The Seasons of the Mind

The states of the mind are as unstable as the English weather, from the bitter winter of a harsh depression to the scorching heat wave of a manic front that precedes the wild storms of wrath and vengeance, with force enough to tear into the very fabric of the soul. What lies beneath these states of fanatical climate that possess my psyche with an unmatched volatility, the essence of all that fuels the causational systems in constant flux, something more dangerous than any threatening tempest and always menacingly lingering just beyond the horizon.

A cold front of resentment forcing the mild breeze to plummet into sub-zero temperatures that chill the very frost itself, ice becoming a diamond like form to reflect back upon the fractured landscape every critical aspect of destructive nature it seeks to escalate to heights of irrational measure. Those storms just a beat of a cold dead heart away from breaking the ferocious heat of manic fury, such energy engulfing the slightest imperfection into raging blizzards of frenzied commotion.

The only thing to match the chaos of commotion is the divisive corruption of that engulfing energy into a crueller wrath, vengeance possessing the fractured landscape with unkempt anger to burn even the lava of the volcanic rage that spreads though every tributary of the once pure river of sanity.

At last the seasons settle, storm torn chaos breaking against all that withstood as the surviving aspects of the mind are infused with the remnants of frenzied commotion, fortified with jagged walls of diamond like remains of the bitter winter of a harsh depression. The rest that lies scattered with callous disregard irradiates with perpetual suffering that such a destructive nature has infused into every piece of wreckage, even less caring is the dark core of logic which seeks to rebuild stronger that which is derelict.

As in this calm before the tempest the repeating cycle is merely postponed by the deafening beat of a cold black heart whose idea of mourning is to others a horrifying mix of gravity defying repression, blissfully over writing the best forgotten sins of seasons past. The art of repression just another cog in the merciless machine of human nature that will beckon forth with little repent the fanatical seasons that will lead to the next event.

Doctor Doctor…

Doctor: So you’re ill?

Patient: I feel like crap

Doctor: Do you suffer any conditions or illnesses?

The doctor opens his notepad, gets a pen

Patient: Well… I’m depressed, anti-social, suffer anxiety and a hint of OCD

The patient calmly rattles off a laundry list of hell!

Doctor: Anything else?

By which point the note pad has been put away, the doctor looking very sure about his diagnosis

Patient: I don’t sleep right, eat right, drink enough, couple of bad habits and late nights are as natural to me as breathing

The laundry list from hell continues!!

Doctor: Well I’ve come across your problem before, and there’s some good news and bad news

Patient: Good news…

The patient straightens his back, a hint of a hope In his wide eyes

Doctor: There is a cure, but that’s where the bad news enters play

Patient: Hit me doc

That hint of hope takes a dive off a metaphorical cliff, the patient slumping back into blissful uncaring

Doctor: As long as you’re you, you’re screwed to hell and back

Patient: The cure?

A fatalistic tone creeping into the patient’s voice

Doctor: Personality transplant, a rope store and a supporting beam, tall cliffs…

If it’s possible, the patient sinks further into his chair

Doctor: or the magic bullet cure…

Patient: Magic bullet cure?

A pair of sly eyes look cautiously into the doctor’s resigned glare

Doctor: It’s called a ‘Relationship’ and most normally functional people have them, it’s where two people live together and generally help each other, love each other and a whole bunch of positive side-effects

Patient: Where do I get one of these?

Sly eyes withstanding, hope still six feet under and refusing to budge however

Doctor: First you have to stop been depressed, anti-social, OCD, sleep better, eat better and be normal, then you have to like pink, be sensitive, open up to people, be sociable and  express emotion

The patient’s grim smile shines through with cynical flare

Patient: Great… Where’s the nearest rope store then?!

The doctor not sure if it’s a joke or a real request!

How to avoid the unavoidable?

I offer a simple quandary;

If a man is his own worse enemy, how does he escape himself?

How does a person with control issues manage his own control systems?

If a man is wired to self-destruct, how can he prevent his own destruction?

As for the rest of the wise words you would expect of this post, if I knew what they were I wouldn’t be asking!

Wait… the words of wisdom and clarity are upon me… the contemplative summary “You’re screwed”!!

Upon The Forge

As he stands upon the forge, shattered dreams in his hand

A warriors pride to conceal the pain, of comrades lost and battles fought

The demons blade that made him bleed, in a conflict old and long fought

Now his weapon of choice, the one that to his enemies he is defined

He’s blood soaked glory and heavy purse, a blessing corrupted over time

As into wars he is thrown, to satisfy his lust for fame and pay redemptions fine

The heroes of old are to him a curse, for they spread their word of honour decayed

Heroes a new always forgetting his name, as for fames sake they challenge his blade

As he stands upon the forge, shattered dreams in his hand

As red as the life flowing in his veins, now running from the mortal wound

A life spent killing and its inevitable end

Too late to repent

Too late to be saved

The final blow

A long awaited friend

As he takes the offer

Of the reapers hand

See also Tarnished and Scratched, I Lay upon the Blade

Tarnished and Scratched, I lay upon the Blade

Like the tarnished and scratched blade I appear the worse for wear

But before the fires of the forge claim back what makes me great

Know that the edge with which I strike is as sharp as hell

And with untold rage burns twice as hot as any demonic blaze


Though I speak of weapons that may only be blessed in endless war

The flames of untold rage that reek of happiness gone stray

There is but one power that may stay my jaded hand and acidic touch

A poison that with one drop can make good the promise of life

A Question of Potential

A man is made of many things, everything and anything that could make him the vilest of humanities wretches or the saintly image of a person so good in nature you would cry tears of joy at the mere thought of them. Through the subjective lens of life it gets even harder to define what qualities are tied into either side of the moral divide, however the actual potential to be good or evil is where my restless conscious finds itself today and the immortal question; Why?

As anyone who follows my posts will have gathered I am a permanent resident of the dark realms, such things as pretty rainbows and sparkly notions of goodness tend not to hold sway over my lightless mind, equally said however is that to those who know me I am a good person with strong moral and ethical convictions. In relation to my musings I would highlight how the ‘Anti-Hero’ is now a staple of the cinema world; to name more recent examples would take too long, the anti-hero in my view exhaling the ruthless qualities of villains whilst adhering to codes of honour any good guy would be proud of.

This walk of fancy itself is inspired by the disturbing conclusion that with all my faults I would be the most perfect antithesis of who I actually am, how without the mysterious forces that keep the less forgivable aspects of my personality in check I would be the villainous wretch as opposed to the noble hero I portray in public life. Such revelations carry with them a weight to be noted in the very least, as much as I would rather prefer to confine them to places outside of my conscious mind.

So I ask the question; If we all possess the potential to go both directions of the moral compass, what is it that makes go left instead of right?

An equally powerful question is this; Would you really want to know when it is the threatening thin line between embracing the values of honest goodness, or falling into the tempting allure of selfish whims?

It is of course easy for me to say arbitrary terms like good, evil, heroes and villains but the truth is we live a world of ever shifting greys where even the most pious have their weaknesses, vices or triggers for less acceptable acts as I ponder my own regrettable moments in a regret ridden life to date. But of course we all share the same inescapable weakness; the cause for events that have defined centuries of achievement and equally extraordinary destruction, that weakness simply summed up in a singularly perfect word ‘Humanity’.

So let us be the best humans we can be!

Warriors Curse Pt2

As the warrior draws breath, in-between battles and conflict, he cries with unholy tones ‘Show yourself demons, and be named’ as fresh hordes besiege him

The demons only he knows await his fall, as he looks on with resentment at those soldiers who have won their war, with the spoils that have been awarded them

But somehow with only shreds of faith he fights on, his sword sustaining him ‘Bring forth your hordes and I shall fell them’ he cries as the battle continues, and what little hope he has left is pushed further down

Knowing only that life will one day run out of excuses to deliver what he knows he deserves, even if by then he is broken and bloody, able only to laugh for a moment before his end

The Christmas Post, in November


The Festive Season

Happy Holidays

Words to that effect, the enlightened words that summon my own feelings towards ‘Christmas’ hath decided to avoid the page

The preparations begun, gifts in their wrappings and money exchanged, even the meal booking at the ‘Pub to end all Pubs’  will be concluded by end of day tomorrow to boot. For the next torturous month and a half I will be fighting off a severe case of the ‘Bar Humbugs’ as the familiar urge to visit that rope store builds momentum, on the plus side there are no exposed support beams in or around the flat complex I live in!

On a scale of expectation, highest point been the clinking of egg nogged glasses in front of that toasty heath and safety breaching fire, the lowest involving the words “Santa, please kill me this year” as said person rocks gently in the darkened corner, I will be hanging somewhere just off the halfway mark and exchanging words with my old friend depression.

Now before I hand out the anti-depressants I must confess this post isn’t actually the Christmas post to which my deceptively worded title refers, that honour will be held back for the fevered handwritten notes last week inspired, to be fervidly typed into my netbook at the pub as I book my solitary Christmas meal tomorrow. As for the less than flattering words describing the merry band of emotions I will be feeling for the next painful six weeks, you may have thought I left out the positive twist at the end of this seasonal tale but alas the positive twist is swinging in Errol Flynn style to save the day.

Like Scrooge I will have three visitations this Christmas in my less dramatic version of the story, Friends, Family and Macaroni cheese, each will fulfil their traditional role of reminding me about the ‘True meaning of Christmas, yay yay’ and by the 25th I will be full of festive cheer. Although the fact I have two weeks off and nothing remaining of this crappy years attempts to kill me hanging over my head, nothing to do with my festive cheer what so ever, honest!

So watch out for the real Christmas post; ‘Macaroni Cheese on Christmas Day’ and have a happy November