I need to write. Writing is my lamp in the fog. It’s my little beacon of “here I am” in the infinite darkness of time. It’s my only refuge and my only proof of existence. I was once here. I once was at the beginning of the thought that just unfolded. “Clair de Lune” is one of the most beautiful creations of all time. Its sounds are brushstrokes and it illumines the most glorious painting before my eyes. I am having a panic attack. Rather, I was. Writing saves me. I once had it all. I have nothing now. My home is no longer a home. My mind is no longer a mind. I try to find comfort in anything, anything at all, but I cannot. Everything and everywhere is a strange wilderness and I am lost and confused, scared and losing faith. How can it be that even in my own body and mind I can feel out of place? What has happened to me. I’m seeking help, I’ve been seeking help for years now. I’ve watched it slowly unfold. Now that my permanence has been slipped from under my feet I don’t know what to do, or what to even try to do. I like talking in vague expressions, wisps of logic and coherence. I want someone to unfold my soul with, to alight upon a cloud. Grasp something fleeting and find me again, together. I’m glad I have you, writing. My forlorn manic friend, you give me succor and moments of cognizance. Thanks be to God, thanks be to my father, who art in heaven, Herbert be thy name. That’s all part of the floor, that dismantled beneath me. There were cracks for sure, always, it was decided long before what would become of me. If only I was willing to look through the cracks and see the future that was sent hurdling at me. I miss everyone. I miss everything. Why is the past always constantly better than the present and so much more appealing than the future. How is it possible I am never happy in the present and yet I can somehow believe the past was good? My past was presents, long ago. Bizarre. I want to be funny. I really do. I used to be so prolific. And it was quality and quantity. Now I’m lucky if I can come up with a quality idea once a month. Talk about a slap in the face. We all lose what we cherish the most. Not just lose it, but it becomes the opposite of what we cherished. Don’t love anything you cherish. It’ll wither away.
Benign Rulings – Twiddly Winks