Friday, October 1, 2010

Friggin Friday

I have had this idea in my mind that I could never put in words. It's a feeling I have tried to express in different types of media but I can never really nail it. I have been trying to find the riddle of my crazy muse in the form of acoustic guitar lately, that's why I have been neglecting my writing.

I have also been spending time working out, eating right, getting my finances in order and staving off depression with hours of Family Guy reruns and 80's movies. I am not yet at my sea command. The Navy is a bit pissed at my weight problem. Suffering from clinical depression is not an excuse for getting fat in the Navy's eyes. Not that they're aware of my illness. Seeking medical help for that, while a smart idea in other occupations perhaps, in the Navy's submarine force it just opens up a new hornets nest and well, I'm surrounded by enough hornets right now as it is.

But I am learning to deal with it. It is odd being consciously aware that I am sinking into a depression and not being able to do any thing about it. Oh well, things will get better. I will leave you with another jacked up poem because I know that's what people love; poetry! So here you go.

Misthropanthany (I didn't miss-spell this. It's a make believe word.)

Turn. The lights are brighter on this side.
The cold calculated luminescent glowing side.
Turn. The razor over burning flesh of mine.
The skin retracts and tries to hide.
Turn. You soon learn that they’re all equal.
Every path another sequel.
Minty paste and mentally disturbed people.
The church, the people, the pinkie steeple.
Turn. Don’t question it. Just go.
The cold miscalculations; thrumming lights that glow.
The cold shower where the libido fails to grow.
My mind rewinds a faster kind of slow.
Turn and let the apprehension flow.
Turn away. Turn away but I am still here.
Still near. Still shrouded in fear.
Still destined to burn. Still willing to turn.


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