There were dreams of fields and reservoirs with wet soil beneath my fingers and then I awoke to the news about the tower block in London setting alight. On the tele, they showed it burning like a firework. The flames were orange and angry, and as the news reporters told stories about those who had jumped from their windows to seek a way out, it took me back to the attack on the Twin Towers. I hadn’t even heard of them up until that point, but the sight of those bodies falling through the sky from so high up hasn’t left me even after all this time. Getting up and taking a piss, I run a bath then go downstairs to make a cup of tea. After the peppermint cuppa, there’s a cigarette and a Yakult to promote good bacteria followed by an orange tablet that dissolves in water that turns my pee a funny colour. The weather is nice but the sun burns my skin. It causes cancer, and right now I’ve diagnosed myself with several types again. Testicular, jaw, colon and stomach, to name a few. I’ve felt my depression worsening ever so slightly these past few weeks. I used to take medication for it. Never worked though. Just left me feeling empty. Writing makes me feel better, and despite the drawbacks it brings, it gives me a sense of purpose and a reason to keep going. And yet the ebb and flow of my heart and mind inflict as much as they redeem. Eating my breakfast while sitting cross-legged, Londoners are interviewed and give their opinions. Black. White. Asian. Young. Old. It makes me smile when people of all cultures come together, and yet why does it always need a tragedy? The problem with tragedies is that it’s always too late, and no amount of well-doing is enough to turn back time. Taking my bath, I listen to The Smiths. Meat is Murder, if you must know. For a while, I contemplate masturbation, and although my mind wanders to the body of an ex-lover and in particular how I used to rub my crown over her erect nipples, the moment escapes me.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

16 replies »

  1. I have those images of bodies falling etched in my memory too. Such a horrific tragedy. Keep writing to fight your depression lovely. It’s always a sign for me, how bad it is, when I can’t be bothered to play. X

  2. You sound…beaten, today? ❤

    My thoughts were of the Twin Towers too. I know many who thought the same. (I work on a checkout, I talk to everyone whether the like it or not).

    “For a while, I contemplate masturbation, and although my mind wanders to the body of an ex-lover and in particular how I used to rub my crown over her erect nipples, the moment escapes me.”

    I contemplate masturbation at times. The moment usually always escapes me. The legacy of my depressive mind. I am better now, depression-wise, but my libido may be gone for good. *deepsigh*

    • It reassures me knowing you know how it feels. There is always a bright side, and yet when you find yourself in a certain mood it’s very difficult to get out of it. Perseverance. Determination. Blind faith. Maybe a mix of all three. Somethings it helps. Sometimes it comes down to sleeping and saving my energy for another day x

  3. Great piece of writing, and seen about the fire in London, my hearts with the families. You sound beaten and down, if I was next to you I would tell you how talented you are and give you a big hug x

    • Thank you, K, I really appreciate that. We all have these days, don’t we? Days where you feel under the heaviest of clouds. But as shown by the London tragedy, other people have it far worse, and so you just have to put the effort in and do your best to turn it around x

  4. I feel like I will always be able to close my eyes and see those body falling out of the twin towers. What must it be like to feel that jumping out a 50 story building is preferable to the alternatives? Were they thinking that a miracle could happen and they could survive? Were they driven by blind instinct to escape the heat, the fire? Or or they just wanting to have control over the ending? Chose the certain fate over the uncertainty?

    Masturbation is a double edged sword isn’t it? Momentary physical distraction and release followed (at least for me) by emotional emptiness and isolation from both myself and others.

    • For them it lasted mere seconds, yet their final moments continue to play out to us even after so long. It’s strange. It’s a perpetual dance. I think blind instinct played a big factor. In that situation, rational thought is gone.

      And masturbation. My favourite band the Manic Street Preachers, they once referred to it as ‘nature’s lukewarm pleasure’. This is how I always see it, too.

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