Tag Archives: depression

“I’ve never been lonely…” – Charles Bukowski

Read in Postcards from Gravelly Beach Disappearing for Invigoration – Postcard #78 podcast, and shared here to read-along (for educational purposes), note: original source unknown.

“I’ve never been lonely. I’ve been in a room — I’ve felt suicidal. I’ve been depressed. I’ve felt awful — awful beyond all — but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me…or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I’ve never been bothered with because I’ve always had this terrible itch for solitude. It’s being at a party, or at a stadium full of people cheering for something, that I might feel loneliness. I’ll quote Ibsen, “The strongest men are the most alone.” I’ve never thought, “Well, some beautiful blonde will come in here and give me a fuck-job, rub my balls, and I’ll feel good.” No, that won’t help. You know the typical crowd, “Wow, it’s Friday night, what are you going to do? Just sit there?” Well, yeah. Because there’s nothing out there. It’s stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. Let them stupidify themselves. I’ve never been bothered with the need to rush out into the night. I hid in bars, because I didn’t want to hide in factories. That’s all. Sorry for all the millions, but I’ve never been lonely. I like myself. I’m the best form of entertainment I have. Let’s drink more wine!”

Charles Bukowski

Mexican Loneliness – Jack Kerouac

Read in Postcards from Gravelly Beach Disappearing for Invigoration – Postcard #78 podcast, and shared here to read-along (for educational purposes), note: original source unknown.

Mexican Loneliness

And I am an unhappy stranger
grooking in the streets of Mexico-
My friends have died on me, my
lovers disappeared, my whores banned,
my bed rocked and heaved by
earthquake – and no holy weed
to get high by candlelight
and dream – only fumes of buses,
dust storms, and maids peeking at me
thru a hole in the door
secretly drilled to watch
masturbators fuck pillows –
I am the Gargoyle
of Our Lady
dreaming in space
gray mist dreams —
My face is pointed towards Napoleon
—— I have no form ——
My address book is full of RIP’s
I have no value in the void,
at home without honor, –
My only friend is an old fag
without a typewriter
Who, if he’s my friend,
I’ll be buggered.
I have some mayonnaise left,
a whole unwanted bottle of oil,
peasants washing my sky light,
a nut clearing his throat
in the bathroom next to mine
a hundred times a day
sharing my common ceiling –
If I get drunk I get thirsty
– if I walk my foot breaks down
– if I smile my mask’s a farce
– if I cry I’m just a child –
– if I remember I’m a liar
– if I write the writing’s done –
– if I die the dying’s over –
– if I live the dying’s just begun –
– if I wait the waiting’s longer
– if I go the going’s gone
if I sleep the bliss is heavy
the bliss is heavy on my lids
– if I go to cheap movies
the bedbugs get me –
Expensive movies I can’t afford
– if I do nothing
nothing does

Jack Kerouac

Thunderstorms in the Crash Years – Postcard #75

Pod cover - postcards from gravelly beach - thunderstorms in crash years

Amidst a thunderstorm at 4AM in Chiang Mai, Dave discusses – with excessive frankness and emotion – various medical conundrums (Fibromyalgia and CFS-ME) and details the physical feelings of “crash mode” as well as the mental strain in dealing with self de-identification and inter-personal relationships, confusion in seeking help, and various alternative treatments. No sympathy or advice requested.

Always be kind for: Thunder in the Crash Years – Postcard #75
(75MB, 37:09, mp3, stereo)

Continue reading Thunderstorms in the Crash Years – Postcard #75

Auspicious day

9 years ago today, I presented “fuck stats make art” to a full house at SXSW, scored hash brownies and MDMA in Austin, drank whiskey backstage with the black angels. 11 years ago, signed up for Twitter. Also brother Bob’s birthday.

These days, a challenge to just get out of bed for a cup of tea… I’m really trying to “move on”, find “acceptance” and “close the book on old life” but it sure the fck ain’t easy with such wild & fulfilling actions in my past

#thanksforlistening #nosympathy #freehugs #trying

Beige unrelenting present…

Every day brings
An anniversary of something grand
So much promise and vigor
Graceful ambition, earnest yearning
“Don’t let the past affect the future”
Sound so easy
Until the beige unrelenting present
Brings another morning of pain

So many years now
Trying, climbing, sliding
Up the slides of a slippery well
Fighting, accepting, relenting
Leaves with only
Exhaustion from the inevitable slide

The shaggy dog comes to rest beside
Oddly purring softly, sedately
Sharpening his claws
Glancing up at me
Noted
I am left alone

Vaguely surfacing…

Today, I attempt to vaguely surface from the painful fog of a feverish week. Next steps are difficult. Slowly slowly rebuild and regroup.

I’m as weak as a kitten and must be gentle and patient with myself. Kindly remind me. Sipping diluted apple juice, saltines. This isn’t new.

Since I was a wee babe, dehydration, fevers, and gastro conundrums have confounded me and doctors. There is no diagnosis, just incidents.

The list has grown long: vague memories in Germany alone, Guam’s hospital, Eugene, Mexico with glass IV so many nights writhing. Holding on.

The list of doctors and specialists and tests and scans and samples and processes and surgeries and examinations and medications is lengthy.

Each time, my physical elastic is stretched and dries a little bit more and snapping back to form is more challenging and less satisfying.

I loathe the days lost, heart lost, confidence lost – the experience is painful but the bits I miss might hurt even more. I feel apologetic.

I thrive on enjoying things with others & loathe to see people worry or spread spend precious energy tending to me. Though they don’t mind.

In the feverish flashbacks, I lose track of what was real and what was imagined and which happened before. Did we have that conversation?

My escape: to breathe vicariously through you. Your graduation, your running for mayor, your band’s on tour, you’ve taken a train trip.

For all my adventures, travels, and hijinks, one doubt always nags the back of my head: will I physically collapse for reasons unbeknownst?

Indeed conditions of the erstwhile gastrointestinal tract are not the greatest malady to affect we delicate humans but, i wasn’t asked.

Aside from the opportunity cost of the events I miss, the lost creativity, & distress upon others, I struggle with the blues of being weak.

The next steps never get easy: letting go of the lost past, writing off precious days, and trying to simply stand & remember importantness.

Important: creating stories, sharing with others, reminding people they are loved, letting people go, helping people flourish. Helping me.

My mind and my soul is where my attention goes. My body is a vehicle and, like my beloved VW bus, not always reliable- yet I tend diligently.

Almost 43 years old, I’m an assembly line of careful creation – this is what I live for. I want to do so much more, I have an endless supply.

Yes, I’ve adjusted lifestyles, foods, routines, herbal teas, magic formulas, endless acupuncture, and avoiding toxins & fried foods. Bored.

I even try to “slowdown” but I’m not sure what people do when they “slowdown” – Do they not know the world is waiting for them? Clock ticks.

I have two speeds: quite fast or almost stopped. I go go go because I like to & don’t want to miss life. Sleep has never come easily to me.

Now, here in bed remembering hospitals and clinics, tents & tears, machines whirring, ceiling fans spinning, convulsions and concerns, I try.

But slowing down and taking care of myself doesn’t really seem to make a difference. Is my physiology weak? If so, there’s nothing I can do.

Slowing down means doing less. This sounds very pleasant by some readings but in others, limits what I give. Shall I start to say “no”? No.

Giving my creations, my energy, my enthusiasm, my knowledge is the manna which fortifies me through the high times and the lowest. Makes me.

Shall i be more selective? But I love each chance to share! Shall I expect to receive more for what I give? That’s not my reason for giving.

PS Used to be my social posting barrages came from bus rides but now, from doctors offices #Waiting #healing #Grateful Just so you know…