lost coastlines

Been filled with self-pity and self-loathing in equal measure of late, which is a rather shit way to feel. Thinking too much about the women i’ve known, the ones i’ve loved, and how, really, i loved all of them, for a minute, for an instant, for a year, for a hug or a kiss. Every single one of you, you perfect creatures, has something worth dying or living for. I can’t stay focused on any of you for long, though, because the new love is just over your shoulder, and so i bound and fall, collapse, implode, my heart erodes and combusts, my dissipated veins pumping black and calcifying tar.

I meant to write much more here, but i’m boring myself. Wondering if i’m an asshole or just perpetually confused, lost, and alone. I think i’m feeling lonely is the real thing. Not a pleasant feeling. A friend of mine recently told me that i have a hole in my life, which seems, you know, rude, but i appreciate her honesty.

Besides, it’s probably good to hate yourself every now and again, even when you don’t really have a good reason, but only an inclination.

Spent all last week coughing up disgusting bits of something lodged inside my lungs or esophagus, and now i smoke too many cigarettes. Again.

No sleep. No reason to beat. But i go, walking. The desert’s everywhere and i dreamt of her all day.

One thought on “lost coastlines

  1. This is, I think, just the peril of being white, or a man, or human, or two of the three. Intelligence and insanity, was the toast we took jagerbombs to over the weekend, I and the fiends, my kin, sorts that would never have hung out if they didn’t meet through being family. Three of us; my cousin and I, we’d have never sanded a table if not for my brother, and my brother and I would never have had jagerbombs if not for our cousin, and the two of them without me would never have had this toast I proposed: To intelligence and insanity, and there never being one without the other.

    You need sleep, food, rest, exercise. Depression is a storm. The trick is to not let it soak into the ground. You have to keep it out of the realm of the physical and eat even when the food has no taste, and exercise even as you wonder why and it seems meaningless, so that you can sleep whether you want to lay there in the dark or not. And read philosophy. Your mind can’t concentrate on being depressed while understanding difficult texts.

    Depression becomes a language you think in. Once you have the vocabulary worked out, the symbols, the triggers–it becomes perpetual. If a gun were to go off in the room next to you, you’d come out of it at once, like a shaken etch a shake.


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