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contorted by silence

pummelled and spent

he writhes against

the beast

unseen and unheard

surrounded by thorns

he bleeds away

all hope

 

Art: Francis Bacon

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I could close the door

Draw the curtains

Dim the light

Lay my head down

Bow and pray

Breathe and listen to the heartbeat

Lose all memory

Leave no trace

Swim upon the ocean

Float to heaven

And never return…

 

without-hope

 

Art: Frida Kahlo, Without Hope, 1945

 

 

MOMENTOUS THINGS

MOMENTOUS

NOT TO EVER

BE FORGOTTEN

MOMENTOUS THINGS ARE UPON ME

CRUSHED

I LIVE

MOMENT BY MOMENT

om

Art: Sleeping Buddha

 

800px-Goya-Guerra_(16)

This is but a murmur

A voice drowning in a cacophony of shrieks

Amid species bent on self-destruction

Imploding with hatred

This is pathology

Not politics

There is no cure

The virus is spreading

The lie

Like a house of cards

Beyond proportions

Who will say they’re sorry?

Hope is but a word

In this world infected

With death

No antidote

And no time to find one

Divinity debunked

While extolled

That’s for the entranced.

For the awake

And the curious

There is no salvation.

‘Should I stay or should I go?’

 

Los_desastres_de_la_guerra,_Plato_3_-_Lo_mismo

Art: Francisco Goya

 

SOMETHING IS PRESSING ON MY MIND

SOMETHING IS WRIGGLING TO THE FRONT

SOMETHING WILL NOT JUST LET ME BE

IT WILL NOT NOT TILL I DIE

SOMETHING IS EATING ME INSIDE

SOMETHING I CAN AND WON’T WITHHOLD

I AM MY OWN WORST CANNIBAL

WITH NO HOPE LEFT NO HOPE AT ALL

fb

Art: Francis Bacon, Self Portrait

 

Can you please find me?
I lost myself
I don’t know when it happened
Nobody told me
I may have been gone for a long time
What was I wearing?
I don’t remember
Was I awake, asleep?
No memory
Where was I when I got lost?
I must have been alone
I am not sure what I look like
The image is now blurry
Can you find me?
I used to laugh
Can you hear me?
My feet walked and walked
Maybe there are traces still?
I had dreams
Maybe yours were the same?
I had love in my heart
Perhaps you can hear it beating somewhere?
Please listen
Shhhh
I lost myself
I don’t know how
Maybe I ran away?
If you see me, let me know
I will recognize your voice
I do remember that I love you.

For David

Andrew Wyeth - Wind from the Sea, 1947

Art: Andrew Wyeth

 

 

 

 

What to pack when you are leaving with no hope of return?

What to leave behind for others to pick?

How much can I carry?

How much do I need?

Do I say good bye?

To whom?

A list flutters in a corner of the mind?

“My suitcase holds:

love

compassion & empathy

tolerance

my father’s love on a gold chain

my mother’s love in every cell of my body

hope

space for the unknown

freedom.”

Where do I deposit it?

How long till the whistle blows?

I wait.

 

case4sm-640x428

 

Depression is like erosion. The changes are slow, imperceptible at first. And then mountains begin to fall. Great cliffs crumble exposing the devastation, the charred inside of a tormented mind; gaping black holes and jagged edges as sharp as blades. Soft entrails calcified into rock. Depression is like erosion. It leaves nothing behind, only deep trails of tears, like empty riverbeds. And you have lost the map leading to fresh water. All you can do is sit by the dry gully and listen to the Lari cry.

2gulls

 

A dear friend shared his thoughts with me. All I could do to comfort him, was to understand…

********

… just returned home from the shack.

(…)

I know what you mean about hating memories. I have to make a conscious effort to focus on those that haven’t been burnt out of me by tragedy and the ruin of depression. Sometimes that seems impossible. I see beauty all round me but sometimes cannot feel it in my heart even as I recognize it. I think as we get older our sensitivities etch a sadness that mars our capacity for appreciation.

(…)

…I felt empty. I’m not always like this but something sometimes feels broken. We both seem to share this malady – and it can stay without abatement for long periods of time. I usually get angry enough at some point to will it away.

*********

Egon-Schiele-Paintings-8

Art: Egon Schiele

This moment, I am…

Felled. Felled by too much of it all. Felled by struggling against it.

Felled by the day and my inability to harness it. Felled by time.

Felled by people who need me and for whom I cannot be there.

Felled by how little I can do for those I love.

Felled by the imminence of change and the vastness of it.

Felled while lifted to new heights.

©aother 2012

Art: Zilon