Tag Archives: depression

Pondering the difference…

Pondering the difference
Between letting go and giving up
When I need something
to hold onto

Doing “self-care”
but
I get so wiped out
Waiting for the current
to drive me away

Check the expectations of others –
Where do I hide these feelings?
Why was she so mean?

So tired of being tired each day
Made a list of happy times
Things I’d like in past times
Is this useful or a trap?

So made a list of things to do
When feeling “this”
But find I’m bored
And reminisce simply that I’m blue

Acknowledgment of art and pain
Respect and fellowship
Simply to be loved and adored
“Is that too much to ask?”

“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

Healing Journey: Update, Summer 2018

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

“Unrest” Documentary about CFS-ME

Dave gazes at Rodin's interpretation of the Gates of Hell from Dante's Inferno
Dave gazes at Rodin’s interpretation of the Gates of Hell from Dante’s Inferno

Finally up worked nerve/courage to watch @unrestfilm – Cried & laughed + noted im not alone. So much familiar: documenting, crashing, trying *everything*, endless Drs, so much confusion/suspicion/loss. 5 years along #cfsme & #fibro. Was invincible dynamite before.

Also, was funny in the movie to see her obsessing about mold and putting up a tent (I did this), making bone broth (which I did obsessively and one of my former charges now has a bone broth company), all the supplements (which I spent so much money on!), and all the “superfood“ smoothies/drinks/concoctions… Oh, and also all the Chinese herbal remedies cooked up in a big pot making the whole house smell crazy weird.

PS Unrest the film is on Netflix, iTunes and other places.

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

I am left alone

Declaration: upon waking up

I wrote this declaration upon waking up…

This past summer, after literally losing my mind, I decided to step into the abyss… Bravely, intrepidly and without compromise.

Holed up at a mountain cabin while chaos swirled around my lives, I listened to the message from records from decades ago, I hot boxed my beloved bus were so many happy memories happened, I reunited with charming characters from my past and even better, met their children who are adults (moreso than me anyway), then with a solid head of mushrooms and MDMA, this plan came to me.

On a psychedelic carpet, i clicked enough buttons on the Internet, to purchase an abstract variety of plane tickets to send me a round like a manic boardgame in search of a new flavour of truth and reality.

Salt Lake to Las Vegas to Pacifica to Chaing Mai and now to this anonymous city where I’m practically the only foreigner in a city mourning the death of their beloved King, I’m finding comfort and solace and healing.

In scant days, I will leave again into uncharted territory, beyond what science and reason says is capable of this haggard body but I refuse to except anything but finding some sense of joy.

I can live with pain I accept, but I cannot accept living without my brain and without my heart and soul. I am born to give, exist to share, and I am empty without those.

Without a safety net, without and emergency escape route, without language skills, without the strength to punch my way out of a wet paper bag, I have built a tiny universe and painted the walls just the colour I chose.

Who will return to the West Coast on December 6? what will I look like? Who will I be? I am indifferent to all of these questions as the destination is simply a byproduct of the journey.

The journey is me and I am the journey. Brick by brick, I will gently apply the mortar to rebuild, to renew, to replenish and regenerate from the very mitochondrial cells outwards.

What ever the result, it will be me.

Old vs New (notes re: self)

Renegade adventurer v. Eccentric gentleman  

Remote and natural v. Walkable villages  

Ragged beards v. Straight razor shaves and mustache  

Hiking shorts and rock t-s v. Tailored suits and fitted shirts  

Free conference pens v. Disposable fountain pens  

Craft beer v. Water and tea  

Fat doobies v. Unfiltered cigarillos  

Freeverse v. Lyrics

DIY repairs v. Takeout mending  

Self-service v. Delegate  

Wash n wear v. Laundry service  

Late night rock v. Early acoustic  

Take away street food v. Long patio lunches  

Midnight movies v. B&W documentaries / matinées