Owie.

Today I have the most intense, unimaginable headache.
The kind you read about. Legendary isn't the right word
but it's the first word that comes to mind.

It's like a bowling ball running down the lane, a spark from flint.
as Andrew from Garden state would call it,
"it's like a tiny thunderstorm inside my head. And it only last for a split second
and then it's gone"

It first it started to seep into my skull as i sat up to stretch
on the couch. I had been lying there indulging myself in my favoured
country for independent films latest, "He died with a felafel in his hand".
True story. Not the movie, but it's titled. Based on the novel by John Birmingham.
I recommend it, great film. Anyways, I sit up and this sharp shock runs through my
noggin. I think dehydration. Though that's insane, I've had plenty to drink today. Water
especially. Then I think sun, but haven't been out all day. I take an asprin and it escalates.
I lay down, but when i get up again it's worse. I play the guitar but the noise makes my brain
rattle.

So here i am now sitting at the computer, the radiation of the blogger New Post screen
banging in my face like some cheap desperate hooker begging for your dick.
I know that was graphic but at this point I'm not calm enough for any ocean breeze or freshly baked bread comparisons so back off.

Today is one of the days when i sit for ages, i watch films, i listen to music, i have meaningful conversations with myself and i still cannot for the love of the lord in heaven, write anything close to poetry. So i'm changing it up and posting what is assumed to be a traditional blog post. I'm sure everyone reading this is ecstatic but i could give less than a fuck and a shit.

Then i start to let my head wander, which is never good when it hurts this badly. What if it isn't medical. What if my health is fine, better than normal even. Which is a stretch considering i wolfed McDonald's like it was my last meal today at around 1pm. What if it's mental. What if this depression is getting worse, growing faster and faster and i can't keep up. And the only thing my body knows how to do is hurt? What if that's crazier than it sounds at the same time.

A friend once told me the only thing that can fix you, is you. That people, emotions, the idea of love, the commitment we associate with it, with sex, and dates and friends, ultimately gets in the way of the only thing that matters. You. But then that raises a question for all those feeling suicidal, depressed and manic like me. What if you think you don't matter.

Which is crazier than my earlier thesis about pain. I matter, everyone matters to some degree, right? To someone anyways. But the feeling still sits there with all my pain in the back of my mind. What if it turned out, i didn't matter. Then how can i fix things?

I know this is a lot of ideas considering how little i figure i can think right now.

Anyways, something inside, something incredibly simply utterly sad is screaming at me right now "you're depressed and it needs to be fixed."

But how?

You

You are my muse.
To choose then use
and sometimes loose.
Confuse.
You are my muse.

You are my song.
To dawn then wrong
and sometimes spawn.
Tag along.
You are my song.

You are my flame
To tame then blame
and sometimes shame.
Refrain.
You are my flame.

You are my cry
To pry then fly
and sometimes sigh.
Shy.
You are my cry.

You are my soul
To scold and hold
and sometimes fold.
Bold.
You are my soul.

You are this poem.
These words upon this page
no match to any of the things you ever say
ever will say, none of them are you.
You.
You are you're own.
My own.
You are beauty, what the world
intended eyes as sad, as rotten and decayed
with no reason to see as mine. With no passion
to ignite and no love to sought out. You are the reason
these eyes still glow. Still see and watch and know
that this is, in all it's awful glory, a life.
One i hate, resent and despise, you are the reason
I live within it's walls and boundaries each day
for you. For your reason and your passion.

You.
You and only you.

Hiring a dream

Dreams are lined up against a wall
All in order from short to tall.
A dreamer writes their age and weight
Favourite food and birthday date.
Checks the reflexes to see if their quick
Plays word association to see what they pick.
Gives them an eye test and a heart ultrasound
To make sure their ticker properly pounds.
Place of birth, occupation?
Favourite mode of transportation?
Red or blue?
1 or 2?
Special skills, have you any?
"Oh yes sir, I have plenty!
I can juggle, I can skate,
On my head I balance crates.
I can whistle, I can move"
Jazz or tap?
"To both i groove. I know all my ABC's
Not to mention 123's.
Fluent in Italian, I can make a penny spin,"
That's quite enough. Now onto jobs,
What kind experience have you got?
"Once i was an astronaut, another,
a robot made of pots. A doctor with a PHD
A vet to help take care of flees.
President of the USA
Miss Brazil, for just one day.
Magician,
Musician,
An electrician.
Once i wanted to sail the world,
Generate millions, love a girl.
Climb a tree, hop a fence,
start a fire, set up a tent.
Catch a fish as big as the sea
Ride a bike, learn to ski.
Make my daddy proud of me.
I've been a dream for many folks
But now your dream I'd like to coax.
I'd like to be home to your wishes
Of being a doctor or catching some fishes.
So, have i got it? Do i get the part?"
Yes Mr.Dream.
On Monday, you start.