[November 7th, 2019]

another night

(week)

of wanting to die

which no potential Future

no quantity or quality of Life

of any kind

can possibly justify

Midas reversed

everything I touch

or that touches me

plagued by nausea

post-haste

irritation

frustration

sickening states

of every colour and kind

I can't lay claim

to one single golden nugget

which I can hold on to

through my days of senseless

perpetual movement

inside a void

towards nihil and nada

tears and surging rage

the need to walk away

you and me

dear Empty

dear overwhelming Voice

till Death do us part

[7 Octobre 2019]

sur le rond du fond
mon inquiétude mijote
un peu oubliée

je te sens
lointaine
mais à peine
à la périphérie
de la proximité

une dérape et
on pourrait me convaincre
que j'ai tout imaginé

[August 13th, 2019] [Updated]

During what passes as the Summer’s apotheosis in this part of the globe, when it almost seems as if the season has been here forever and will most likely go on indefinitely, a trip to the spirit-ground of my youth. Kingdom of Rich Lands, indeed…

It would be impossible to show or convey what I felt today, there. The vibrations of a place where the vegetation is more luxurious, the sky deeper, the clouds dripping with hazy glory, all the detail-crowded corners significant, every ugly building a landmark, the very center of the world for this individual, the only place he can honestly call home... thinking that in fifteen years or so (when his responsabilities have shifted, when his sentence has been served, when the debilitating solitude which is already so strong will have reached its apparent zenith, without any hope of a reprieve, time or his own frustrated abrasive psyche having made sure to carefully remove everyone from his proximity) moving back here might be just what he needs… a return to its comforting stagnating stillness and haphazardly covered-up wildness, even though so much of it has been destroyed or bastardized, depressing while looked at disconnectedly yet still infused with a palpable resonating pervading presence… the site of an unfolding dense weary mystery, in which to slowly decline and eventually disappear into...

Of course it's quite clear that it might just be the sudden unpacking of another life-era's condensed essence that is flooding the brain, and not the actual objective special worth of the place itself... powerful acute attack of longing for one’s childhood, that near-yet-far period where one’s existence was fulfilled and without scars, before the culmination of overpowering traits de caractère which would end up taking so much space, defining and circumscribing the whole of a neurotic life (and life-style).

Janus Manifest, all at once and simultaneously, as ever… in this present instance, the past (gold), the present (enchantment), the future (promise)... while at the same time hearing whispers of the poisoned opposite (silly innocence) (pitiful nostalgia) (pathetic delusion), going on nonstop, droning boring unmerciful self-proclaimed Voice of Lucidity.

[10 Août 2019]

sans les doutes moindres
avancer sans savoir trop
ce qu'il en est ou retourne
ou quand ou comment
ou pour quoi

laissant les êtres
être ce qu'ils sont
absorbé par leur nature
leurs échos & leurs voix
souhaitant minimiser
mes éclats ainsi que
tous mes dits

les mots morts
d'eux-mêmes
traînant encore
parmi les décombres
empestant l'atmosphère
infectant l'idéation

en arriver à trouver
que sa seule présence
est un outrage ou un affront
détritus à la face du Ciel
qui promet
aventure &
fantaisie
mais ne rend que
frénésie &
éclairs

sur la table
--- dehors ---
lumière obscure
germée du Soleil

[5 Août 2019]

sa journée terminée
enfin seul et allégé
le paquet d'os retire sa peau
dans ses appartements il s'agite
fait comme s'il avait un coeur
plein de douleurs et d'espoirs
il gémit et il larmoie
sans larmes sans salive
lamentant la vacuité de ses bras
et l'absence de sa tombe

le crâne
ayant été vidé
de sa substance
de sa moelle
de sa vie
les orbites vacantes
se tournent vers les arbres
agités par le vent

[August 3rd, 2019]

i want to get away
further up
further down
anyplace
but here
so that I can
breathe
and spread
my tendrils
in a way
that’s both
healthy and sane

you, pretty you
won’t you spread
with me?

Idéation Suicidaire & Médication -- Un Collage

- Si ça me rend zombie pis insensible pis vide, tant pis, m'en crisse. Je ne veux plus (ou suis plus capable) de continuer "sobre". Je pense que j'ai accepté qu'à la base j'ai plus envie de vivre. Mais qu'il le faut (pour mes enfants). Alors donc qu'il me faut quelque chose pour m'aider à continuer malgré tout.
- Tu seras ni zombie ni insensible. Juste moins vulnérable.
- Je le souhaite. Mais à ce stade-ci j'accepte tout. Si ça m'enlève ma fatigue constante, je serai déjà content.

* * *

Écoutant la chanson Nothing Disease de Siskiyou (https://siskiyou.bandcamp.com/track/nothing-disease), j’en viens à la pensée que les effets secondaires multiples (et parfois contradictoires) qui sont associés aux antidépresseurs (idéation suicidaire, anxiété, dépersonnalisation, insomnie, dépression, maux de tête, etc.) reflètent dans le fond les maux collectifs dont souffre la communauté humaine globale (non pas un hive mind mais un hive heart), mais que nous n’admettons individuellement que quand la vulnérabilité est révélée ou exposée, de facto.

* * *

the cursed moment when a tangled spot of oft-visited Doubt is trampled to the point of becoming a place of complete and utter Conviction, where resound statements of unarguable failure, justified resignation, and irrefutable arguments towards exile, exodus, self-exclusion

* * *

i’ve already commited suicide
a million times over
blown my brains with numbness
blasted my veins with soma
lungs drowned, way down inside myself

inert
dead already
a haunt
not touching anyone
not talking to anybody
not going anywhere
not doing anything
just putting in my time

* * *

inward weeping
lost O lost
to everyone
to everything

* * *

I’m sick of the 21st Century, I can’t bear to look at anything for too long, it all reeks of Babylonian cacophony, end of the world angst and the poisonous blooming flowers of thriving hatreds.

* * *

Tenter par des moyens artificiels d’être plus fonctionnel (sans pour autant parler de "guérison"), parce qu’autrement je n’en ai ni la force ni la volonté. S’obliger au mieux-être, autrement dit.

* * *

the last recourse :
turn your back on your true self
fake your way into a Life
you have no appetite for

* *

- La fin de semaine arrive, j'espère que tu vas pouvoir dormir.
- Oui... quoique j'ai l'impression que c'est plus qu'une question de sommeil, et plus que ce qu'une fin de semaine peut régler.

[July 24th, 2019]

light-headed tremulous stance
discarded garnets of preciosity stuck in my shoe
cut off from the scraping elevations above
dismantling & re-aggregating artifacts
in my double-vaulted chambers

stumbling through painful queries:
“who would miss me if I was gone?
would not my departure alleviate worries?
certainly it would mine…”

eyes glazed over
like a wastrel sent to war
living on borrowed time
after a trifling infusion
of cast-off, diffuse nepenthe

[July 22nd, 2019] Another dream-revelation

Another dream-revelation, this one having to do with my alienation (real and perceived).

In it, I was some kind of adult Asperger/autistic/schizoid misfit, finding myself in multiple situations (in a semi-professional context) where I was faced with mutual misunderstandings of various kinds. Following me around was an invisible intermediary of sorts which only I could see, which would sometimes offer me advice as to how to deal with a particular conflict or social dead-end. Mostly he told me to quit my elaborate elucubrations which were infuriating everybody, to keep it simple and to say: “I’m sorry but I don’t understand what’s going on or what’s expected of me.”

Then I would was away from work, enjoying my solitary leisure time. Going to the pool every day, I would meet the same girl every day, so (not knowing any better) I approached her and said something like:

“Almost every day for a few months now, crossing your path at the same spot around the same time, and every time you’re a vision to me. I have a little bit of a crush on you. I wonder if maybe we could be friends?”

Very seriously she answered that it was impossible, and then walked away giggling with her friends. Somewhat dejected, I went on with my planned swim, concentrating on holding my breath for as long as possible under water. At some point I noticed that the pool was now filled with dozens of little baby platypuses doing an elaborate and synchronized underwater dance. For a few minutes I forgot everything and was amazed at being in this special swimming pool where humans can bond with animals in such a harmonious fashion (although no doubt it was all in my mind and only I could see the wondrous spectacle).

That’s pretty much all I remember, but it seems to sum up so much of my existence…

Excluded from the not-so-secret Society of Normality since forever-ago, alienated from its foreign-to-me code-words, brandings, rituals, expectations, obligations, opinions (and desperate need of opinions). Having internal scenarios and conversations as a way to process life as I experience it. Systematically falling for faraway beauties which I have no chance of ever getting close to (because although I am simplistically honest, that doesn't mean it's possible or even desirable to establish any kind of proximity with me). All of this leading to a tightening cycle of self-exclusion. Living for chance moments of solitary wonder and enjoyment, always too short, almost exclusively relying on imagination, like a mere little supplement to adorn the main fabric of my societal existence which is toil, incomprehension, constantly striving to please others but always resulting in irritation and/or disappointment for all parties involved.

[8 Juillet 2019]

Sentant le mal-en-manque, du mauvais côté de l’esprit, comme une entité affamée qui sent la proximité de sa dose depuis trop longtemps perdue,

sur le point de sauter dans un autre mode d’appréhension (cette fois peut-être pour de bon),

je ressens le besoin d’enregistrer l’affirmation suivante (même si ce n’est que pour moi-même):

ras-le-bol de la Réalité, ou peu importe quelle portion de cette dernière je suis en mesure de conjurer sans aide externe dans ce crâne qui est le mien; que le Réel aille se faire foutre: je ne veux plus que son facsimilé rehaussé et falsifié, d’ici jusqu’à la fin

en espérant que ça fasse taire la Voix de façon définitive, même si ça veut dire l’étouffement de toute ma personne par le fait même, et que ça fait de moi un automate insensible, impassible et vide.