The mad have become sadder, and however important the tale they have to tell, they soon cease trying. The tail and the tale get curled within them like an embryo.
Jane Gardam
Extreme trigger warnings for sappy music. If that offends you, here’s Gay Pirates (Cosmo Jarvis). Post starts off morose, gets better later.
raindrops keep fallin’ on my head (bj thomas) (no-one cares who sang it, it’s from butch cassidy & the sundance kid)
Greetings & Flatulations:
How are you? Up to shit. Not in a terminal cancer way, or anything like it, but bad nonetheless. And I have this weird rash.
Are you ok? No. Not even remotely. I don’t actually remember the last time I felt ok, let alone have any faith in experiencing it in future.
You’re ok, aren’t you? No … no I’m really not. I love it that you care enough to want me to be ok, but I honestly don’t know how to get there.
How are you? [Ridiculously long silence]
It wasn’t a trick question, you know … I know, I know, I’m so sorry, I truly am. I didn’t realise I’d said any of that aloud.
top of the world – the carpenters
How are you? I don’t know.
How are you? Fine, you?
You are not special. You’re not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else.
Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club (16secs)
Fight Club in 15 minutes
somethin’ stupid – robbie williams & nicole kidman (orig frank sinatra snr)
As clusterfucked as my mind may be, I don’t spend my entire life morbing. This blog is where I empty my head of misery when I need it. And obviously then I nip off to whip up a blancmange and run up some curtains. (I’ve never even met a blancmange and I don’t run unless there are wolves chasing me.)
good morning starshine – hair OST
I’m tired of sappy music now, but playing it made me lol a bit. Need a change of pace?
easy like sunday morning – faith no more
things have changed – bob dylan
wall of death – r.e.m. (orig richard & linda thompson)
something in the way – nirvana (unplugged)
What I read about when I’m not reading about bipolar:
(article) 10 songs inspired by river phoenix (rest in piece, beautiful boy)
general 2015 wiki – colour me stoopid, but I had no idea there were so many completely different calendars.
people looking at art – photographic series (if the format had been square, you’d think ‘amateur instagram’ – as is too often the case, this is ‘art’ that relies heavily on its own artist statement and interpretation).
sims 4 – how evil can you be? I don’t play sims, I’ve never managed for longer than 10mins actually, but people doing experiments and writing about the game fascinate me. Things like the homeless sims family in sims 3. Quite tricky to find stuff that is safely between cruel and boring though. Oh humanity.
When did you last read a poem that you didn’t write yourself? It’s time. From the man who wrote this:
The past is too tight. The Academy and Pushkin are less intelligible than hieroglyphics.
Throw Pushkin, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, etc., etc. overboard from the Ship of Modernity.
To his own beloved self, the author dedicates these lines
Vladimir Mayakovsky
Some words.
Heavy as a blow.
“Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s- to God what is God’s.”
And one
such as I,
where shall I squeeze in?
Where is my den?
If only I were
small
as the great Pacific –
I’d stand up on the waves’ tiptoes
and caress the moon with my tides.
Where am I to find a beloved
equal to myself?
Such a woman has no place in the tiny heavens!
If only I were poor!
As a billionaire!
What’s money to the soul?
There’s an insatiable thief in mine.
All the gold in California couldn’t feed
the unbridled horde of my desires.
If I could only be as tongue-tied
as Dante
or Petrarch!
Turn my soul’s fire on one woman!
Make it smolder out in verse!
My words
and my love-
are a triumphal arch:
the beloveds of all ages
would pass through it gloriously,
without a trace.
If only I were
quiet
as thunder-
I would whimper
and, trembling, embrace earth’s decrepit cloister.
If I outroar in an enormous voice
with all the power of thunder-
comets will wring their burning hands,
and fling themselves down in despair.
I would crack open nights with my eye’s ray,
if only I were
dim as the sun!
I so need
to slake with my shining
the sunken bosom of the earth!
I will pass by,
dragging my giant-love.
In what
delirious
feverish night,
by what Goliaths was I conceived-
so big
and so useless?
1916
