"Depression is my kitchen, and I can whip up a mean ennui."
Was just talking to a friend and that came out. Sometimes I forget and have to be reminded. My mind takes me places I don't want to go. Like a drinking buddy who turns slightly sadistic and reckless after a few beers. If you ever wonder why I don't blog more about the day-to-day nuts and bolts of my life, there are several reasons: 1. They're not that interesting. 2. I write as a way to process these events, and to do so I cannot simply chronicle them. I have to step back, sometimes far back, until I seem to be talking about another subject entirely. 3. You don't want to read about how we're always struggling.
So, if you're not already my Facebook friend, here are a few pieces you may not yet have seen.
I was separated and had this one-room place
I thought would knuckle me down. Full-time job
in the daytime, drunk every night. I had no TV,
one window and just an old electric typewriter.
Like the others in that building, I degenerated:
scribbled cartoons on my walls, read Hamsun's
"Hunger" and believed the radio was talking
only to me. Oh but the poems! They landed
on my arms like parrots in a Miami theme park.
You should have seen all the colors.
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