A dark veil drops
It’s static
On fire
On electric
Energy sparking like
Wild fire
Burning up the soul as fuel
Purifying, culling, alienating, drowning
With high elasticity
Impacting on chests
Heads flying around
Severed from their torsos
They fly without intent
Like lazy bottleflies
On speed.
The curtain draws back
And
The smoke machine eases off
Invisible hands with intangible purpose
Place 3D glasses onto my head
The world has another dimension
Everything in HD…
-It’s a pity it’s all fucking dead.
The sharpness hurts but you cannot and will not dare to miss a millisecond.
A missillisecond.
Memory storage overloads!
Cacophony of alerts!!
Choosing not to mute or drown or burn the warehouse down!!!
Is very hard.
Yet, I’m pretty sure the insurance would sky-rocket if I let anything happen to it again…
So: I drop the match,
Call to a halt the tsunami,
Sing the hurricane to sleep
And start climbing up
to a solitary spot on a beautiful rock and
I sit.
I" woke up one morning, or rather, I opened my eyes. I hadn't been able to sleep for more than a few hours and the dreams I did have had been erratic, energetic and disturbing. Not sleeping is often one of the first signs for me that I'm at risk of manic behaviour. I've never been diagnosed but self-analysis and observation makes it impossible to ignore the similar patterns of my behaviour and a less debilitating, fast cycling form of bipolar disorder. This means that in addition to the depressive episode I narrate in 'Live Episode', I sometimes feel on top of the world, but it's often a bit strange. In the past, this mood had led me to drink to excess, indulge in narcotics and generally make bad decisions and put myself in danger. I've learnt since then and this poem is about recognising, announcing and coping with the nervous energy I feel during these times."