Don’t drink the kool aid!!!!

munchDear Reader, I wrote what follows a week ago, it all seemed pretty darn awful then (it’s not much better now) but I feel the logical conclusion of where it was going is and its purpose is fairy obvious. I was disrupted by one of the precious handful of truly lovely friends who bought me flowers and choccy biccies and reminded me of why I keep going despite this government’s attempts to finish me off in some banal way. I am posting this piece of rather soiled personal laundry more as a sign of hope. That you can teeter on the edge and fall back in a flower filled field rather than over beachy head without a wardrobe.. Plus staying alive for the foreseeable future will annoy my delightful brother and a particularly obnoxious blue haired troll who would probably throw a party if I croaked. So anyway, I have work to do. Erm… enjoy! Please note, I have left it as is but for one addition, Hopefully it will still make some sort of sense.

There is something that comes as quite a relief about knowing that you’re going to die. I don’t mean that in a slap the Smiths on the stereo, pull the sartre of the shelf and pour yourself a glass of absinthe, “ooh we are all mortal and life is fleeting and pointless” sort of way but in a “that’s it! your number’s up” way. A couple of years ago I was attacked in the street. Some hefty drunk guy slammed me over the bonnet of a car and proceeded to lay into me for no reason other than I was in his path. As the cars whizzed past and no one helped me i felt no fear (although that came later) just one thought passed though my head which was “oh well, I did o.k there I guess…” In my own terms, I had done alright.  I have wondered since wether I should have gone then….  When you are painting or drawing, there is never a point when it is done, you just have to use your judgement on when to stop fiddling with it. There was a two hour gap between this sentence and the last. Funny that, the notion of time passing in writing. Me two hours, you fifteen seconds. Quite apt though, I went to a jazz gig had a panic attack on the way, heard ten minutes of it (which was shit) and left. I shouldn’t have gone but people forget just how ill I am. Sadly, this happens a lot. The last time was just over a week ago when I finally flipped out and went apeshit crazy after my ex had sobbed on me for the best part of seven hours and I ended up trying to stab myself (well carve lumps out of myself at least.) If she had given me a chance to rest, we may have still been together. I still loved her then and I still do now. I felt dreadful for days, that was until a close friend pointed out that after being leaned on so heavily by someone, who really should have know better just how ill I was, for the equivalent of a solid working day, they were amazed that I didn’t try and stab her.  Joking aside though, I don’t think I’m capable of physically hurting anyone else, if I had have done, that business with the guy trying to beat the crap out of me would have ended rather differently from it did when a kind lady saw him off. While I haven’t physically hurt anyone, I am quite sure I have mentally. Of late, my life has been like a scene from the Godfather, or should I say the Blockfather? The unfriendings and unlikings have been coming thick and fast recently. To be quite honest though, it’s been strangely liberating of all the people jettisoned of late, I am sad about precisely one. This is when I start worrying though… There is something rather liberating about going into freefall… until you hit the ground that is. When I think back to me tra-la-la-ing my way through burning everything I did at university, I can’t help but wonder if it’s happening again. That said, I feel a huge relief at no longer having to hold back about what I think anymore. In fact, I feel really sad that I ever had to deal with people who I would normally would have crossed the road to avoid. I have had to rub shoulders with some truly awful people of late, not evil, not monstrous, just grotesquely selfish and self serving, hypocritical to the point of being surreal, people able to turn everything into a parade, with bells and lights and booze.  So much booze…. But underneath it all was the pounds, shillings and pence, little networks and fiefdoms of nice little earners, jobs for the boys/girls whatever…. So… It’s a strange thing life, we all try and find a meaning in it and a purpose for it. Mine is my art, for what little that is worth, for others it’s there children, their hobbies, their careers. One of my anti-suicide techniques is to have so many long terms projects on that my sense of pride stops me from leaving them unfinished. At times like this though, I really am done with it all, I have achieved considerably more than I had when my life last flashed past my eyes and I figure if I keep my head down and keep working, I can tie up all the loose ends before winter and heaven/whatever help me, christmas, I can’t bear another one of those. “Will, I be dead by Christmas?” Great title for a book that, probably not… Sound tedious bit of life will get in the way and make me carry on, be it the pain of those left behind, something cropping up that is too interesting to pass up… But with this new government and the pressure that my current situation is putting on me it would have to be something amazing or drastic. I did fancy doing a version of “monkey’s journey to the west” as chinese scroll paintings, a set of illustrations to through the looking glass… as few other things maybe, but I’ve done o.k.  It is wonderful, the clarity that one gets when one passes through that mental pain barrier. That slight sense of detachment you get from the world that makes you see everything else a lot clearer. So much so that I can even see I am going mad and am quite enjoying the break from all the usual stuff that keeps you tethered to the world.  The text ended there when I was disturbed by my lovely friend calling me. madhouse

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