Meditation diaries: In which I just ramble and call it meditation diaries only because it was a ‘series’ I started…

Often life feels like you have this constant ‘thing’ chasing you. Be it the Depression, the anxiety the overwhelmingness that seems to come simply from having Autism. I don’t want to call it a black dog, that’s just…insulting to black dogs. Quite frankly if I did have a black dog following me I’d probably be pretty happy with the black dog (unless it was an aggressive dog following me to attack me of course).

Not sure why people use that black dog metaphor, especially when we supposedly love dogs so much. Why would you call Depression or anything else like it ‘the black dog that follows me’? Seems a rather strange one to me. Perhaps it should be clarified that it’s a rabid black dog. In which case that would certainly be depressing because that dog is really fucking ill and will need to be put down.

And dying dogs are a very depressing idea.

I went to a cardiac clinic today to check on my heart. I was overdue my heart check-up anyway but the reason I went today was that I have been having palpitations.

And the truth is the older I get the more aware I’m becoming of the fact my heart condition isn’t ‘cured’ and never will be. Not that I ever thought it would be cured, but the point is the older I get the more the risks of further complications with my heart go up a notch.

And that’s from a heart that was already very much at risk as a child.

It’s gotten to the point where I’m either thankful I haven’t started having heart failure yet, and thus actually appreciating life.

But then there are the other moments when it’s all I can think about, “Shit, my heart is gonna fail, my heart is gonna fail! It’s going to fucking fail!”

And then to conflict that I have the depression that sometimes tells me, “You’re better off dead anyway,” but then that ends up being quite relaxing because then I just sort of start relaxing into this state of mind where “Welp, my heart might start to fail, but whatever. Who cares.”

I know ultimately that my life expectancy is shorter than average.

Some people use that sort of fact to their advantage. They use it as a means to appreciate every day more because their life really is short!

But I struggle with that.

Because the world is often so overwhelming to me. I always feel like a sort of fish out of water trying to navigate through life and social interactions.

This isn’t really a woe is me post. It looks it though.

I mean what I am trying to say is that I do appreciate some aspects a lot more the more I come to the realisation I’m at least maybe early middle age in terms of my heart condition and life expectancy? I mean I could be totally wrong. I could defy the statistics. And last longer than expected

Or

I could die tonight. I could die tomorrow. Or next week or whenever.

And yea sure it can help put things into perspective.

Like when some arsehole screams at you for no reason that makes sense and you’re thinking, “You fucking prick,” you take a breath and you think “Well, what’s the use arguing. We’re all gonna be dead one day anyway. So why argue with a person who won’t even listen to a word you say anyway?”

But I find another part of me, the part of me that is like a terrier with a bone, he wants to grip that bone and he wants to never let it fucking go.

As with all terriers, he’s fucking cute.

But he’s also an angry cunt who barks. Too fiercely.

Currently, I appreciate Jays (birds) and yea, all other birds actually. And dogs. I love dogs. And did I tell you I love Jays?

But I’ve also got some things bugging me.

Too much is changing at once. The local council are changing things. Support is changing. Nothing feels in its place and it feels like my brain is being electrocuted. My life doesn’t feel in it’s place.

And that screaming prick. And others response to it all. “Just ignore him,” Well thats all well and good but I ignore the person 90% of the time. I’m not a fucking brick.

But what really, really, really grinds my fucking gears…

All the responsibility is being put on my shoulders to ignore them. What about putting some responsibility at his door?

I sound like a sibling who’s younger brother or sister gets away with everything, don’t I?

*sighs*

I try to set out to be the image of myself I have inside my head. And I’m always falling short of it.

I’m not a duck either. I can’t let things just let it go like water off a ducks back. What kind of oil would I use to make that ‘water’ go off my back? I don’t have a preen gland that produces oil to make it just drip right off me.

Which is partly why I fall short of my ideal self because I wish to be a duck. If only to have a corkscrew shaped penis.

Red

I’m in a whimsical dream
Where a House Sparrow is eating a raspberry
Wearing a top hat and monocle over his left eye
A twirly moustache above his beak
Plotting revenge against his brother
Who put beef in an apple pie
And a blue tit in a tabard
Fighting off potential suitors to his beloved
And a nerdy looking Robin cursing the Blackbird
For eating his book worms
“Stop eating the book worms!” He cries

And then a nightmare looms over
Like clouds in the sky
Shadowing over the scene
A human bean
Throwing toxic waste
In a stream
All silence takes hold
And even though the sun is out
A sudden chill turns all wings to doubt
Suspended in motion
As gun shots clamour
A reminder that nature isn’t glitz and glamour
An apex predator stampeding
With machines and light beams
Rubbish taking over green scenes
Till all appears obsolete
A crescendo of footsteps
Out of blocks of concrete

Birds flocking together
Their beady eyes
Wandering and observing
From up high
Alarm calls trill
As they forget their beef
For a moment of togetherness
As one species defined only by ‘bird’
Protecting one another
For this moment of war
Till peace time resumes
Red in tooth and claw

If you liked this post you may also like my short story here 

And if you specifically like birds and also enjoy weird humour you may like my short story here

Blind

Buckling at the knees
Trying to stand against the turbulent wind
That etches these lines on my face
It’s not age, it’s disgrace
Fallen at every hurdle
I’m not Sisyphus
Never could be
My lips are burdened with the weight of frowning
I’m not an island
Though I tried to be
With all these thoughts
Taking flight like the birds
Around me
Gannets gouge my eyes
And Satan just flies on by
With the little yellow glint in front of their eyes
As they laugh and I cry
They are grace
But what am I?
Frankenstein
An arms race inside my mind
Trying to be of the world
When I’m blind

I like birds

“You two going to a dressing up party?” Alex asked his two acquaintances who he only really knew by name from college, Drew & Drake.
Drew & Drake were a great duo because of their names. Unfortunately for them and you dear reader, they weren’t Drew & Drake the calm, collected suave detectives two names like that would make just ultra cool! Nah. Drew & Drake were just two best mates who were unemployed who wore sweatpants because they’re comfortable. Neither were they a brand of whiskey though they often smelt like they were.
“Well?” Alex gestured with his palms open in question.
Drew spun around in his pink flamingo costume, “What?” He looked at Alex blankly.
Alex pointed to Drew which didn’t help Drew because Drew knew he was Drew.
Alex rolled his eyes, “The fucking costume!”
realisation crossed Drew’s face, “Oh, you could say that.” He nudged Drake.
Drake turned around in his penguin costume, “It’s sort of a party, yes.”
“Can I come?” Alex beamed.
Drew & Drake exchanged glances, Drews flamingo beak collided with Drake’s round penguin costume. “Don’t think it’ll be your scene,” Drake explained.
“Why not?” Alex crossed his arms and looked across the road with a petulant expression on his face.
“Because…” Drake’s face screwed up hard in concentration.
Drew nudged Drakes penguin costume.
“What?” Drake flapped.
Drew pointed down the road at the hearse, “Here he comes.”
Drake followed Drew’s finger and sighed.
“I guess it’s time to say goodbye,” Drew swallowed down a knot in his throat.
More people emerged, and Alex’s eyes had widened, “I wish I’d never asked. I’ll guess I’ll be going about my business!”
Drake shot him a glance, “Yea, mind your own business next time, we don’t even know you that well!”
“God put me here to ask you these questions, so I did, my question has been answered, but I only have…” He watched as the place swelled with yet more people dressed as parrots and penguins and a few budgies but mostly a sea of pink flamingos. “More questions,” His eyes narrowed as he crossed the road to get away from them.
The bells rang out like a weapon of soul destruction; humans having been primed to know it meant goodbye.
Alex watched the procession of pink and a few other colours here and there with a brow raised and a chuckle rising in his throat despite himself.
Cars rolled by and the passengers stared out the window wondering what on earth was going on, one driver who saw his wife’s perturbed face chortled and joked, “It’s global warming. All these birds are emigrating to strange places.”
As the pallbearer’s carried the coffin through a path, the sea of people created it looked even more surreal. The pallbearers were dressed in smart suits but had owl masks covering their faces.
Someone stopped by Alex to watch, his dog pulling on the lead. “What the…”
Alex turned to the stranger, “It’s certainly….” Alex scratched at the stubbed on his face with a perplexed look, “Something…”
The little dog barked at the crowd of people dressed strangely.
The stranger looked horrified, “I better go,” He started his face pale.
“I don’t think they’ll mind a dog barking….”Alex started to say but the man had swiftly shuffled away pulling his dog along as it kept turning around to yap at the procession outside the church doors.

The vicar stood at the front of a statue of Jesus on a cross, light came shimmering in through the coloured glass behind him.
“Frank was a…” The vicar rubbed a finger on his collar, “an eccentric,” He said as he looked out at the sea of faces and beaks. “Frank lived life to the full, and though he has gone now, he will forever be remembered as a humorous, genuine, kind man.” The vicar scanned the faces and beaks around his church, “There is a lesson that can be taught by this kind man and that is not to take life too seriously. He’s known for a few sayings like, “Your arse…ahem pardon my french, is at the bottom of you for a reason, it’s the last thing you put down!””
The mourners mumbled and nodded their heads.
“And, “Window cleaners are the spies you should be most afraid of.””
The mourners chuckled.
“And one of my favourites,” He peered over his glasses, “I must forewarn there is bad language here, but for the sake of respect I shall quote him exactly as he says it, “A fork in the road gives 3 choices. Either you choose one of the prongs, you go back, or you don’t use the fucking road.””
The crowd laughed once more, and Drake turned to Drew, “That’s our Frank.”
“That’s the Vicar!”
Drake shook his head and rolled his eyes, “No I meant…” He sighed, “nevermind!”
As they swarmed out of the churches gaping mouth and onto the pavement outside, ‘I like birds’ by the Eels played.

 

 

 

 

Sunday Wordle: Dave

He’s drunk on the sly
He snatches another bite
Too many fermented apples
Don’t tell his wife, she thinks she’s the only apple of his eyes
She don’t know he’s not fit to fly
She’ll have a fit when she finds out
He’ll have spun ‘er a yarn or two
But that’s just like our Dave
The sheer cheek of ‘im
I love ‘im all the same.

Can a man dare to dream

Sit and listen to
The sound of the pitter patter
That abounds
Like constant white noise
Asserting no significant attention
Just the buzz of human relations
Like the wings of a bee
Humming the language of nations
Industrious working of this socialisation
Working its way through the psyche
Of many generations
While clowns look to the clouds
With wisdom in their jest
And hearts of lions pounding in their chest
Perhaps detained
But noticing every freedom
Has it’s own cage
And seeing that maybe
As caged birds flaps their wings
Can a man surely dare to dream?