Mindjunk again

If I’m not busy, asleep, talking to someone etc, my brain is still behaving like a whirling dervish at the moment. And so I’m spending what is probably a stupid amount of time round here, but like I said before, while I write, I don’t feel. And the thinking is calmer too. It’s a good way to feel a little less lonely


Here I am again.


Very worried about my neighbour, I just spoke to her daughter and it doesn’t sound good. Daughter is a bit of a panic merchant and so I really, really hope this is one of those times. Please.

*blows nose on blog*

The sunset was salmon pink this evening. A cloudy grey sky now – dusk. That’s the first word of an R.E.M. song, the title of a the The album.

Dusk is dawn is day / Where did it go? (Low – R.E.M.)

Ugh. Fuck. Wtf. Argh. That’s what the depths of my mind look like. Deeper, it’s just sad and sore. The surface is choppy, agitated. I’m like … the opposite of mindfulness. Actually let me invent, trademark and market mindlessness therapy quick. It’ll be the new scientology, I’ll just get everyone to pop their brains and wallets in the collection box. Job done.

The sky is deeper grey, birds … uh … I used to write about those things, sitting on my stoep at sunset most days. It felt like mediation. Shit happened and I can’t seem to get back into it. Much too mindful, I guess. It’ll improve again.

The mozzie spray smells like citronella. It’s got to that muggy time of the year, when coils and candles are not enough. The time for natural methods is over. It’s napalm day. Why, why, why do the fuckers have to whine? I’m all – well help yourselves to my blood, ladies, just please STFU. But nope. No deal. If anyone knows their motive, tell me. Google hasn’t helped. IDGAF about the ridged proboscis.


A navy sky now, too cloudy for stars, or even the moon. Speaking of moons, there is one called Miranda, which for a while was thought to have shattered and reformed, because of its appearance. I suppose I read about it (I’m sorry but I’d feel very daft saying her) a decade or so ago and found it all utterly romantic and compelling (broken and repaired). You have to forget that it’s a moon of Uranus, to maintain the romance though. Just thay phrase – moon of Uranus. It gets called the Frankenstein moon too.

Both hands and wrists hurt quite a lot; I clench them defensively in my sleep on those nights that also bring sweet smelling night sweats.


Ain’t that accurate. Right now i am very much on the sad side of manico-melancolicus. So thrilled and excited to find out what’s next.

I’m shutting up now. Probably not for long, I fight off sleep again these daze. Why can’t I get one of those evil old school shrinks who prescribe to transform their patients into zombies …

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