Of Poison

read Of Pontus (part 1)

It now actually is day 6 and I'm confused. Shouldn't I be legally psychotic by now? I'm not acting rationally, because rationally I should go to the fucking hospital. But these irrational nondecisions are driven by concerns rationally par enough for one's who go quiet at night; embarrassment, employment concerns, too scared to drive a car, the like. But I have developed no delusions- well, I guess by definition a delusion would go untraced. Huh.

Shit.

"-like I'm going crazy" holds a position in our lexicon where because it's so common and instinctual the words within the phrase melt from sentence to word to tone, a form of self-expression similar to a laugh or smile or frown. To have a genuine and justified concern of losing your mind carries such a primal form of frustration and terror that the aforementioned words better serve the phrase; they're of no use in description of the depth, and depth is not something begging description. Let Dante hold that honor and let him hold it forever, the glory has been mined, the vein is dry. This bed feels like Kafka's, my life in his eyes is like his words by others held divine: I don't really get it, I'm not convinced anyone else does, and I mean you could chill on being so mean.

I wrote once, or perhaps read and copied, In the waters my mother drowned I will learn to swim. I didn't believe it when I wrote it, certainly not when I was (metaphorically) drowning, and not now. I must have slept while laying down and not realized. I don't think it's actually possible to be awake so long and still have a short of sanity left.

I finally slept. I won't describe my dreams. Can't. Both. They were Kafkaesque, which in context is even more Kafkaesque. Or would it be doubled? Cancel eachother out? Could emotion have an equation? Values to be added and subtracted? Personality? Soul?

Ah, the old new tab:

"He gathered all that springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round."

Pretty.

"They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white's their shi-"

I just realized a real, legitimate belief I have is I'm too good looking to die yet. I'm also too tired to be ashamed or embarrassed.

"Them it was their poison hurt.
—I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old."

Haha well no, he was born old. Tired and old, that's what should be told.

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medium | twitter

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Quoted poem segments from "Terence, this is stupid stuff" by A.E. Housman

AYE I'M GOOD: I'm getting a lot of comments about the importance of sleep and stuff, and while the concern is appreciated, these pieces are based off experiences over 2 years old. Fiction basically. Sleeping fine.