its not helping

December 15, 2014

it feels like every movement
has to be painfully slow and purposeful
concentrate on this one thing
even to the pressing of the g or e or s
there it goes
press down on the key and the letter appears on the screen
a little faster now
no, don’t look cause it will all be blurry
shifting to the edge of your vision
out of focus
then snapping back
fuzzy letters giving you vertigo
slow down


inclined to extend

January 9, 2014

penance for my previous impervious post

I was torn about my tiny tome’s tone and terse tense, yet dense sense of words spent to say what I meant.

The incentive was not to be insensitive, but the intensive intent sentenced the sentences to be sometimes insensible.

Still, I was content to an extent with the extant content.

But a certain percent of what I sent is not worth a cent; hence the lack of sense in the investment of interest in nonsense that won’t gather any interest to pay for the poor syntax.

In this instance consistent with the internet’s instant insistence I sent to staunch the stench of my blog’s static statistics but I passed out before I parsed out the sentencing for my implicit complicity.

So I claim innocence! In a sense, it was the entrance of these intense scents of incense that incensed my sense of license to write a silly sentence.

Scintillating? Nah, ultimately just obnoxious.


August 17, 2013

hammer in hand –
if i am observed; i feel like a doofus
clumsy and ignorant.

guitar in hand –
i feel a bit more comfortable
(though i still prefer to play covertly).

words in mind –
i am awkward/clownish/graceless – indecisive and overwhelmed
with my endless, earnest attempts at articulation.

the truth is:
much more of the work i do with a hammer is visible to others,
though i am usually invisible.
if i do my job well…
no one will even know that anything needed to be done
so i will go unseen and unlauded:
the church mouse – with a tool belt
i’m ok with that.
and though it is so concrete an occupation
it is still surreal to me
that i can fix things.
that i know these odd things that i know:
actuators and adapters; hydraulics and hysteresis;
kelvins, compressors and chemicals
                               (typically the R2 unit just has a bad motivator)
that i am a member of an elite master-key-holders club:
drunk with power –
controlling all comfort and convenience in the communal environment
part of a guild with secret knowledge:
what lurks behind all the closed, locked doors
                                       (what does go bump in the night)

how do you pronounce soldering or spigot? 
no really, is it just a regional thing or what? – this, i don’t know.

and maybe i am not clumsy at all…
when no one is looking
I feel capable and completely confident.
when no one is looking (the iron in irony)
I make my living (quietly) with the hammer.

but my own sense of self is still wrapped in a gentle, furtive music
connected to words

which can be a burden to me
like a backpack i lug around
without ever removing any content.
just shoving more and more into it
afraid that i am forgetting or losing things that are already there
as it just grows heavier, bulkier; dragging me down
making it harder and harder to wield the hammer.
though they are not mutually exclusive
i have trouble with the balance.

the idea of the hammer still seems foreign;
it is a part of me those closest to me rarely see
they hear a bit of guitar, they read the proffered words
they are more aware of the backpack than the tool belt.
yet i spend a lot more time with the hammer
and it is ultimately the more remunerative skill;
one my life / the other my living
for me music and words fix things that a hammer cannot
but i recognize their conjunct value and
i guess i use all these tools for mending.

whats wrong with this guy
he hardly writes about depression anymore
i guess he’s all better…
he hasnt cussed in a blog post for months.

just so we’re clear
i know that there isnt anyone actually thinking any of that
if there was then i could say fuck you to them
and perhaps that would make them feel better
but really barely anyone reads any of this shit
and i think i know everybody who does
(hello, Everybody Who Does)
and i like them all very much
(sorry i’m being cussy, Everybody Who Does)
and i dont want them to be worried or offended
even more than that;
i dont want them to think that i sit around
feeling sorry for myself and lose respect for me
(though i trust Everybody Who Does more than that)
cause really i only sit around feeling sorry for myself
part of the time – like write now for example
hhhmmmmm but stream of consciencelessness
dictates that i write thus
there is just too much horrible shit happening
all over – to so many people
and i cant handle the burden of my whining
in the face of all the true tragedy and misery
so fuck me is what i really want to say
(and big hugs to Everybody Who Does)
wait, rephrase that so it works properly

i am so uncomfortable with the above wrong writing
not righting any wrong on several levels

its disgustingly flippant to mention the bad things happening in the world
what do i know about any of it
it is my own despair that i am aware of
and to mention these other things is certainly somehow self-serving
which is bullshit and makes me feel crazy
everything can end up strangely self-serving when you’re depressed
this aberrantly abhorrent idiosyncratic perceptual paradox
where you cant stand your own skin
yet it is all you can think about
life is such a haze of exhaustion and dissociation
for the sake of self-preservation
a self that you really don’t feel any motivation to preserve
why am i using the second person?
i am talking about me.
not because i am the only one having a hard time
but because it is the only time i know
i havent been writing about the depression
because i feel neither clever nor angry enough (apathy)
to have any desire to see my words about it written out
i wrote well about my depression once
and it was incredibly helpful for me to do so
both for my own pulling out of the depths of that specific dark time
and in helping folks i love glimpse what i was moping on about
but this – exhausted malaise of malicious melancholy
sinking sinking sinking
stinking and fearful that i will sink deep enough
that light is hard to understand
and i feel i have no right to do that
i gotta swim
cause i am pulling a life raft full of other people who need my help
if i sink they may not go down with me
but it sure doesnt help anybody
and none of them want to watch me drown
besides this is not some kind of heroic solo effort
thats the thing in all of this writing
i am just trying to say that i dont want this to be happening
and i dont want to be a whinger (new word i learned today = whiner)
depression: the descent that lacks decency
despair by degrees; a degrading downward gradation.
i dont want to stop swimming
i also dont want to use a water metaphor or a sports metaphor
swimming is kind of combining them both
so very literally
my head really hurts
and it is not working right
i feel so drained (water metaphor?)
and i dont want anyone else to have to sacrifice or be let down by this
or even be inconvenienced and especially not neglected
i want to meet the needs of those whose life i share
and i want to meet those needs exceptionally
i don’t want to shelter in the protective egocentrism that is depression
that sentence is not right – too oblique
i feel awful and repulsed with self loathing about it
shit, i can’t articulate it…

i just want to be more

thank you Colombia

February 11, 2013

the internet responds to my accusatory ode:
(who says spam is useless!)
comment Submitted on 2013/02/11 at 1:56 pm:

“Wow, wonderful weblog structure! How lengthy have you ever been running a blog for? you make blogging look easy. The full glance of your website is magnificent, let alone the content!”

affirmation from Colombia:
my weblog is no less than magnificent!
just when i was really getting discouraged.

i’m sorry if a spammer from
Colombia has not yet acknowledged your contributions
to the world wide web
i am certain this oversight will soon be remedied.
cause you’re great! …let alone the content!

ode to the instant

February 10, 2013

waiting for you to do something
the whole world is out there
constantly instantly connected
and yet
none of them tell you to do anything for me
i dont mind
i tell myself
i will walk away and not even think about it
i can stop anytime i want
in 3 minutes (and then some cool down time)
i can have dinner
and just like you
it will leave me still hungry
give me a hit: like me, feed me
an addict for the instant
internet approval