The psychotropics killed my "juice", or at least forced it cowering into a darkened cob-webby place. Last year, when I started this blog, there was depression, emotional trauma and re-evaluation, aborted bliss, and submission to vice. Those posts seem eons more creative than the blather I paste on here of late. The only time I feel the "juice" percolating is late at night in those furry moments twixt slumber and conscience, stirring restlessly around the edges of cognizance and probing tentatively at the caged volatility imprisoned by a serotonin task master.
In deference to the sanity of family, hearth and MBA, I will continue to obey the commands of my chemical jailers until such time as I can release the "juice" to wreak havoc with my liver, lungs and psyche producing sublime and quixotic verse. How I long for the rush of expressions fighting to be first to the nib... Mmmmm but the price is high.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
No comments:
Post a Comment