Running Out – a musing



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.



Solipsist’s Dream – a poem



Pain is the solipsist’s ultimate fantasy,

The dread light dreaming on hale darkly,

Like a sickness born from diseased rats

Let loose into the circulatory stream

Of an organism wondrous in the horror

It too oft indulges.


A system undying that feels as if it withers

Under the sensations crooning out cut rhythms

Of what hurts incessant, overactive signals

Streaming through the plasma blood aether,

The pulses broader than what they are,

Iron a steaming puddle dream.


Let fly the nightmares of agony, various

Creatures alive only in explosion, akin

To the bomb, living in the falling, never

Else other than to hibernate, honey made

In the skulls of demons, poisoned sweetness

Swarming as the enraged hive.

Internalised Hive – a poem

These pictures, all silent, tell stories

Staved in by mallets of the dull imaginings

From dead minds as dry as gravestones

Covered in the rotting weed tangles;



The insect hordes of illimitable idols

Rear up against the tales of vegetable

Brains in jars, to demand more, asking

Long shown to be futile, pictures still;