Dark tidings

Much as I feared, current events are becoming distractions when combined with seasonal and cyclical psyche issues. I honestly don’t know that I’m up to writing fiction this month, which is pretty lame, I know, I know. Talk big, deliver something less than the talk. At least I have a healthy sense of self-deprecation and -flagellation to go along with the whole mess, so no one needs to expend the effort to chastise me. Consider me well-chastised.

The urge is strong today:

Give myself an imperfect half-assed hawk and die it black, re-pierce closed piercings, wrap myself in blood red and black velvet, turn down the lights and spin some dank tunes on the streaming speaker. Early Cure, Joy Division, Nephilim, Sisters of Mercy, BTfaBG, Skinny Puppy, Siouxsie, Xymox, Xmal, Bauhaus, others… The more plodding, dragging, the better. “The End” with Apocalypse Now backdrops. Reclaim my past, though I am grey and old and fat. Outer expressions of the inner self. I miss it. I’d terrify those around me who didn’t know me ‘back in the day’, but, gods, I’d feel more me than I have in decades.

Yes, I know this is a woman. Gender has never has stopped me in the past. I can see this look on me, however. Easier to justify at work over the full Bob Smith look.

We knocked on the doors of Hell’s darker chamber,
Pushed to the limit, we dragged ourselves in

Ian Curtis

Turn off and tune out. Screw work. To hell with writing. Read some Rimbaud, Morrison, Sartre, Kafka, Camus, Salinger… Get really deep into the womb of darkness, awaiting rebirth.

The lack of sleep certainly doesn’t help these dark moods I find myself falling into, but that’s not the cause of them. It is probably more of a symptom. I couldn’t tell you what brings them on — only that all the solutions offered over time were worse than the affliction itself. Cotton head zombies don’t sound scary until you’re trapped inside one, passionlessly watching things move around you and unable to express anything outside: “Sure dude. Whatev’s”. That shit scares me more than my dying. It’s like being trapped in a “Jacob’s Ladder” scene with no escape. It doesn’t stop the screaming, it just mutes it so no one else can hear.

Shake shake shake

No progress today. We don’t want to rush this, do we?


Originally posted on sceadugenga.com

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