today is the first day.

anxiety, depression, loneliness, self pity. doors that never open, phones that never ring. solemn. alone. empty. typing to nothing and no one, typing for the sound of the keys. rain drops, drops of rain, background noise, white noise. empty noise. this is what it’s like to be alone all the time, this is what it’s like to be me, to be myself. afraid of everything and scared of nothing. knowing nothing. knowing too much. talking my way into and out of problems, inventing allusions…. inventing illusions. my brain, confused synapse cross, collecting more and more information about the nothing that I hold so dear. this is the emptiness of my nightmares, this is my life (my nightmare). I’ve dreamt of this before, and I’ve lived this before and today I’m alone and maybe I don’t have to be but maybe I do. there’s no sign of the sun, there’s no sign of anyone. I’m left here, by myself, without a voice to call on or a voice calling on. only one sound, only two sounds, only a waste of time and space and myself folding laundry and wishing I was somewhere else (wishing I was with someone else). my own mind clutters complications and watches as it flushes itself away. self medicate me with more depression, cover myself with empty laughter. see me wishing today was yesterday and I was not alone. there’s nothing here, and it’s where I will always be… somehow.

Comics 12.22.2004

Looking for peace in fiction:

Catwoman When In Rome #3 (Of 6)
Queen & Country #28

Comics 12.08.2004

Rising Stars #23 (Of 24)
Doctor Spectrum #4 (Of 6)
Marvel Knights Spider-Man #9
Powers #7
The Punisher #15

Uncertainty

“Uncertainty is certainly no way of coping.”

Sometimes…

Sometimes it’s about more than just a specific angle or a frame or a way of looking at something. Sometimes, it’s just about the sight, the vision. The thing seen. Now it’s about separating myself from myself and from my situation, and looking at it from outside my own misery. There’s an escape hatch readily available, open to be opened and wanting (somehow) to remain closed.

I saw these things that I photographed and I remembered them and brought them home with me, in digital form. My memory, in digital clarity. It’s a joke now, all these months later, to know that what I saw was nothing but a memory to begin with. Trust and be trusted. Faith and faithful. Now, alone, I type this and feel nothing but emptiness of memory… that longing of knowing this solitude is neverending and neverending, like my soul, I persist.

Confusion doesn’t complicate things any more or less anymore, it just takes away from what already is. Like that photograph of an old sunflower. Now, the flower is gone, back to the earth, and I remain, looking at its memory, remembering its happiness (for the moment) and hoping to open up, like the flower, to this idea of lofty often vigirous emptiness…

And now, I’m left with just a memory, again. Put it away, in a box, leave it on a doorstep for love to find later.