November 8th, 2005

marvin pondering

depressed musings

Unhappy Day

          This was the first time I ever called my shrink just because I had to talk to someone. I've never done that before. I feel needy and annoying. Suicidal ideation is back and I am having all manner of trouble staying in control of myself.

          My medications have changed and I think it is obviously causing problems. I don't know just what to do about that save to try and endure until things get better. Ultimately, that is my entire life of late — endure in hopes something improves. If the universe would just accommodate me and improve itself …

          I have had the urge to write more strongly than I have felt it in years yet I find myself unable to write either poetry or prose. It used to be a release of sorts for me but I so seldom find myself filled these days that this particular spillway seems unneeded. I can hear the cracks now — yes, I know you've always thought that I was full (of it) — it is bad when I set myself up for this shit.

         I heard today that a friend in Florida passed away. She was nearly 95 years old, so it can hardly come as a surprise. Mourning the passing of those with whom you have lost touch is a particularly morose operation.

         Clara and I watched the sky from her balcony. She lived in one of those "ghetto" hi-rises on Biscayne Bay in Miami. The condos there started at $1.5m and went up like a skyrocket. Her husband, who once edited the comics section of the New York Times, left her a bundle and she said she didn't know what to do with it. I wonder what she ever decided.

         I recall sitting on the balcony with Clara discussing just what it was in the atmosphere that could possibly give a cloud a herringbone pattern. We both wondered aloud at why the only word for the color of the sky is "blue". Skies come in a shallow-ocean color flecked with clouds that look like whitecaps, and in midnight tones as rich as Caesar's Imperial Purple. Sunsets, which we both collected, are a riot of any color save blue, and Seattle has an iron hue that holds a greenish tinge you have to see to understand. So why is the sky just "blue"?

         I miss seeing the sky. Things beyond eight or ten feet are just blurs to me. The sky is beyond my reach forever. I collect photos from NASA on my hard drive and subscribe to half a dozen "photo-a-day" feeds. It feel pathetic. Like Louis watching videotape of the sunrise in Anne Rice's books. I think it would be easy to be a vampire.

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nanowrimo 2010

A bandit's eyes

A Bandit's Eyes

Black hair as glossy as a raven's wing,
two flashing bandit eyes that watch
from above a bow by Cupid envied - strawberry red
and I feel the stress of her regard.

Her eyes so black and bright, at once
do freeze my skin and burn my heart
as, pierced, her gaze enthralls and kills,
and I feel the stress of her regard.

Watcher from dreams and passing shadow
I've know her from my first awakening
when women touched my soul
and I feel the stress of her regard.

She's a single silken gown drawn like a shroud
across my heart to give me that single model
against which all must be measured,
and I feel the stress of her regard.

I've known her every mannerism
that breathless laugh and the toss of hair
since first i woke from dreams of women
and I feel the stress of her regard.

As my battles long and futile -
draw at last to their insignificant close,
she laughs behind her hand an looks
and I feel the stress of her regard.

As I go from the world she sadly looks
upon my ruin and sadly shakes her rueful locks
to say as I leave "It was all for naught"
and I feel the stress of her regard.

And the world in which I find myself
passed hence to a plane of disregard
is the house of her spirit and from within
I no longer feel the stress of her regard.