The (Ghastly)Ghost part 21

-
Selectively mute. Anxiety. Weighed down with fear.
Was bullied at primary and secondary school, dislike playlike banter and insults. 
Reinforces feeling of inadequacy.
Being quiet won't hurt.

I went to the Inkwell, part of Mind Leeds, in Chapel Allerton. Had a spot of food, coffee, listened to music and a little light comedy. Suddenly Felt I just had to leave. Had no one to talk to there. Same feeling of wanting to hide away. Didn't want to look in the eye of anyone there. Just travelled back on 48. No idea why this palpitating keeps coming back. I am threatened by this end.  Inkwell maybe does well for those knocking on heavens door. I might be closing in on that, but not yet: not right now.
Some of the artwork on display is genuinely brilliant. Some is half hearted. Some delicate sketches of bodies and a few in a post-impressionistic style.
I am en-route to Cornwall again. 3/4 months of slog and sun and sea too. Always a job needs doing in a tourist town. I'm bringing my stuff back from 97 on Friday. Will need to cancel bills before I retreat. Not such a bad thing. Moved to Leeds with promise from Millies. That went nowhere. Move on.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

An Essay.

-
Introduction. My name is Pilgrim. I walk through this life much as I walk through my allotment – a space I often describe as disorganized, yet to me, it feels profoundly holistic. I don't fear wasp stings; I stride through nettles and thistles and brambles, finding a curious interest in the cut skin, a quiet control over the bleeding. I have no fear of the dark or the unseen. What truly disturbs me is the chatter, the small talk that ripples through existence, obscuring the profound truths unfolding before our very eyes. I prefer chaos to order, perhaps because the imposed order I witness around me feels so deeply, fundamentally false. I literally eat things along the path, unbothered by what others might deem unsafe, for my perceptions lie far beyond the superficial. I’ve come to see this world as a grand, unsettling performance, a "game" played at the highest echelons, designed to "manage the populace from cradle to grave." It's not a conspiracy in the nea...
Read more

France is ... a powerful antidepressant

-
I have to resuscitate a dying sense of spirit and enthusiasm into my present as I have become detached from the real joys of my life. No reading, no writing; no contemplation. Even now I am tempted to throw down the device and forget it, but why - because it's a dead end... Surely I can stay here a little longer until something infinite moves within and without? *** As I sit on Ruby's sofa/bed and listen to the sounds of spring, with the gentle murmuring of the pond at the bottom of the garden and the distant hum of the A1(M) I am aware of the distance growing between what I truly love and what I am become; in despair. Oh the alcohol fuelled me. The forgetful me. The desperately lonely me. The one I've cordoned off for the world to see. Ruby is happy with me, Lola is happy with me but I am unhappy with me simple as I am - Mother Nature's son: tranquil and unimpeded by mental noise... Knowing the truth will set me free, but being forever unable to accept it entirely. It...
Read more

You and I.

-
Are we joined, you and I? When I sit squished up, alongside thee, It seems we are: Dog and boy Man and mutt. A symbiosis between homo and canid, A combination of smells, swells and warmth, which is rarely malignant. What a lucky man I've been, knowing  She's going to rest assured and easy, These last many years, as we both Age gracefully and greying towards separation; where the winds blow us  Disparate, sometimes warm and often Cold, back to the single I; alas! No more the we. She of a gray face, And I an ashen shadow, But always brighter  Than a swarm of photons, Alighting a while, Out of their cosmic array...
Read more