh.
A starting point in every moment lived.
To feel loved is to forgive yourself.
The guilt the blame the shame.
Start again and learn.
A wobbling cycle where the circles slowly get more unstable.
What is this chaos?
A dream. Nothing more.
What is happening?
Something worth experiencing.
I want to share my feelings with someone. My cat isn’t the most receptive… He was lovely this morning though. Laying next to him at night is nicer than laying next to no one. He follows me around and looks after me. He’s a good boy. Sorry this has already gone off at a tangent.
I miss holding someone. Just feeling another person’s warmth. If you were here I’d hug you as much as I could.
Life here is not idyllic. It’s grim… but the noise of burglar alarms and police cars, smashing glass and drunken kids is sporadic against the constant chirping chatter of the sparrows and the starlings. The regular sound of the passing buses is synced with my internal clock. The sound of the gears shifting down, the rumble of the engine, the hissing brakes and doors opening is like a regular tick of a clock in my head.
Not far away are rugged hills home to lizards, bees, butterflies, herds of deer and endless moorland. Once hallowed ground built upon by bronze age people, it has evolved through attempts at farming, transport, water management but now rests as wild land.
I’d love to take you on a walk around here. To have you see what I see. Smell what I smell. Feel what I feel. I hope to one day soon when we are both well and happy.
Bend the Angel’s will. Corrupt her pure heart. Steal her divinity for your creation. Oh my dear old thing; unholy perfection is at your fingertips.
Protect your processes. Nurture your weakness. Curb your strength. For once life is not absolute truth; subtlety is awakening.
God is infinite. Your lifetime is not. Nor are all words ever written. Unlearn everything you know; virtue shall lead you further than knowledge.
Everything came from nothing. The nameless empty. The unperishing void. Not bleak nor sad; for nothing is in everything.
Create something beautiful. Crude but complex. Naive but fully layered. Give your all; save the world. Go forth.
Tries to see good in the negative.
Whilst experiencing difficulty in the positive.
Music, painting, drawing, writing, reading.
Sport, running, walking, playing, taking part.
Often anxious. Rarely judgemental.
Sometimes happy. Sometimes sad.
Tries my best. Likes a rest.
This is me. Down to a T.
Sitting down. Drinking tea.
My biggest delusion also felt the most real.
Grief is the bite of the wind on your cheek. Life is the brace of air against your face and your hair standing on end.
Intertwined like two strands, they stood at the bus stop hand in hand. A familiar memory stood next to you is still there years after you saw them last. Look after your mind. Reign in fear and hate because you might be alone at the bus stop one day.
The breath goes in and out. Your breath becomes someone else’s whether you are on your own or not. Keep breathing, that’s what living is.
Sorry yes. That’s ok. I just walked in a tree because I was looking away. Sorry. Errrr. Where was I? Oh yes I’ve got to walk around the tree. Errr yes. Ok. Oh no sorry I got a text, one moment. Oh sorry tree again, I was looking at my phone. Oh the bus is here. Oh sorry driver I don’t have change will a note be ok. Oh wait.. errr. A £20 is my lowest. Sorry. Oh blimey it’s a busy bus isn’t it. I’ll have to stand up. Maybe I should just squeeeeeeeze past some of these people. Sorry. Oh I’m not getting off for a while and these people might be getting off sooner. I’ll squeeeze past another oh sorry. Errr ever so sorry are you getting off now? Sorry I’ll move out of the way so you can get out. Ah. At least there’s a free chair to sit on. Oh sorry my knee just touched your knee I’ll try and close my legs so I take up less room and sit on the outside of the seat. Sorry. Oh sorry you want to get past. I’ll swing my legs back around. Oh sorry you’re getting up, is it your stop? I better let you out. Ah at least I’ve got a window seat. Oh you’re sitting down next to me sorry I’ll tuck my legs in. Sorry, your bag is touching my legs. Ah it is my stop, can you press the bell for me please? Sorry. Ah excuse me you’re still standing, can I squeeeze past? Uh. Sorry. Right. Sorry driver, I mean thank you. Sorry.
Try to remember even the cleverest people are just advanced apes trying to conform to an ideal that is in their head.
The mind is a big place to get lost. The world is bigger. Space is unmeasurably bigger. The unknowns beyond are infinitely bigger.
You can paint tomorrow, today.
Sometimes our emotions are like when we look everyday for that sock we lost 15 years ago.
Stop looking. Something else is in front of our eyes now. Do that instead, even if it’s new or scary…
At least learning will come from trying new things.
We will grow, improve, and get better.
“I was feeling bad because Mr B reacted unexpectedly.”
Thought: ‘I must have annoyed him.’
Feeling: ‘I feel like a bad person for annoying people.’
Behaviour: ‘Not going to social occasion at the pub.’
Physical symptoms: ‘Feeling anxious’.
Balanced thought: ‘Mr B might have issue of his own, maybe he’s got a lot on his mind, or something stressful happened recently to him. I may have annoyed him, but it’s more likely that was not the sole cause. That could be why he reacted like he did.’
Balanced feeling: ‘I feel empathy for Mr B and will check he’s ok tomorrow.’
Behaviour: ‘Go to social occasion at the pub and have a good time.’
Physical symptoms: ‘Drunk.’
- Eat more fibre. (Check nutritional information on packets or go for wholegrains/fruit/veg.)
- Eat less sugar. (Reduce refined sugars – try to limit yourself to less than 20g refined sugars a day. Feel free to eat what fructose and lactose you want.)
- Eat more protein. (I am vegetarian and wasn’t getting enough. Might not be the case for carnivores.)
- Don’t starve yourself of fat/non-sugar carbs.
- Fast for at least 12 hours everyday. (Eg. Between 8pm and 8am.)
- Make breakfast your biggest meal of the day. (Provides energy when you need it the most.)
- Eat more resistant starch. (Wholemeal bread instead of white bread, wholemeal pasta instead of white pasta, brown rice instead of white rice, etc.)
- Drink more water/sugar free drinks.
- Exercise. (CouchTo5k, walking, swimming, cycling, anything that isn’t sitting down all day.)
- One (or more) day a week not thinking about any of the advice above.
Disclaimer: this guide isn’t gospel, it is 100% anecdotal, but it has worked for me.
Imagine not really knowing if you are dreaming or if you are wide awake. You are either feeling super elated or depressed or both at the same time. You can’t talk clearly or communicate how your feeling and you don’t know where you are or what’s going on.
I must hide. My imagination becomes real when I get ill. For shame, I sometimes choose a miserable existence. In theory things must get better from this sad old place. In action, the theory fails magnificently when I get more and more comfortable with my delusions. I feel bad.
I saw a photo of someone and I want to smoke a cigarette with her,
just her, just because…
Well because… She looked lonely as me, she was a pea in a bowl trapped under cling film, I was a glimpse – an image, a moment in time, seemingly screaming alone in an unspent void!
I don’t even smoke anymore.
Take a seat, I’ll be your chair for this evening.
Tired, it won’t be long before you’re leaving.
Take some heat, I’m highly strung tonight.
Giving off warmth, you might, just might, just might pluck my branches until tomorrow afternoon. So let’s fight!
Tomorrow afternoon, we can play and have a sight of the sea, draw the rocks on the beach, weigh up options, how much balance does it take to say thanks for being a snapshot.
Lass, you move differently to how I guessed, but you leave me shaking, dissecting truth from my words, you are everything I need. Of course you might never know if the mirrors aren’t set up well. If the angles are wrong and the camera isn’t set.
Everything I do just muddies the pond (what pond?). The pond I worked so hard on and that took so long to create!
The candles don’t burn any more and everyday I wait to be bound (to what?). Bound to some unknown solemn fate.
I don’t know where these sentences are from or what they mean but I suffer. Rise above the noise. Madness. Listen.
Felt like I was getting stabbed by invisible daggers through the heart whilst gently having my throat slashed last night. If anyone says to me ever that emotions are all in the mind I will proceed to call them a fool.
Three things are certain in life:
Could sound depressing that but turn it around….
1. I’ve always loved surprises, big or small.
2. Everyone dies one day and no one knows what happens next. Thinking about death is like pressing fast forward on your favourite music.
3. Sure, life can be shit, but change is the biggest thing in the universe! Change has always been there, and will go on for ever. Did a god or spirit create the universe? Maybe but before that there was change. Change will always be around. May as well embrace it!
I don’t know. If, but, and… do.
What’s going on? I don’t know. Why? I don’t know.
If change is infinite yet we experience stuff. Then perhaps stuff that we’ve experienced can be experienced again. Maybe from a different perspective. Uncertainty is a doorway to infinite possibilities. What’s going on? I don’t know. Why? I don’t know.
But I like to think that infinity is about experience but also something beyond that. I currently experience things with this body and mind, in mostly similar places (all physical things). If you remember the possibility of infinite possibilities, it is maybe possible that once this physical experience is over, (Perhaps our visible universe dies and restarts a few times or something) maybe they’ll be something different to experience, something less painful, or something more painful. It’s all speculation. I honestly have no answers. Who knows?
I’m probably complicating things.
The idea is simple. Change is about cause and effect, a process, present as the laws of physics are now. But even change itself is subject to change. Whose to say when we’re all dead the laws of physics won’t eventually change? They’ve changed since the very early universe according to the large hadron collider (or so I am led to believe).
Whatever you think. Accept you thought it. Accept that eventually, it might be of no consequence. Things change. Things are destroyed and created all the time. Why? Can any living thing really know? Even the smartest brains are only a limited size after all.
Speaking for myself. It’s important to respect other’s right to think and believe what they want and like. I’m very cautious and careful about so many things. Just, in life I seem to have too much ‘faith’ in what could possibly be. I don’t fear death, nor do I understand it. However, I do want to enjoy life in the present at the same time, and a lot of my caution is preprogrammed (genetics/upbringing/instinct). I’m not a risk taker. That could change though.
They all look the sane she said about your drawings.
It’s act one, still, in a play of actors and animals. At night and backwards, a colour-blind unripe banana looks towards you as you seem to be jumping on a deer, my dear. It’s a protest, acting your rage in front of two loud helicopters. Average salary is three sticks of celery and a hairy smokescreen. The windows are closed and the curtains shut, there’s a what? And it doesn’t look all that. Good Kazoo Solo and his wife look at tired imitation. Depressed on my chest is a chest of jewels and brass thinklets melting into a drip of squirrels. Building a fence is Kazoo and he’s using hockey sticks on a hockey stick ocean. Blurting and blubbering noises come from a helicopter and you are winched up inside a giant orange. The magic bus stop potion is ready as you fly off over the ocean. The rhymes stop, and the lizard flies its flirty eyes at your misdemeanour. It has reached the end and daylight breaks the glass hockey stick ocean and Kazoo is tired.