coronary insanity

i was drinking up and looking through a glass, darkly
weeping i just have to make it through this evening
pulled the curtains i heard them speaking in tongues
about a naive no-one who never tried who was barely more
than a twinkle in his old mans eye but slightly more than
a suicide who met a good listener with perfect words a
closed lipped ventriloquist heart all-a-slur either you
are still with me or you never were either you are still
with me or you never were either you are still with me or

~loveless

Depravity, the Great Equalizer

I was calling it an ineffable sadness, but I heard that it was called "poetic despair."
...Depressive slump works, too.
They descend erratically, the spells, like a staggering drunk, completely unstable and untrustworthy. And completely sickening. If his fix is alcohol, mine apparently is dauntless, zealous, unmitigated self-sabotage. Makes your head swoon and reel. [But it's more fun to participate in the pain than to let it slap you around!]

And then it lifts, remarkably, miraculously, and unreasonably. And I am painfully aware that I am at the mercy of the same cosmic force that governs every single other member of humanity, alike. No different.

"Pain is worn so beautifully on other people."
Oh, if only we were all other people. Then wouldn't we be such glamourouslittlebabydolls.

Poetic despair. It must have been said about other people. I think mine has something to do with my misanthropy. My disgust at Valentine's day, at weapons of mass destruction, at Christians oozing with self-righteousness, and above all else, at this sexual, alcoholic, drug-binging, hedonistic nihilism that neither class, nor location, nor time does escape.

Depravity, The Great Equalizer.

megalomania is sexy

[addressed to a nameless no one}

I said, “I feel invincible. Do you?” You said yeah.
...And I faltered.
Absolute megalomania looked good on you.
Usually the joy is impenetrable, dangerously slaphappy and naïve, and completely erroneous. But such is the paradox of everything I encounter—as soon as I assert its definiteness, a jolt of knowing opposition erupts. Destined to falter.
Troubling, really.

I suppose it’s just some youthful high—and it’s strong as fuck, cause it’s lasted for twenty-two years and still going strong. Giddy with life, in denial about unconcerned with unwilling to process death. Rationally, yes, of course I’m going to die. I’ve been told. But basically, aside from those morbidly obsessed poets and cancer patients and the odd wise-beyond-your-years prodigy, youth are invincible against not feeling invincible.
Ergo, delusional fools. But resilient-ass motherfuckers.

And then it crumbled, for a moment. I don’t think for me. I think it was for you. I could feel all the precious vulnerability of your naked pride, your triumphant delusion; your mortality in stark contrast to your words of might. My throat burned [threatening the onslaught of tears], vice grip in my chest, uncontrollable buckling of my knees. You will dissipate, disappear, descend to the dark of the cosmos. And I feel that, so much more than for myself; after all, when I'm dead and gone, I won't be there to miss me. That, and I love you more than myself.
And then the slaphappy, lovesick, ever-persistent euphoria took hold... ever faithful, on cue.
[Destined to falter.]

Throughout my turbulent, risen-hell, fucked up childhood, I was invincible. Against repeated, methodical, almost mechanical near death experiences; in fact, furthered by triumph over these experiences. I retreated into the mind, with the profound and awesome for my comfort. Death-defiance because the cosmos were on my side. Then daydream and wonder made way for sex drive, though pain still lingered.

And sex drive doesn’t just ignore, it literally attempts to counter death. Someone will live if I don’t—and they’ll be like me dammit[!] and someone I love even more than me[!] And it governs everything, from your soul mate to ads on TV [pin-up girls?] to the way you curl your toes. But yeah, yeah, yeah we’ve all heard that, well-familiar now… if not at least by experience.

But then even that goes away. Whether the attraction stops for you or in you. And then you’re left facing an old demon from the back of your mind, only friend, alone.  A sad knowledge that you've always had, but somehow only just now realized.
And I guess then you stop feeling invincible?
I don’t want to shake it off, but I don’t like being so profoundly wrong. Or so aware that I'm not really aware.

There's no reason to fight it.
Megalomania keeps you sane.