I dream about my dreams.
They’re black and white
And full of screams.
I dream about the end of level Boss.
The cost of pain and depth of loss.
Motorbikes and guns.
Haunted mansions and bleeding gums.
I dream of love unrestrained.
A tiger makes the fighter tame.
I sweat the bed, it’s proof of rain.
Car crash on fire by Samra’s again.
Round dark corners
And over the hedge.
For an unwanted guest.
Is it me? I guess we’ll see.
Ladies n gentlemen
Place your bets.
My mind is a midden like a
Ramshackle Cabin To Let.
Around the earth.
Cold gives birth
And the warmth is born.
Darkness delivers our dawn.
kill them with kindness
instead of mindless violence
i think we’re all getting tired
of finding crying orphans.
Brahma yawning in his morning
is like to your first days dawning.
On his mid-day even demons do pray.
At brahma’s last breath
the devil leapt to his death
and regained his step by My side;
for in his pride he realised My might.
My will was done
and is to this day
so heed what I say.
Forget prophets and pray.
Miss out the messiah
make no mistake.
It’s only your soul at stake.
when does a religion become just another dead myth?
who is to say the ancient beliefs are any less possible?
When writing a history of the ancients, why can’t they be known as beliefs instead of myths?
you cannot change the number of stars in the sky
but we can try.
in the twinkle of an eye
is my desire.
where fire-like flames
lay claim to all we survey
and we may find a way.
We may find a way to change
the number of stars in the sky;
if we try.
I’ve a stone in my shoe
That’s givin’ me the blues
So I’m gonna walk on through
And hope it works itself loose.
Rock music of almost any kind
The charity shop where I work (when I can)
Where do i start?
First of all…my condolences go with Robin Williams friends and family.
depression is like any other mental condition what with its invisibility and various levels ranging from sadness to manic depression or bi-polar etc.
My mum has manic depression and tried to kill herself several times including during my gestation and beyond. My estranged dad has some kind of severe depression aswell…apparently he’s locked up in a psychiatric ward or similar at the moment.
Plenty of my friends have internal struggles of varying degrees; and some of them have turned to drugs (including myself) for self medication.
Notice that they had problems beforehand.
Drugs didn’t cause the problems but sometimes they exacerbate them.
Some found solace in alcohol, some in weed and some in various powders. And some tried all three.
A 50 year study is finding that most ‘schizos’ didn’t have mental problems until they started smoking tobacco (that and alcohol are the two worst ‘gateway’ drugs around).
People say I should quit weed as if it’s a problem but I’ve been down since I was 8 or 10 years old. That’s long before I started smoking.
“I’ve been down so very damn long…that it looks like up to me.”
That’s a great lyric by Jim Morrison who died due to depression and hard drugs at the young age of 27.
What causes depression?
I only know what makes me depressed and it makes me depressed all the more.
Stupid First World Problems.
Why can’t I cheer up?
“God knows as your dog knows…life is killing you” that one’s by B Sabbath.
As I was growing up, listening to my mums problems, I could understand her already; I even understood Sabbath and Floyd and others as if I had been there. They became my councillors, letting my young self know that my family wasn’t alone with its problems.
My friends don’t always understand me but thankfully they always listen.
I’m very grateful for my friends.
“One hand washes the other” is a saying I grew up with.
My depression is a lowly one. Unlike bi-polar I never seem to get the highs.
I never seem to have energy unless there’s a long walk or bike ride. They’re conducive to introspection.
Fukk the washing up. Have you read my Bitching Kitchen Blues? I would rather do anything than wash dishes. It keeps me awake at night.
A friend said that if I spend half hour doing the dishes then I will sleep easier. I know he’s right but somehow I can’t bring myself to until I run out of dishes. Even then it’s a punishment.
Maybe it’s because washing up was a punishment as a child. Who cares? I pretend not to.
I’ve become very apathetic lately…and lethargic. Fukk everything that isn’t important. Fukk the dishes, the bills, the hollow friends, the bike rides and books.
Fukk God aswell…this is all his past-time, his sport, his rasa-lila.
Fukk dharma and fuck kharma too. Right up it’s automatic inspection hole. 😉
I’m not being serious but neither am i joking.
I can never understand suicide though. My luck is that I would be reborn as a creature or human with Real problems 🙂
Who knows why we are born or what is instore for us?
There is a plan for each of us and perhaps I will find my purpose in another 50 years or so 🙂 I can wait patiently with an occasional moan or gripe 🙂
Anyway I gotta go because a friend with Real problems has arrived. Perhaps this is my purpose.
Scared of success
he tries his best.
The fear of failure
is as a mere trailer
on his life long quest.
To think is to begin.
To sink or to swim.
To swim is to win.
The poet he wrote his rhymes
in sandy climes
where the wash of the words
are blurred by the beach and the birds.