Saltwater Tibs Versus American Justice

My ideas, thoughts, dreams and feelings are written down and scattered about in a room in my brain. They're laying in odd little piles all over the place, usually I know just where to find them when the right moment comes; just the right quote or musing to pull out of my pocket and give everyone the impression of the witty socalite, filled with a powerful lonliness, an ancient despair which was spawned from the tree of knowledge and he has harnessed, making it a charming and subtle ally.

Last night I left the window open to the room. The wind blew a gust through my curtains, my papers went everywhere. Fragments of my mind were turned about, some of them I couldn't find. I was so out of sorts that I took a risk, and took my Doctor's medicine.

I had been fighting a beast recently, one whose eyes drew sadness up from my soul, rolled in the filth that is the human biological drive and fostered heartache. We've all engaged this monster, in one form or another, and I was confident going into combat with this skeleton in my closet. But the winds of change held a surprise on its tongue. My faculties failed me, my sight shut down, my droll witticisms were in remiss. The beast lunged at me, somehow my extra sensory perception warned me and I managed to duck, with him only taking a slice out of my arm. I scoured the floor for my mental provisions, he was behind me now, I could hear his sharp shallow breathing, gutteral noise, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. My blood slowly dripping onto the floor.

Drip.
Drip.
Drip.

Then, with the speed of a cheetah running fast for breakfast, he lunged. I became disorientated, he was on my chest, swipping at my neck, trying to remove my heart. The air was thick with my blood and I could sense the metalic iron in my nose. I was swinging wildly, trying to get the beast off of me. I think I failed. I was consumed by a velvetly darkness and lost consciousness.

"Feeling abit abstract Tibs?" Augustus asks, looking in on me in my bedroom.

"Huh?" It is light out, the weepy events of the night seem to have passed, the sun shines through my curtains and dries the pavement from the early dawn rain. I feel out of it. Feverish. My head is light and my mind feels blank, as if God just took an eraser to my third eye. I feel drained of ambition and seriously begin to wonder where I placed my marbles. There is no blood on my floor, no vomit, only a torrent of spinned blankets, ripped paper (and in the far corner) a smashed coffee mug.

I get up, preform as little maintence as possible, and go for a walk in the humid overcast street. I go to grab a warm coffee from the local grindhouse and listen to the tick tick tick of my laces bouncing off my shoes. The sound spurns my thoughts, and I begin to find myself weaving a web of dispair in my mind's eye.

"Get a fucking grip Tibs." I start to feel a familiar release in my skull, sending shivers into my quivering muscles, an emission of my neurotransmitters, clincally known as depression, commonly known as the "fucking miserables". Why? What the fuck is wrong with me? My feet carry me past a red brick building on Pitt St. I look over and see a woman helping her child out of the back of an SUV. I continue to walk, a lone figure on the sidewalk, hundreds of cars racing and zooming up and down the road, heading into a million different directions, or distractions. Why am I the only person walking? Afterall, its supposed to be good for you, body, mind and soul. And yet, I feel as if I'm doing something wrong. I'm heading to work where I'll be surrounded by a thousand different people, plugging away on computers, handling peoples complaints. Whatever, it's a job, pays my bills and keeps me consuming. Consuming? The American Dream. Buying an education, buying a car, buying a house, buying 2.5 children. North American Nightmare.

Is this the beast I've been wrestling with? This collective unconscious nightmare? This strange blend of autocratic, patriarchal and economic shit soup? Or could it be something less expansive, and considerably less noble, like a lonesome heart. Either way there's not much I can do about it, so why does the beast exist in the first place? Some redundant, useless mental roadblock designed to unleash horrors in my bedroom at 1:30 in the morning? Some subconscious desire to break my ex-girlfriend's coffee mug? Or just some curse placed on me by some preceived rival or worthless nuisance.

Of course, it would be more helpful if I watched where I was walking, instead of wallowing in my own misery. Then I wouldn't be hit by these damn cars.

From the recovery ward,

S. Tibs