Thursday 27 December 2012

The Nights

It's the nights that really bother me- i just don't know what to do with them, or with myself. It doesn't matter how tired i
am, i cannot sleep properly. I also have no-one to talk to, and all the communication i do have is somehow unsatisfying.
I've been on my own here for two months now. 
If i go out and get drunk it doesn't improve things. I'm still a melancholic drunk, and alcohol just reveals a metaphysical void for me, and makes me very single-minded, but these days i have nowhere to put my passions and they resound back on me.
I wish i knew what to do. And i wish someone would listen sympathetically. 
I've stopped thinking that this is somehow of value because cathartic in itself. If i carry doubt to everything i have to carry doubt even to that. So i know that i have to continue, and i know that i have to be active and inflict myself on the world, not hiding away or denying anything... I know that above everything else, until in fact that realisation is all that remains...
Furtherance, continuance, in the face of no matter what miseries. A thing about misery; the only good thing; it cannot last indefinitely. It is like a piece of elastic, it stretches and stretches and then it breaks. And with the break, the ultimate point being breached, some relief is gained, some falling back upon oneself, like the lull after the crescendo of a symphony, but this lull, this space, is somehow sadder, more desperate, because emptier, because charged with a resolution to continue and not succumb. But is it really a resolution, really a choice, or just what is left after all other options have been investigated and 
found to be dead ends? 
Meanwhile, there are the nights... I could stare down the nights, look into them, look through and past them, and into their 
voids and not be afraid, surely? No, the answer is plain; i AM afraid. Why? Analyse it.......
I am afraid of not being here anymore. I am afraid of being forgotten. And yet i know that i WILL be forgotten and not here.
Why does it bother me? Egoism, maybe. Attention-seeking.  

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