THE STATUE MOVES
I'm quite depressed today, but in a good way. As you may know, I spent twelve or so years smoking crack, and not really prospering at all, to understate things a little. And even though I'm some months clean from that insidious substance, I can still feel torn within, half wanting to slowly, cautiously progress, day by day, week by week, to where I might have been, or perhaps to somewhere completely unprepared for. But the other half of me, tangled and tied, tries, with velvet fist, to drag me down into the mire, where only appetite and remorse prevail.
I feel a bit like Ukraine, you'll be thrilled to know. Part of me wants calm, consensus, patience, tolerance, but the other bit, mesmerised by the Putin within, wants force, appetite, autocracy, no dissent. This inner-Vladimir still crows and cajoles from the dark Parliament inside. If only I could just get along and live peaceably with myself.
The addict runs, hurtles even, to that point where ecstasy has faded before you've even registered it. It's an amazingly static life for someone forever on the run. It taunts the new, slower, more patient me, claiming I need to speed up, turn to it occasionally, if only as a reward for having proved I can live without it. Ah, that beckoning Putin within, blocking my internet searches, flooding all the screens with propaganda, still likes to grandstand in the dark, whispering a message of hope, seductive, sinister, like a bullet with your name on that never gets fired.
And I think that's all I've got to say today, apart from here is one of my songs, which perhaps you'd like to hear: I'm Too Tired To Kill You
See you tomorrow?
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