Where do I begin?
This blog was the escape route, plan B, a door to one side, from the blog I began with good intentions but had to curtail when certain people became aware of it. This blog has a danger within it, now, too, for all that is in my mind to write could be viewed by people who have become aware of it, and because nothing I do is planned out smoothly, or considered, I have wrapped myself up in knots of “politeness”, and “behaviour”. Caught out by my own “behaviour” one too many times…Where do I begin?
The distance between specific incidents and the present numbs not the pain I feel about lonliness, about concern for the unease I feel with every day…That which I could say has to be censured, for it is too easy to make vague points clear to certain eyes. No-one is that dumb. These words are not secrets. Although, sadly, they are. Tomorrow, I will wake up in a court of a faraway land, fed fresh, ripe pomegrantes, and sweet apples, from the golden plates supplied by a generous Arab, from a book I never read, or a dream I did not experience; and when I eat this food, I will be pleased, and generous, and grateful, but not satisfied, for I never am…
Where was I going with this? Everything needs to be explained. I despair at my country’s governance. The continued, frightening authoritarian streak of a government beyond all reasonable checks and balances. I am angered that the act of smoking weed, in my house, in my time, is an act which could throw me into gaol whilst “cold-turkey” drug addicts are given compenstation for their time without their horrid, soul-destroying ‘golden sugar’. Police around my city are raiding every house they’ve ever known about secretly, to crush the trade they do not understand. Economic benefits of decriminalising cannabis have never been so clearly obvious.
Then, in the rain, I cry, for I always do in times like this…Those who know me see it as “part of my character”. Currently, though, there is no character. My usual reaction to certain “personal” issues is to envoke friendships, honesty, love, and of course all that remains true, but for once I can hear just how terribly boring it all is. And one day is not very good, which grows questions in my mind about every word I have ever spoken, and every decision ever made; then I am watching American Psycho with one of my best mates, quietly stoned; or at a book club, swilling wine and trying to discuss a book I didn’t get round to reading, and….the quiet is too obvious.
Everything makes sense, clearly. Troubled. But to whom do I speak? The obvious answers, and their equvilant truths in reality, do not match. Of course I know my friends are there for me, all that is something I have spoken, and need never speak of again, unless, unless…There has to be something else. I write in my diaries, in my silent room, in my room where nothing happens other than thought, and sleep, and I read my earlier diaries, where the voice remains as haunting, as worried, and concerned….And everything makes sense.
Not sure if the recent weeks have been good or ultimately disastrous for me. I will have to come up with more answers, in time, to questions I cannot remember framing.