“Deep in our hearts we know it: that you weren’t much of a muse, but then again, I weren’t much of a poet.” – Nick Cave
A relative of mine knows Nick Cave. She knew his son, too, before he threw himself off a sixty foot beach cliff with his 15yr old head full of LSD. Mind expansion is one thing, but drug-induced suicide is another. For every good part of any drug there is always the flip side. The cannabis brigade lobby anyone within earshot about the healing properties of weed, but then again, looking under a microscope in a lab somewhere someone in a white coat is watching smoke-related cancer cells mutate. You pays your money and you takes your choice, eh.
My relative says Nick is a twat. I’ve never met him.
I walked yesterday for an hour and a half. I didn’t meet a single soul for an hour until I saw a local landlady jogging along the canal with her two dogs. She had oversized headphones on and wore a shiny black bodysuit that I tried not to look at. At the end of the canal I passed the cottaging area filled with the nervous sexual tension of middle-aged men waiting for a transvestite to turn up and make a good go of things in the toilets. Even in winter some people can find comfort in a remote toilet block with someone who’d never turn them down. Or tell a wife.
The main feeling today is I’m out of ideas. A while ago I started to jig together a loose book form to sell on amazon kindle, but I’m apathetic and still lacking confidence in anything I write. I mean, there is nothing more self-indulgent than writing about your mental health – like I’m doing here. It’s boring, clichéd, and riddled with hyperbole. You struggle sometimes in life too, right? Why have I got it any different to you?
I don’t. We’ve all cried at overwhelming sadness, and we’ve all spent the dark hours of the pre-dawn thinking about the past, or the lack of future. It’s a commonality of the human condition. So why would anyone pay to hear my bleating?
In time everything I’ve ever done, including these words right now, will just be lost in the ether with no reader or anyone to understand why I’m writing them in the first place. I’m ok with that.
Shit….. Self doubt is a real bummer. See you when the mist has lifted.