Personal Blog
Defection: A Poem 6-25-2015
Category: Personal Blog
Tags: Poetry

Behind the façade

And behind my lips

A mental defection 

Has just taken place.

“We must medicate it -

Kill, eradicate it

Contain and remove it

Before disease spreads.”

 

You shove me some paper

And a glass of water.

A bottle beside me.

Hushed whispers behind me.

I need medicated,

‘Cause I opened my trap;

I must be sedated

‘Cause I uttered such crap.

 

You’re part of the problem

The reason I’m mute

You’re part of the riots

Protests, and dispute.

Be quiet 

Be still

Be seen and not heard

A nation built loudly

But relies on silence.

This venom runs deeper

Than pills or injection

Our sweet education’s

For sheeple

(not people)

We pay for the books

But bow to their knowledge

They promise us money

Then bleed wallets dry.

And as we recover

To speak for ourselves

They throw the book at us:

We’re sentenced to silence.

 

And behind the scenes

We peacefully suffer,

Content with this knowledge

Yet no words to use it

You’ve broken our will, so

No urge to enact it,

And because we stand voiceless,

No science to exact it.

 

We let anxious felines

At our tongues with ease

As allergens gather

We stifle the sneeze.

Not questioning actions

We’re bribed with transactions

Such small satisfaction

At such a great cost.

The freedom of living

Cost us freedom of speech

We endorse these abuses

And trade off the loss.

 

You’re part of the problem

When you’ve birthed the silence

And nourished this monster

To cosmic proportions

Then when lives are taken

And all heck breaks loose,

You throw cocktail bottles

And tighten the noose.

Behind the façade

American lips

A mental defection

Has just taken place.

No matter my gender,

My sex, or my race,

I’ve broken these stitches;

I’ve opened my face.

 

Now, where’s that darn pill bottle…?

My own way #2
Category: Personal Blog
Tags: health illness mental health my own way healing

The re-evaluation of my life. A strange feeling. Weird energies flow from the gut to the throat, pouring out like so much vomit. A forced re-evaluation of priorities and values, brought on by illness, stress and madness.

 

Previously, my aim in life was some form of success. From writing, or drawing. Not even success as such. I just wanted to earn a decent living from doing what I love. I`m not good at that much, honestly. I`m good at drawing and writing, fairly well versed in the production of alcoholic beverages and decent enough at gardening. I`m also very good at one other thing. But that`s between me and my wife, you filth. Heh. Weird energies from the gut again.

 

My goal was economic independence, an important goal for me. Seems it`s dead in the dust now, these strange pains and horrid lack of energy engulfing me, wrapping me in a web and rendering me – quite simply – too weak to work as hard as I need to, or want to, in order to achieve financial independence. It sucks. Drawing or writing for 60 minutes straight drains me of energy to such an extent that I struggle with the most basic tasks of life the rest of the day. With this as a baseline, it should go without saying that the amount of work needed to suceed in my previous goal is nigh impossible for me to attain. Not to mention the inevitable stress from success. Can`t cope, won`t cope, shutdown.

 

So what to do? I`ve never wanted to do anything other than what I have always done. Or always wanted to do, for that matter. Seems strange, though. This incredible focus on a career, of sorts. There are more important things in life. For sure. And of course. It still does not detract from the fact that I am stuck with this strange feeling of wasted potential, a life not well spent. And as such, I struggle to feel fulfilled. Sitting around wasting time is not my thing: I used to be fairly busy, active, always doing something. Now there is too much downtime, as I need to relax and come to my senses after doing the most mundane tasks. There is an incredibly ugly depression just hanging around the corner, waiting to pounce on me if I am not careful and keep my wits about me. Always on guard, lest I fall into selfpity, or worse, selfanalysis. I had two years worth of severe introspection. I don`t think I need any more at the moment. It`ll do for a lifetime. The extreme fatigue gets worse with depression, as well as the physical pain.

 

Channeling the energy spent on creating outwards, I found calm and relaxation in my family: wife, two dogs. Domestic bliss for a domesticated primate. Interests and hobbies, passions and fascinations that don`t spend my energy-reserves abound, as long as I manage to see them through the thin, lacy veil of depression. I found a renewed passion for homebrewing and gardening last year, as I struggled to regain some control over my perplexed apathy. Some not-too-heavy physical activites that really brighten my day. I can spend long hours conjuring up a new recipe for some strange and beautiful wine, cider or beer. And then there is the joy of the process, when all the pieces of the recipe is at hand and the hard work begins – all the boiling and mashing and stirring and so-and-such. The wait for it all to mature, and the giddiness from the first tasting – a year or so later. It is a true spectacle, a monument to a patience I thought long gone in 2015, when my concentration-span suffered a harsh detour due to a severely racing mind, madness erupting from the chrysalis.

The same can be said for gardening. The smell of the soil, waiting for the seeds to sprout, and later produce fruit. The fantastic feeling of using my hands – doing something, atleast being selfsufficient in a small way. Now, if only I had more room for the plants. All in due time. With patience and persistence, things will fall into place.

 

All throughout this short life of mine, I have loved music. Not playing it – I won`t subject my wife to that torture. It`s probably cause for divorce, come to think of it! I do love listening to music, though. After my illness, I found that those quiet moments where I am able to listen to a record and not do anything else as long as the record lasts are even more important than previously. Taking time to relax – to absolutely relax – is more important now than ever. And music relaxes me in a way nothing else – with the possible exception of meditation – can do. It is a pure, unfiltered drug pouring in through my ears and filling my veins with brilliantine chill, pure beauty.

 

Success is transient. It comes. It goes. It never lasts. Everything eventually passes. With forced and severely limited energy, priorities do shift, values change, what was important before becomes less important in time. I`ll create as I manage, taking my time. And, as such, spent my time on matters that matter. Potential success can suck it. My gut won`t allow it, my fractured body and psyche rendering it unreachable. What`s left to say?@!$%# it. I`m good.

 

- Kim Solvang Andersen, Sandnes, 2018

 

 

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