I am in a strange place tonight. It is getting late and that is when my thoughts are often not my own. Whose then? A self I have often disowned, been uncomfortable with and lies tucked away with my old photographs, journals, and acid flashbacks. Something is amiss, or perhaps, I was amiss before and now I am on the correct course. It feels as though I am on a double track, my actual life and imaginary lives overlap in a precarious manner. I need an outlet desperately, any outlet will do. There is another world which embraces this one, it comforts us as we stand in the fierce wind waiting for the bus. It carries me away to beautiful lands and to dark twisted sweat filled nightmares each night. Another life, another self. Here I am young, here I am female, or not even human. Here I am very very old, living alone in the midst of a vast desert of my own making. Here I am a celebrity, with many many people vying for my attention. I have many heavy responsibilities, and I can’t even remember my own name. SUch as it Is, I am CraCKing Up. It isn’t as much fun as I expected. All the usual habits fall away in the face of the abyss. Each day is a NEW DAY. When you are crazy, it is all new to you.
Now don’t get worried, I am not truly crazy, I am just feeling a bit dislocated. Like I said, I live many lives at the same time, and occasionally my focus wavers, and it is hard to sort things out. When the contents of your imagination outweigh all else it is time to stop and take an inventory. Do I have all my marbles? I do. I am exaggerating to make a point. We are all crazy to a degree. We are multitasking many many lives at once. We have a rich untapped tapestry which continues to surprise us, and provide us with source material.
This was not meant to reassure.
The world has become unhinged. Just read the news.
We are all cracking up by degrees. Sometimes I feel I have too much inside. I cannot contain it in a story.
It bleeds into my body, and possesses my mind with a noisy cacophony of meaningfulness, an urgent meaningfulness to which I must attend.
Living a life for which I am no longer responsible, has it’s appeal.
Being taken care of for the rest of life, has it’s appeal.
But the nut house has it’s terrors.
And I have lived with my strange musings,
and will foolishly continue my flirtation with insanity
For that is the nature of the game
So much is going on, and I can only write about a small piece of it.
Still writing, though
In that, I find comfort.