A feeling arises, from inside, like a scream in a hollow room. Something is burning, the roof has taken wing, the blankness of the dark is pouring in and mingling with the blankness inside, two rivers are merging. There is a roar. Is it of water or is it the ghost of the tears that were never shed or the insanely loud dripping of the blood from the parts of me that I have hacked away wildly and threw out into the dirt?

Dust to dust ashes to ashes, everything turns. But what about this hammering of the heart that clacks clacks inside of me as if millions and millions of locomotives are rushing, are converging radically to a single locus, that will soon explode into a mangle of flesh and steel. Insertion of steel into the skin, will that physical bleeding help to stem this tide of endless days within which I have to constanly fight to stand up? I have tried that. It's like adding a drop of water to a vast sea.

Why haven't I learnt anything from an older lesson, that this crazy paraniod world which hoards everything normal: making love, grief, joy, even mere companionship, has nothing to offer but meal after meal of bitter fruit? I soffocate, I need help, I don't know where to run, whom to turn to anymore. I am too far for anyone who can hold me and too close to those who held me but don't want to anymore. How the equations were recast endlessly. To what end, to obtain which elusive happiness?

The narcotic of work is too weak to keep the sea of pain at bay, it breaks all the feeble dikes I build to keep it from rushing in. So like a ship riddled with too many holes and whose pumps are dead, I can't pump out pain fast enough. It hardens into a thick sludge as soon as it enters. I am left gasping for air. I am left caged in this room like a true madman whose signals, S.O.S es sent in the language of grief, escape into the endless space. It is as if who I am calling out to someone is not human but is an extra terrestial or some remote god whose ears are filled with wax.

All I want to do is throw myself against and crash into all these walls that are pressing down upon me like a tank shell. That instant butchering is better that living with this animal gawning at my insides. Everything that is meaningful is disappearing, one bit at a time. Sometimes I feel imaginary teeth running over my bones.

And sometimes I feel like dying. That's all.

My Daily Notes