Category: depression

pretense

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I think I’ve had it with people pretending to be better than other people.

People for whom a book or a band or a type of food is a status symbol, and not something that’s to be enjoyed.

People who enjoy certain things because they feel it makes them look good to their cooler friends, or better than those they consider to be of less value.

People who automatically assume others are lesser people because they don’t engage in whatever trend they do, because they don’t come from a big city, because they aren’t into something that considered cool on social media.

People who know very little about the background and lives or minds of those same “others”, and fill those gaps with assumptions of “hickness” or “redneckocity” or worse – the automatic lumping in with all the hateful bigots of the right wing.

No one wants to be associated with that – we can all look down upon that kind of evil.

But just because someone doesn’t share your exact views of what’s cool, or because they come from a smaller city, or because they have different life experiences, or different interests (or different skin colour, romantic preferences or genitalia), you just label them: lesser than.

No one wants to be labelled “lesser than”. Ask minorities. They’ve been dealt that garbage hand for centuries, and it’s far past time we put an end to that bullshit.

So, maybe, when you’re out there looking down on others because they didn’t read your snooty books or aren’t into shawarma, ask yourself: do I actually like this? Or am I simply doing the stuck up equivalent of “keeping up with the Joneses”, more interested in looking cool than figuring out what actually makes me happy?

Because from this side, you look lost and insecure, and looking down on the people around you proves it.

Target: 600 words
Written: 291 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Awaken The Giant Within, Tony Robbins
Comics: Aphrodite V 2-4, Aphrodite IX: Ares 1
Music: Oh No, OK GO (so underrated, these guys)

that’s what they all say

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I am depression. Depression owns my ass. All is hopeless. All is lost.

And yet, I persist.

The drive to live is strong, even when nothing else is.

I’m finding it increasingly difficult to relate.

Yeah. Uh-huh.

That’s what they all say.

Target: 600 words
Written: 118 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Awaken The Giant Within, Tony Robbins
Comics: IXth Generation 6-8, Aphrodite V 1
Music: Oh Love, Green Day

sabotage

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Listen up, y’all.

There’s not a guy in my generation that doesn’t know every fucking word of this song, and immediately wants to dress up like a Seventies cop and with a bad moustache and slide over a car hood.

It’s immediate and visceral. I’m not the biggest Beastie Boys groupie, but hell, who doesn’t love that song?

Of course, followed by Come Alive by Foo Fighters, it’s a poignant, hard moment.

Makes me feel like a fucking teenager again, fucked up and wallowing, twisted about in depression and frustration, longing for something more.

And now, middle-aged and overweight, knowing it’s all a horrid lie.

Target: 600 words
Written: 447 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Awaken The Giant Within, Tony Robbins
Comics: Artemis IX 1, Apollo IX 1, Poseidon IX 1, IXth Generation 5
Music: Oh Boy - The Best Of Buddy Holly & The Crickets, Buddy Holly & The Crickets

flame out or flicker

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I thought, when I was young, I was going to join the twenty-seven club. It was a dream.

Explode through the atmosphere, a fucking rocket on its way to etch its name across the sky only to explode spectacularly and leave its legacy falling from the sky.

Instead, I’m a half-broken sedan (well, more minivan based on weight), middle-aged and failing, and the only mark I’ve left on the world is some pets that loved me, and whom I love.

At least I know I made that difference.

(I miss you, little butts – Magnus, Loki, Nyka and Cassie Bear).

Still, is there a forty-seven club?

Could I start one?

How about ninety-seven?

Things never go how you will them to; it’s coincidence, circumstance and bio-mechanics that determine where we end up.

And for most of us, it’s the dirt, not the sky.

Target: 600 words
Written: 108 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Yellow Birds, Karen Green
Comics: Aphrodite IX 4, Aphrodite IX v2 1-3
Music: Odds & Sods, The Who

office days

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Well, every third week, my days get a little tighter, when they can no longer stand to be.

The noose scratches at my neck.

I don’t remember who put it on, but everyone that comes by seems to give it a solid yank.

To nudge the chair under my feet.

How soon we do swing.

Today’s dark musing brought to by L7 and One More Thing.

Target: 600 words
Written: 94 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Carrie, Stephen King
Comics: Tom Judge: End Of Days 1
Music: Oceania, Smashing Pumpkins

second draft

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Hey, chipper self.

I don’t know if it was waking up to finding out the Leafs actually won in OT and live to play another day, or finishing the second draft of The Mungk, but I feel marginally better today.

The deck is shuffled, time to re-deal.

My body is still “depressed”, but I’m going to fight the cognitive dissonance of a body and mind telling me I should snuff it and focus on focus.

Get things done. Try new things. Use the mind. Let things go. It’s good for the soul.

Move, maybe a little. Enjoy my cats and dogs.

Are you buying this? I’m certainly trying to.

Target: 600 words
Written: 538 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Gate Of Ivrel, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: Monstress 47-50
Music: Oasis Essentials, Oasis

directionless

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I’m not sure which direction I should take.

Lay on the floor and wait for the end? Go down on my knees and beg for the end of pain?

The bed? Hiding in softness that quickly becomes uncomfortable.

I feel like my body is a prison from which I cannot escape.

Which, of course, I cannot.

We are all victims of our failing forms, our own sadistic minds, our throbbing and relentless pain.

I used to sit and drool; a pretend vacation of the mind. Master of me over mind; I too, can vacate.

Instead, here we are, waiting for the day when the drooling is incontinent and out of control.

And then, beyond.

Target: 600 words
Written: 1431 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Five Weeks In A Balloon, Jules Verne
Comics: Monstress 43-46
Music: O Tannenbaum, They Might Be Giants

sheriff

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There’s a line in Southern Bastards when the sheriff, a ex-high school football star whose career could have been astronomic if it hadn’t been for circumstance and bad choices, says about his opportunities, “I’ve fucked up every last one of mine.”

It wasn’t entirely true there. Esaw and Materhead took out his knee, on Coach Boss’ orders, thereby ending his collegiate career before it started (something you’d be surprised to see Boss do, maybe, after the way he was shafted on his own career for Bear Bryant).

But the rest? Everything after that?

That’s all him.

I feel like that’s me these days. Fucking up every single one of my chances. Settling for safety in fear and losing the plot.

Too scared to try. Too scared to ask. Bubbling up inside like a vat of acid set to boil, scraping out everything internal, until there’s nothing left but molting flesh.

There’s some thoughts for you.

Target: 600 words
Written: 1324 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Five Weeks In A Balloon, Jules Verne
Comics: Monstress 39-42
Music: Vulnicura, Bjork

spiralizer

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I use it mostly to create zucchini noodles, but sometimes, it likes to take up residence in my head, and spin me out of control, akin to a piece of fluff floating on top of a bath, that’s being rapidly drained out.

Where does all that water end up? The sewer?

Am I a piece of fluff, doomed to hang out in the shit the rest of my life?

I used to think I’d like to aspire to living in a cardboard box, but it’s a hard life, feeding yourself and begging for enough money for booze and drugs. Too responsible.

Then, I thought I’d like to be super rich, but rich people are always fighting off scavengers for their money, and there’s a disconnection and cruelty that festers beneath the freedom, and that’s not who I’d like to be.

Plus, there’s all you have to do to get there. You have to, at least, go to the convenience store attached to the gas station and buy the lottery ticket.

There’s no escaping responsibility.

The only way out is through.

Or death, but that’s a whole other topic.

Target: 600 words
Written: 725 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Five Weeks In A Balloon, Jules Verne
Comics: Monstress 35-38
Music: VU, The Velvet Underground

i go through all this

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Beeefooore you wake up.

Sorry. Bjork phase. I do like to get up early. I like the quiet. The alone time. If I can get that, and get enough things I want to get done before I engage with the world, the world and me are both infinitely better off for it.

I don’t go in rushed and angry, upset and falling behind. Frustrated and distracted.

And, the sense of peace is palpable.

That, of course, is not today. 

Target: 600 words
Written: 797 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: People Of The Deer, Farley Mowat
Comics: Monstress 31-34
Music: Vs., Pearl Jam (one of my all time favourites, I cannot believe it's been so long since I listened to it.  Indifference is my spirit animal.)