I had a brain-itch early this morning. I obviously need to keep paper and pen by the bed, so that when the cogs in my mind get jammed, I will sound less the idiot and more the poet. And I may even be able to get back to sleep.
You tend to think things like this, when your life runs as mine does: backwards and upside down and sideways. Askew. But the creek runs clear for those that need a drink; you either see it or you don't.
Sometimes, the Dark is all you have left.
Madness? I wish. Perhaps if I heard the voices, it would explain the laughter. Or at least the joke. I believe Poe had it right: Sanity is, at best, overrated. Boring. Dull. There is a fine line between genius and insanity. Fortunately, I know I am not a genius.
But insane? Un-sane. Perhaps.
I am at times a walking contradiction. There is a certain dark joy to me here lately. Or a joyful darkness, I am not sure which. I do not know if it is the weather, or hormones, or merely a shift. It is frightening and exhilarating all the once. Where am I going?
I need a sign-post. Or at least, a map.