The other contents of that box

But why leave it at Melancholia?

The man I once loved with all my heart had a beautifully descriptive word he used to provide encouragement.
"Fighter"
I might not love that man anymore but the love for the word and the world it stands for remains.

I cannot leave it at Melancholia because I am a fighter. And even though at times it takes me hitting an unbearable low before I get back on my feet, boy do I get back up.

The thing is yes, I am in a bit of an unproductive, uninspired spot but it's not like my brain and heart have stopped ticking.

So adopting a new approach to this manner of problem I look Melancholia in the eye and pronounce loudly, "Fuck that!"

Fail

I wonder if at times like these, when I'm in an uninspired melancholic funk, I wonder whether it is the words that are failing me or I that am failing my words.

The ins and outs.

Inside-Outside people.

Solipsism and I

*Coming soon to a blogpost near you*

Bach Hambug!

It's a bit diconcerting. If a machine is something that click-clacks away then we're already halfway there!
So what'm I goning to do? I shall halve my clicking to make myself one fourth of the way there and then continue in this vein so i'm doubling my likelihood of not turning into half a machine.
And now back to my Bach!

Sick Thoughts

My insides were yellow, my outsides were burining.
Where insides intersect outsides and everything is confused,lay the problem.
I wanted to lock away my mouth and cut myself away from my rebelling organs.

Instead I stewed some towels in boiling water. Now they are clean.

In sickness and in health

Currently my brain in filled with the sounds of Bush.
This is my second day in self imposed confinement. I have no other choice. I'm sick, I have to stick close to a loo. My brain is neither fevered nor suffering from the side effects of my medication. It is merely isolated.

Yesterday, noiselessness reigned over my mind. It was empty of all except my own thoughts that zigzagged across the mindsphere. Undiluted by company and the net of expected averageness it casts, I became something; something strange to a collected group of people but completely true to my own individual nature. I became normal.