Out there at the Perimeter

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  • A skeleton has been found in Greece nestled in a deserted cove or beach. The police think it is the last remains of Steven Cook, who disappeared there twelve years ago. They say a disposable camera was found with the bones. I wonder what the pictures are.
  • Donald Trump says we’re all liars and only he has the truth.
  • Tony Blair wants the UK to rethink its conscience: laughable and ironic.
  • The birds in my garden have started to watch me.

And that, my friends, is the news today. Full of bad intentions, bad outcomes, and even worse futures. There is little to smile about – even the anti-psychotics I’m prescribed are giving me headaches – and much less to get up in the mornings for. I’m constantly burning incense sticks in my house to try and drive evil away but the forces pile up some days against my doors like dirty great snowdrifts. They seep through cracks and into my home with supine intentions for me. It’s not a situation to be envious of.

In the dead of night I sometimes wonder if there is any point to anything good going on out there in the land beyond my triple locked doors. After listening to the neighbour’s headboard banging for a while until he reaches climax, I turn my good ear to the pillow and think of reasons to live. If nothing else, it gives me a sense of purpose. Sometimes I get up watch the stars out of my window, and blink in the moonlight. The universe deserves better than all of the above. Where we are is just on the dumb perimeter of something more magical than we’ll know in my lifetime. There’s just that big-assed fucking thing in the way. Call it mental illness, call it actually being awake when others are asleep in more ways than one. It’s an inescapable barrier which is dooming me to sadness. Right now I’m just stuck.

Stuck.

Stuck.

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