Well, put all your love where it hurts the most
Expect a little visit from the holy ghost
But when your shortwave dies and there’s no one to listen
Stars goin’ cold in your solar system
– Bill Mallonee
I’m breakin’ down, I’m breakin’ down
I thank God there’s no one around
To see me when I get like this
Don’t tell a soul about my predicament
– Also Bill Mallonee
How to explain that mopeyness and morose spells are a chronic condition? Sometimes even those in the best position to understand – don’t. I can’t predict when the mood will take me, when I will have to stay up until that silent place before morning. This is who I am – roiling seas beneath an ice-calm surface; pretentious gloom on a hair-trigger. Tonight I want to bleed all over the carpet and fold you into my arms and curse the world that stifles and delineates us; tomorrow I will be concerned with the utterly prosaic. Through it all I am Avdi, and I don’t care to be anything else.
I have my moods, too, as you can tell by recent posts.
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