BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

"My brain hurts!" ... "We'll have to have it out, then."

Ouch. Why do I seem to get a nasty headache every Sunday? I don't drink, so it's not a Saturday-night hangover. I didn't go to Church today, so it's not dependant on that whole deal. Bleh. Not fun. Maybe it's a "contact hangover" from living down here (Rush St.) and I'm just resonating to the green beer hangover vibe that I'm sure it out there this morning.

While I've not been able to identify any particular side-effects from the Celexa, I have been very tired. DAMN! Why do all these things make me sleepy??? I suppose that (for most folks) something that was speedy would NOT be very good for anxiety ... but I don't mind being hopped up, I just want to get to the point where dealing with financial stuff doesn't spin me off into panic attacks, stuttering, and general mental shut-down! I guess the problem is is that what I'm WANTING is what I used to get (back in my 20's) from combining way too much Gin with way too much speed ... the Gin would shut down all the bothersome bits of my brain and the speed would keep the useful bits up and functioning. Actually, Opium had pretty much the same effect on me ... I suppose if I was living in Kathmandu, I could just get the corner pharmacy to fix me up with a nice Opium supply! I don't suppose there's any chance of this shrink working up a scrip for it (yeah, I know ... I'm drifting into Burrough's Junky persona ... it's always there beneath the surface anyway).

Well, got another new poem. Back in the Process days I suppose they'd say I was becoming more Luciferian (to those with that background, I was typically more of a J/S than any sort of L) from some of the "fall" themes coming up. Of course, that particular mytholgical theme has hung with me, the "fallen into this debased world" concept, which surfaces from time-to-time. Oh, well ... give it a click ... I think tonight I'll be updating the archive with the stuff from March so far.

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                    FALLEN STATUS, SO DEBASED

                    forms of such desperation
                    in the unaccepting day,
                    we wander blindly,
                    searching out one thing
                    which would institute a change
                    and would make the darkness
                    compile into that light
                    so desired within

                    we walk among the dead,
                    somnolent, grey and dull,
                    they won't know this light
                    were it to well within;
                    they'd stir in slumber
                    and utter pleas in sleep
                    to synch to the mass,
                    the zombie shuffle life

                    always alone here,
                    without allies,
                    without aid;
                    cast on the rocky shore
                    of this mundane world
                    with no fire, no food,
                    no shelter and no way
                    to see my home again

                    how did we lose
                    that station,
                    that excellence,
                    that gleaming state
                    of prior worlds?
                    how came we here,
                    cast so low,
                    abased into this pain?

                    dreams and visions rise
                    within unrested brains
                    the messages they bring
                    are unscrutable and vague
                    but point to something
                    some hidden key
                    deep behind the surface
                    ever far away

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp

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