Tag Archives: depression

Standing Ovation

Back off Death.

The better part of my ego wins today.

 

I still have hilarious stories to tell.

Painful and complicated and hilarious stories.

 

I still have unlikely colors to mix.

Brilliant and elusive and unlikely colors.

 

I still have fantastic people to meet.

Unreachable and stubborn and fantastic people.

 

I still have dangerous places to visit.

Vibrant and undiscovered and dangerous places.

 

I still have impossible shit to do.

Enormous and bewildering and impossible shit.

 

Pardon me for not having time for you today.

If I’m going, I’m going out to a standing ovation.

 

And the performance hasn’t ended yet.

So back the fuck off.

Leftovers

There lie my remains.

Whittled carcass.

As the predator birds

have their final way with me.

 

But what’s left to fight over?

(for those bothering to battle)

Scraps is all.

Leftovers.

Scattered in the cruel desert

which was once my sanctuary.

 

Soon to be bones bleached

white by the sun.

Left, but not buried.

Just scorched memories

and forgotten hope.

Vincent’s Lament (a rewrite)

(apologies for the redundant post, but I like this version better and wanted to share it)

You, rich off the back of

my frenzied labor. Auctioning me off

like those whores I painted.

At least they were up for an honest day’s work.

 

Wildflowers should be wild, you know.

Not withering on dorm room walls under

plastic pushpins and double-sided tape.

 

Where were you when I suffered?

Without a cent to pinch. No one to remove

the monstrous veil blurring my sanity.

But not even Theo. Nor Christ himself

could save me. The green faery

only taking me deeper into Hell.

The ringing in my brain. Relentless thoughts.

Blinding colors. Dizzying motion.

Visceral. Urgent. Competing their way

to the surface ‘till I could no longer breathe.

 

I was the slave of creation.

A little death in each stroke.

My pain, now your beauty. Enjoy it.

Vincent’s Retort

 

I see you,

Littering the earth with my constellations.

Yes, MY my dancing stars, not yours to hang

On tacky dorm room walls

With push-pins and double-sided tape.

 

And you,

Rich off the back of my frenzied labor.

Wildflowers should be wild you know,

Basking in the compassionate sun.

Not withering within your dank, pretentious walls.

 

You don’t know me.

With all your analysis,

And your theories,

And your feigned sympathy

For the cliché’d “tortured artist”.

You are so proud of yourselves.

 

But you have no idea.

I had nothing but the ringing in my brain.

The relentless thoughts,

The blinding colors,

The dizzying motion,

The visceral urgency,

All competing their way to the surface

‘Till I could no longer breathe.

 

I was the slave of creation,

A little death in each stroke.

My pain is now your beauty,

You’d better enjoy it.

Trudge

The black musty stench of it like decaying leaves

Left forgotten to rot on the forest floor

Bombards my senses yet again.

 

It is a pockmarked road,

Littered here and there with sharp obstacles

Like broken bricks just below the sinking surface.

 

I trudge through it slowly, barefoot,

Feeling its acrid slime rise up between my toes,

Sticking like tar and just as hard to remove.

 

Above me the sky is black to match the ground,

Blinding me in both directions.

Another day, another darkness.

I Stand Corrected

Remember a few years back when I wrote this post on how I can only make art when I’m manic? Well lo and behold I think I’ve proven myself wrong. I’ve been on a roll over the last couple of months (as you can see) and it’s been like a dam burst. 12 years of artistic silence and the misconception that my creativity was trapped within my disease. It may have changed a bit, and I’m still trying to find my voice among new materials, palettes, and styles, but I feel free again. I know I’m not manic. In fact if you read back a bit you will see I’ve just emerged from a depression. Maybe the beginning of this exploration (which began while I was on disability for depression) is what helped pull me out of it. The side effect has become the treatment. Go figure.