Little Bits of Ballast

I woke today in the usual way and I had no idea that today would be one of those days because five o'clock wakeups after three hours of sleep are normal for me. But as the dawn broke and the day woke, the darkness descended. The scent of despair drifted in my nostrils and revulsion at existence fell over me without resistance. I did not want to talk and I always want to talk. I did not want anything. Eventually I sat and ate a strawberry trifle just cheap but tasty supermarket type. Nothing special but tasty and I ate it all. I laughed at the serving suggestions. Like it was suggesting a spoonful was enough for a bellyful and that anything more was preposterous I sunk that battleship and threatened my neck with a noose but as I don't like choking I thought about renting a cabin somewhere in the Highlands and drinking vodka and consuming sertraline like it was M&Ms and then I remembered that I didn't want to leave my mess for someone else to clean up especially when my mess was my own dead body so I sat and I let the hurt and the anxiety, the darkened black dog decimate me and accepted a hug from the only one I trust and felt a calmness. Not better not really but safer and one step off the edge or the precipice of the cliff that leads to oblivion or a clever poetic way of saying my death. I wanted at one point to dig my nails or a knife in and feel something. Anything. Be it pain euphoria or a little bit sick. Okay not sick. I don't want to be sick. What are the lyrics to the chorus of Here Comes the Flood by Peter Gabriel? I mean. Lord here comes the flood. But then. Does the flood keep rolling over the edge? But then we had Indian takeaway and my belly felt full and my heart a little fuller if my mind is slightly deranged dark and lost. I am not going to disappear but for today and maybe tomorrow I am not okay and as the old adage goes that is actually way newer than older than it is. That it's okay to not be okay. Say it with me. Loud and proud. It's okay to not be okay.

I smiled today because of my wife and because Tanya wrote a little like me and so I felt like I arrived. Or some stupid shit like that.

Arrogance or not I don't care really.

Verbal abundance Adulation verbatim adoration verbal diarrhoearamogram I am sad that Gloria Steinem died. Especially despite her efforts so much still has to be done. But that at best is a footbote but worthy. I will always be a little bit arrogant. I think confidence mixes with arrogance. But you didn't need to know that. Or maybe you did. I'm not dictating what you need to know or not. I'm just spitting my mind. So much compresses my brain right now and finding the balance between delirium and sensible is as hard as sticking a syringe into a stone and expecting a strawberry daiquiri. I am not the poet you are looking for. I want a Guinness or two. I need a Guinness or two. I know I know. But okay. A little of what you fancy is good for the gander. Malposition malapropism that. And this is just little bits of ballast between swollen descriptions of impending self doom self careless self destructory. I am still the darkness and the light I will still feel both And some days I'll be as low as today or lower and others I will be higher than Elton in his cocaine high days. I am not the poet you are looking for I don't want to be that presumptuous I am not even the Paul you are looking for But I am here.

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