The Curse of Noonday's Muse: Exile on Canvas - Part III, Accompaniment

(Don't just now step in this minefield without having read Part I, then Part II first. But do so at your own risk).

June 11 2010. An office building. What should have been lunchtime.

A quick update for now… no time to hash out the rest, but I need to at some point.

Striving to continue some sense of normalcy and focus, I made it to work “early” this AM. Quite the accomplishment, considering I couldn’t get to sleep for the longest time - but when I did it felt restful, despite the new acute pain in my abdomen. Don’t know if this is post-surgery BS that conveniently waited until AFTER the follow up yesterday. Or some new stress, or something I ate, or even a kidney stone. So far I can handle it – it at least keeps me honest.

Oh yeah, surgery – too little too late, that was. A step in the right direction but I wish it hadn’t taken so damn long to figure out what was killing me all last month. But that might have been the first step in the healing process.

To be honest, I’m not sure why I came to work. I sincerely want to work on my projects but there is so much distraction in my head. And from others who mean well. And others I'm unsure of. But I can’t go home, and I can’t/won't talk to people who won’t listen, so all I can do is hope and long for the time to find my zone and get it out of my head, and reflect on it.

Rereading what I’ve written has spawned shock, fear, and amazement on several levels, although I am not going into details here and there is little to revise.

There is, however, one thing I need to clarify before I prepare to continue with it:

I think I’m proud of the tornado metaphor, because for as quickly as it came together I think it conveys the nature of the demon quite well. Except for one huge problem: People readily understand the irrational behavior and terror of a tornado… but they also equate them with long-shot won’t-happen-to-me odds. Tornadoes only happen once in a while, at certain times of the year, and rarely in the same place on different days.

Depression’s onslaught is not like this. Recall one of your more infamously memorable days of terrifying weather: a string of days in the summer that seemed to breed epic storm after biblical apocalypse.

These storms are good excellent metaphors for the war’s onslaught, with one terrifying difference: in my case, they have happened every day. More often than not, every hour. The rapid-fire intensity is relentless. Defenses are formidable, but even the best are not 100% effective… .1% odds are infiltrated with alarming regularity when faced with such a relentless foe. Keeping it at bay is an exhausting endeavor, one that saps the quality of life to a new lower bar. But it requires relentless attention, and just one slip…

…or several factors such as piled on in the month of May… might have handled them except for all the battles in April, March, February… wearing down…

I just needed to make that clear.

~~~

And now I need to share something else to hopefully, maybe, help illustrate.

Visual illustration of such terrifyingly abstract concepts is of course impossible, as each person’s own mind’s eye will approach a canvas differently. But sound can evoke the same emotions, whatever visual form those take. Thankfully, there are some in this world also afflicted, gifted enough and brave enough to share what they know. I have long owed a debt to them.

CLICK TO D 0 W N L 0 @ D empy3s

The Big Come Down– a POW’s lament, playing Depression’s game.

Just Like You Imagined– The slow sinister approach, the fearful girding in responsive preparation. The opening strike, the counteroffensive; the building crescendo of terror leading to a panicked collapse... the renewed effort, the lockstep of broiled countermeasures; false lull. Brutalizing climax, desperate trappings, hollow victory… The slow, painful process of learning to survive to breathe again – not knowing if it will be enough for the next time. This is what it sounds like, what it feels like… and this isn’t as bad as it can get.

La Mer– The spark’s requiem, a soothing rhythm, ever drowned out by chaos, until it breaks through the front and begins to heal.

Dirty Day – A mind’s belated, reliquary apology for the mutually heartbroken: those caught in the vortex and those left in the wake. Just another day, over the hill… For the one to whom this may have a shared deep personal meaning, whom I hope you know who I think you are...

I am sorry… it’s the only thing I can say right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dirty Day
(Paul Hewson, Adam Clayton)

I don't know you
And you don't know the half of it
I had a starring role,
I was the bad guy who walked out

They say be careful where you aim
'cause where you aim you just might hit
You can hold onto something so tight
You've already lost it

Dragging me down
That's not the way it used to be
You can't even remember
What I'm trying to forget

It was a dirty day...
Dirty day

You're looking for explanations
I don't even understand
If you need someone to blame
Throw a rock in the air, you'll hit someone guilty

From father to son
In one life has begun
A work that's never done
Father to son

(And love..., it won't last kissin' time)
[Repeat x3]

Get it right
There's no blood thicker than ink
Hear what I say
Nothing's simple as you think

Wake up
Some things you can't get around
I'm in you
More so when they put me in the ground

These days, days, days... run away, like horses over the hill
These days, days, days... run away, like horses over the hill...
[Repeat and fade away]