Monday 16 February 2009

Thursday 12 February 2009

I am tired, I am weary. I could sleep for a thousand years.

Somehow, returning to a badly neglected blog makes me feel a little surreptitious - like a lost cat that strolls into the room weeks after being designated "missing, presumed fed". Whatever the reason, I'm back...

January and February seem to call back the black dogs, and this year is no different. Dark nights and darker thoughts, crudely numbed by whatever comes to hand. Deep down, but with a steady yellow eye on my every move, the self loathing squats like a toad in my guts.
It's easy to see the dark side. Close your eyes and there it is. Implacable and inescapable. To see the light all you have to do is open your eyes, but that's a dangerous business. It's all there, spread in front of you - your whole life, pinned and labelled, viewed through a piss stained veil. You can find yourself drawn to one exhibit, losing yourself in it's meaning and form, tuning it over, examining it from every angle until it becomes the whole of reality. The past is somehow more real than the present - it's fixed - not subject to the paintbrush of "today". You see traits, not states. The past is dead, gone, and fades more with every tick of the clock. But like a scent it affects everything you think about. You can't ignore the box full of broken toys that are yesterdays dreams. But knowing that they exist somehow stains the dreams of the now. There they lie - silently reminding you that there is no gold at the end of the rainbow, mocking your plans, sneering at your hopes.

But my defences are up.

Busy busy busy,
Busy little Bee.
Must keep busy.
Why can't you see?

Busy busy busy,
Busy little Bee.
Working for the honey.
Nothing comes for free.

Busy busy busy,
Busy little Bee.
A bellyfull of nectar,
But it won't save me.

Sometimes I don't know why I bother.