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Jan. 28th, 2019 01:34 pmThere's this thing going on where the north pole is apparently coming to visit. It's everyone's point of discussion right now & it's a matter of some poignancy to me given my preference for public transit. This is a known thing & people are voicing their concerns, again. Mainly the cold is bitter in a useful way. I don't get sad or especially depressed about it - rather, I'm animated by an abiding fury. The Fucking Sky - enemy. Enemy. It keeps you stuck inside & half starved & then tries to kill you as you do what you must to be paid. Then the cars try to kill you, because that is what cars are for - Murder. So, I got that, the anger, to keep me alive waiting on late buses in the deep freeze.
But there is a lot of cabin fever. Remember all those years ago- we'd be at the coffee house & the old man would inevitably play his open-mic standard about cabin fever. Suck a terrible song & a weird old man. But growing more relatable by the day. I hear that song- about being shut up against the cold. About being trapped. That's the feeling & the hostility that comes from it is defiance, which is a quality that I can dependably rely upon myself to manifest.
My expressions, the outlets for my rejection of nature are kind of stifled right now though. There's that encroaching, distracting suite of matters joined together still, riding over the good time, spoiling things in the mind by their unctuous presence. The noisy heat, the boot-stomping neighbors, the invasive chill & all of these are minute but cumulative & then you'll have a day like this where sleep isn't part of things or is, but only too late. You can't get rest & then the mind. The silly old thing, it plays tricks on you.
I get morbid & weird without sleep, incapable of talking even to those I like to speak at. I get silent and haunted. Going outside just now, in the mix with the trucks I can see vividly the accident where the rig pins me in the door as I'm halfway out and my arms is severed, my body crushed. I can see it like a true thing that's happened. The Gore in phantasmagoria I suppose. It's those cumulative lacks - of sleep & comfort that breed this anger & it gets pointed back at me. I had to talk myself out of being upset over misspoken words of 20 years ago, over foolhardy sentiments & mistakes of judgement. Something there is that doesn't love the self. So the mind conspires with anomie & mis-sleep to break the self. That's the story of winter isn't it?
Just earlier this month there were thunderstorms. I miss those, they were listless & passionate in turns. They imposed a vivid frame to life's events that made them seem more vital. And sometimes you'll have those moments, when the sky isn't a ruthless foe but a friendly presence.
I gathered myself up & put together a plan to live through this week - no small matter, as it happens, as things have spiraled & broken. Money, cold, isolation & tedium those things must be battled, the nature of survival is combat against those things, and there's been a crisis which must be addressed & then corrected. Tomorrow the dentist, wednesday- Undermountain, Thursday... Nothing, one hopes, one expects. Friday? Back to it - patterns, it's hoped, resuming - and then. The weather-clock says the ice might go, the skies might clear & life might resume.
But there is a lot of cabin fever. Remember all those years ago- we'd be at the coffee house & the old man would inevitably play his open-mic standard about cabin fever. Suck a terrible song & a weird old man. But growing more relatable by the day. I hear that song- about being shut up against the cold. About being trapped. That's the feeling & the hostility that comes from it is defiance, which is a quality that I can dependably rely upon myself to manifest.
My expressions, the outlets for my rejection of nature are kind of stifled right now though. There's that encroaching, distracting suite of matters joined together still, riding over the good time, spoiling things in the mind by their unctuous presence. The noisy heat, the boot-stomping neighbors, the invasive chill & all of these are minute but cumulative & then you'll have a day like this where sleep isn't part of things or is, but only too late. You can't get rest & then the mind. The silly old thing, it plays tricks on you.
I get morbid & weird without sleep, incapable of talking even to those I like to speak at. I get silent and haunted. Going outside just now, in the mix with the trucks I can see vividly the accident where the rig pins me in the door as I'm halfway out and my arms is severed, my body crushed. I can see it like a true thing that's happened. The Gore in phantasmagoria I suppose. It's those cumulative lacks - of sleep & comfort that breed this anger & it gets pointed back at me. I had to talk myself out of being upset over misspoken words of 20 years ago, over foolhardy sentiments & mistakes of judgement. Something there is that doesn't love the self. So the mind conspires with anomie & mis-sleep to break the self. That's the story of winter isn't it?
Just earlier this month there were thunderstorms. I miss those, they were listless & passionate in turns. They imposed a vivid frame to life's events that made them seem more vital. And sometimes you'll have those moments, when the sky isn't a ruthless foe but a friendly presence.
I gathered myself up & put together a plan to live through this week - no small matter, as it happens, as things have spiraled & broken. Money, cold, isolation & tedium those things must be battled, the nature of survival is combat against those things, and there's been a crisis which must be addressed & then corrected. Tomorrow the dentist, wednesday- Undermountain, Thursday... Nothing, one hopes, one expects. Friday? Back to it - patterns, it's hoped, resuming - and then. The weather-clock says the ice might go, the skies might clear & life might resume.
