when I sit at the right end of the wrong number, I'll know it's you.
I'm tired of living in cycles, living in sporadic spurts of wrong to worse. I ride one ocean crest, crashing down into murky, midnight blue depths of depression. my good days are the ones where I struggle to stay afloat. there's no happiness, no felicity, no satisfaction in the equation of my days and nights. satiety is a pinhole in my perspective, the equivalent of the sun to a beached cadaver whose husk adorns the golden sands far below.
I'm going to try to be a little more calm from now on.
last nite I cut for the first time in years. and I clawed at my exquisite face until I had successfully secured for myself a gash across my forehead. It's black and ugly and looks like charred flesh. and this past week I've had to deal with the old demons of heart failure. I was afraid I'd have another (yes, another) heart attack. but I didn't.
despite this all, I am content at the moment. because it takes a great fall to make a great rise. and I've lived on the crests and crashes of waves all my life, progressing from wrong to worse. now I've hit the sandy sea bottom. my hair can cover my gash... I'm ready to soar.
there will have to be a season of recovery. of scar tissue. of severed soul ties. but the snakeskin will shed and sizzle in the summer sun. and I'll soar for a long, long time.
goals for this month -
1. lots of sleep (so I can heal myself).
2. read.
3. write and play new music.
4. write my damn novel and develop a new approach to poetry.
5. get japanese straightener done on my hair or cut the bitch.
Post Script - The Strokes tickets came in the mail. melanie and I are going to georgia nov 9th. they'll play "someday" and I'll cry. they'll play "reptilia" and I'll scream. holy hills of hell, this will be sweet. damn their inane popularity. no cameras.
I'm going to try to be a little more calm from now on.
last nite I cut for the first time in years. and I clawed at my exquisite face until I had successfully secured for myself a gash across my forehead. It's black and ugly and looks like charred flesh. and this past week I've had to deal with the old demons of heart failure. I was afraid I'd have another (yes, another) heart attack. but I didn't.
despite this all, I am content at the moment. because it takes a great fall to make a great rise. and I've lived on the crests and crashes of waves all my life, progressing from wrong to worse. now I've hit the sandy sea bottom. my hair can cover my gash... I'm ready to soar.
there will have to be a season of recovery. of scar tissue. of severed soul ties. but the snakeskin will shed and sizzle in the summer sun. and I'll soar for a long, long time.
goals for this month -
1. lots of sleep (so I can heal myself).
2. read.
3. write and play new music.
4. write my damn novel and develop a new approach to poetry.
5. get japanese straightener done on my hair or cut the bitch.
Post Script - The Strokes tickets came in the mail. melanie and I are going to georgia nov 9th. they'll play "someday" and I'll cry. they'll play "reptilia" and I'll scream. holy hills of hell, this will be sweet. damn their inane popularity. no cameras.