be of use
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(10/24/09 08:44:29)
ezOP
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the suicide is an interesting personality to live with. base state is time out. inherent problem with my brand of crazy he says. i need to obsess and focus on the clinical aspect of this desire to throw myself in front of a truck in order to save my life. when i die will you write my story? on a writer's level it's almost impossible to not want to transcribe the words of this person. he says it's not my art , it's my religion. our relationship has always had the aspect of mentor/student, for in the boy i saw myself. young, unsure, abandoned to adulthood without the first notion of its deadening rack. not to say naivety of the circumstances. any fool can see the contraption's bolts , the thistles climbing between the struts which hold the arches and cantilevered tasks aloft. no, what we didn't know was the way the desire to escape manifested itself in a slow drown inside the rainbow on the edge of the oil slick. sometimes the old lover creeps into the scene, wounds the moment with sentiment, but for the most part i'm satisfied as journalist, . that's when he's had enough, leaves the room, takes his words with him. i can't help but be relieved on one level. still, his words have an affect. they infiltrate the triibutes to my religion of the tale.
what i meant for him to try to integrate is how these very stimuli,the tasks before us, are part of the disease. the triggers. he wants to ignore triggers now, because they have no use. but last week he understood them in slices of flesh on his shoulder. if the master won't, he feels free to oblige. now he blithely ignores them in the face of lithium and seroquel. a flash comes to writer, how this is the mirror she warned me about. falling into the interlocutor's surface, how every man wants a woman who will reflect his story. this one is interesting enough, and safe. i was trained in the bi polar, only this time, i know what it's about, how it manifests, how to control it. it is my own lesson. student/mentor.
kurt vonnegut wrote the sirens of titan in the seventies. he was a chronic depressive. the suicidal was never far beneath his clownish stories. still, he lived into his eighties. the suicide argues but his was not mine, this bi polarity is unique and classifiable, on a range of charts and balances we could slide a mix into a cocktail that would allow me to harness the potential i have instead of wasting it on this obsession, which is the vortex that actually keeps me from jumping in front of the truck. if i stopped thinking about it, for one minute, i'd already be dead. the writer finds it interesting how the obsession feeds on itself. the mystic wants to give him a clue. the ex lover wants to pay for his meds. the teacher wants to beat him with a cane. he wants a mommy. she is not in the room. the student wants this class to be over.
(10/24/09 08:44:29)
ezOP
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the suicide is an interesting personality to live with. base state is time out. inherent problem with my brand of crazy he says. i need to obsess and focus on the clinical aspect of this desire to throw myself in front of a truck in order to save my life. when i die will you write my story? on a writer's level it's almost impossible to not want to transcribe the words of this person. he says it's not my art , it's my religion. our relationship has always had the aspect of mentor/student, for in the boy i saw myself. young, unsure, abandoned to adulthood without the first notion of its deadening rack. not to say naivety of the circumstances. any fool can see the contraption's bolts , the thistles climbing between the struts which hold the arches and cantilevered tasks aloft. no, what we didn't know was the way the desire to escape manifested itself in a slow drown inside the rainbow on the edge of the oil slick. sometimes the old lover creeps into the scene, wounds the moment with sentiment, but for the most part i'm satisfied as journalist, . that's when he's had enough, leaves the room, takes his words with him. i can't help but be relieved on one level. still, his words have an affect. they infiltrate the triibutes to my religion of the tale.
what i meant for him to try to integrate is how these very stimuli,the tasks before us, are part of the disease. the triggers. he wants to ignore triggers now, because they have no use. but last week he understood them in slices of flesh on his shoulder. if the master won't, he feels free to oblige. now he blithely ignores them in the face of lithium and seroquel. a flash comes to writer, how this is the mirror she warned me about. falling into the interlocutor's surface, how every man wants a woman who will reflect his story. this one is interesting enough, and safe. i was trained in the bi polar, only this time, i know what it's about, how it manifests, how to control it. it is my own lesson. student/mentor.
kurt vonnegut wrote the sirens of titan in the seventies. he was a chronic depressive. the suicidal was never far beneath his clownish stories. still, he lived into his eighties. the suicide argues but his was not mine, this bi polarity is unique and classifiable, on a range of charts and balances we could slide a mix into a cocktail that would allow me to harness the potential i have instead of wasting it on this obsession, which is the vortex that actually keeps me from jumping in front of the truck. if i stopped thinking about it, for one minute, i'd already be dead. the writer finds it interesting how the obsession feeds on itself. the mystic wants to give him a clue. the ex lover wants to pay for his meds. the teacher wants to beat him with a cane. he wants a mommy. she is not in the room. the student wants this class to be over.
posted by hiccup at 5:00 PM
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