The Bloody Doors Off

I’ve been thinking about the things that are stuck inside in my head and I can’t get them out.
And I’ve been waking, at four in the morning; I don’t know why I can’t get back to sleep again tonight.

Keep Banging On
Banging on your drum
Keep Banging On
And your day will come
Keep Banging On
Banging on your drum
And they will hear you

Bang Your Drum, Dead Man Fall

As Ronald Reagan once said, “Well, there you go again.”

My brain just kicked into high gear.

Swirling.

Like a defence mechanism.

To keep me from focusing on the question I just put forward to myself.

Even this.

This is a distraction.

‘Write, monkey-boy, and maybe you’ll forget.’

Give me back my broken night
My mirrored room, my secret life
It’s lonely here
There’s no one left to torture
Give me absolute control
Over every living soul
And lie beside me, baby
That’s an order

Give me crack and anal sex
Take the only tree that’s left
And stuff it up the hole
In your culture
Give me back the Berlin wall
Give me Stalin and St. Paul
I’ve seen the future, brother
It is murder

The Future, Leonard Cohen

Repent.

For what, exactly?

Confess your doubts.

How long have you got?

I second-guess everything.

Except when I don’t.

Yes, I realize what I said.

It’s a symptom.

The over-confidence. And it gets me in trouble.

Every. Goddamn. Time.

And when I self-correct, the waves tend to smash into shore and soak the bystanders.

So maybe I should be on lithium?

Fuck.

Why is this so hard?

Right. Because I second-guess everything.

I thought it was funny when you, missed the train
When I rang you at home, they said you’d left, yesterday
I thought it was strange when your, car was found
By the tree in Ennis where we used to hang around

Dear Isobel,
I hope you’re well and what you’ve done is right,
Oh it’s been such hell, I wish you well,
I hope you’re safe tonight
It’s been a long day coming and long will it last
When it’s last day leaving, and I’m helping it pass
By loving you more

Isobel, Dido

I really need to slow down my brain.

Another symptom of mania.

You’ve got a month. Why the rush to decide?

Because if I don’t now, I may not. Later.

Jesus. It was easier to quit smoking.

Of course, it helped I was under lock and key in Ward H for three days back in 2013.

(Go back and read the blog. I’m not gonna rehash.)

Now, I ain’t much of a poet
But I know somebody once told me to seize the moment
And don’t squander it
‘Cause you never know when it all could be over tomorrow
So I keep conjurin’
Sometimes I wonder where these thoughts spawn from
Yeah, ponderin’ will do you wonders
No wonder you’re losing your mind, the way it wanders
Yodel-odel-ay-hee-hoo!
I think it went wanderin’ off down yonder
And stumbled onto Jeff VanVonderen
‘Cause I need an interventionist
To intervene between me and this monster
And save me from myself and all this conflict
‘Cause the very thing that I love’s killing me
And I can’t conquer it
My OCD is conkin’ me in the head, keep knockin’
Nobody’s home, I’m sleepwalkin’
I’m just relayin’ what the voice in my head’s sayin’
Don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just friends with the

I’m friends with the monster that’s under my bed
Get along with the voices inside of my head
You’re tryin’ to save me, stop holdin’ your breath
And you think I’m crazy, yeah, you think I’m crazy

The Monster, Eminem ft. Rhianna

Will I stop writing if I take it?

That would be. Bad.

I would not like that.

Sometimes it’s the mania that fuels my creative.

I’m gonna get the wife’s thoughts on this.

And sleep on it a few days.