All at sea again

After gift mayhem — I’m escaping down into the basement’s depths, an old troll living under the floorboards and threatening to eat cats and kin. Thinking, which can be hazardous to everyone’s health and causes weird plasticy burning smells mixed with the scent of hot wires.

I don’t know if it is the weather outside or in, but I’m feeling my inner esquimaux today. Probably, it is both.

Froze to the bone in my igloo home
Counting the days ’til the ice turns green

Echo and the Bunnymen, The Yo-Yo Man

It’s not quite a goth depression sense; it’s more of a morose ennui. Maybe gloomy is the better word. Thinking doesn’t help matters when I’m in this mood other than doing so acts like a purge of sorts. The six to eight inches of snow that fell on Tuesday adds to the feeling of entrapment and I’m grateful that there is an unspoken rule that if I head to the basement and you hear music or tapping away at a keyboard, it’s probably best that you don’t poke that bear.

And that’s maybe part of the problem. Words.

Goodness knows that I occasionally miss a hearty ale or a couple of fingers of liquid burnished leather going by the name of Jameson. I can almost evoke the taste just by bringing up the name. This is one of those times and one of those times has happened with an increased frequency throughout the dumpster fire of 2020. But that would be bad for me and anyone else around me. Still, I revel a bit in the struggle because it is an anguish I can actually feel and deal with. And, as far as I know, able to overcome. But that’s why I posted a link and an excerpt yesterday. Still, there is always that mental clutching outwards for the numb comfort of not giving a shit about words, or events.

I think I have an issue with latching onto and reveling in personal anguish. I come up with impossible scenarios in my head and then cling to them just so I can be all poetically ridden with angst about the matter, complete with forearm on forehead and heavy sighing in the atelier of my dark basement. That’s a secret though, so be sure not to share it with anyone, least of all post it on a public webpage for public consumption.

And the funny thing, it is words that draw me — unintentional as those words may be in terms of intent to evoke these bouts of dramatic displays. It’s always been words more than anything. I know some guys groove heavily on visual portrayals of their misbegotten idea of what romance is supposed to be, or nude pictures and — while I don’t have any aversion to such things — it is always words that trumps any image you can throw at me. I haven’t conducted a poll or anything, but I can’t say that I’ve ever run into another man that struck me as the kind of guy who will swoon over words like I do. Maybe more do than I imagine, but it seems unlikely.

In starlit nights I saw you
So cruelly you kissed me
Your lips a magic world
Your sky all hung with jewels
The killing moon
Will come too soon

Echo and the Bunnymen, The Killing Moon

Say the words and you’ll have adoration. But it has to be the right words, which are my secret and I’ll never reveal them willingly. And I won’t reveal the other methods that will make the right words pass my lips and impart onto anyone.

It is a good thing no one is curious enough for me to worry about such things…

oh, you beautiful loser…

The problem, I suppose, is that men (or anyone, really, not just men) are kind of seen through that flawed lens of social evaluation that the world likes to shine on us with an intensity so as to burn us to cinders under it’s focused scrutiny when we say “I don’t think I fit into your tropes.” You either seek a return to acceptance and the approved tropes, or recede further into the shadows. I’m one of those extreme shadow dwellers. Bring your torch and a pointy stick of you go spelunking in these dark places.

My. I’m such a cheery bloke on Christmas.

All at sea again
And now my hurricanes have brought down this ocean rain
To bathe me again
My ship’s a sail
Can you hear its tender frame?
Screaming from beneath the waves
Screaming from beneath the waves

Echo and the Bunnymen, Ocean Rain

Holiday wishes to all, however you celebrate the season.

3 thoughts on “All at sea again

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