So many steps singly taken to bring
Us to this very moment, no longer
Living in the dark, shroom-like,
Conscious decisions made to slippery
Innocuous suggestions realised in
Mirthful humour, giggling rapture
Catches us unaware, although knew
We what lay ahead, or imagined
A form of progression to these things
Lies like coloured sand, unspoken of
With much wonder to yet behold, promises
In minor noises much louder when
We try even harder.
Sulphurous flashbacks brought round
From sleep’s lack in familiar places,
Where it was once so sordid, now
Not a thing to be abhorred, nor
Disdained for the memory only lives,
The inclination and drive to open
Pandora’s Box superceded by more
Than form or social pressures can measure.
Long have I thought myself past
That timid and lying morality,
Self deluding and possessive
Of all futures and possible past.
The now shows that though I may be
Past such things, the owners are not,
Strains of prejudice making rules
For themselves, new ones for others.
“We are all one.” they say, loudly,
“Oh, but not those, they belong not.”;
With one hand all is well, beneath
The other lies an enduring hell.
Today I write of a strange vitality, the harsh wonder of experience. I am running out of painkillers, in a manner I had not anticipated, and while on a family holiday.
Having misjudged my situation I now have 7 Tramadol remaining. Aching from various mental stresses the day before yesterday (yes, mental stuff becomes physically manifest) I attempted buying Cocodamol here in Portugal…but left with strong Ibuprofen instead. Turns out you need a prescription for Coco.
Now I am down to rations.
I had thought I was doing well. No Cocodamol for months now, days off the herbal painkiller Kratom, as well as reduced doses. I brought none of it with me this holiday. I still do not think doing so was a mistake but I did badly miscalculate my needs.
To try and remedy it I had an extra Prozac yesterday. I know, I know, it has longer term effects, but based on how much of the holiday is left I thought the extra Serotonin would help my many pains.
Wish me luck.
They lie, and we must be merciful
With those who say untruths, for
No good will come of aligning with
That collection of self delusion,
Those nay sayers of all, how I hate
Today I break with the usual programming to bring you something different. Instead of the usual poetry (or cheeky vape ting), today’s post is on something else.
On holiday in Portugal for the 2nd time with family, I have taken the opportunity to photograph the graffiti when I can. This graffiti is salient because I have not been able to figure or find out what it means.
No further explanation
(but feel free to tell me!!).
Enjoy the pictures.
Hide, hide it all away, for expression
Is no more than the death of truth
And the nature of man; or so we have
Been told, moulded at ages younger
Than we care to think back to.
Be yourself at dire risk of being
Understood, your anger, wonder, hate,
All are subsumed by that horror hateful
Which seeks to make us into toy dolls
Fit for no more than being show
Items in appalling condition, wasted.