the divine mockery of words

Its quite a moon. I am a little lost in it. Not in a bad way, although the line between good and bad is a little blurry on nights like these… things just, are…

This is what I am drinking to keep the ghosts away:

Its the key ingredients of the Darkarita!


The Darkarita

  • A jigger of Sauza Tequila Blanco
  • A small jigger (pony) of Cointreau
  • A splash of Blue Curacao (for the darkness you know, plus drinking blue stuff makes me smirk)
  • A healthy squoosh of fresh lime (about a third of a small lime but go with your tastebuds)
  • A smidgen of lemon juice (just a brief squeeze)
  • half teaspoon of palm sugar
  • Coarse ground salt

Chuck everything but the salt in a blender, with ice, blast the hell out of it.
Rub lime juice around the rim of the glass, grind the glass into a saucer of salt so the rim is coated. Pour tasty goodness into glass. Sit back and be endarkened.

So now you know the secrets of my success. Ignore. Avoid. Hide in the cellar until they go away. Scraping fingers at handle, whispers, curses.
Its a waiting game. Its only when you’re relatively sane that you know that they do go away, eventually, and you just have to let it play out. The ghost dance in your head. Some of you will understand what I’m talking about, some of you won’t. It doesn’t matter. The divine mockery of words…



It’s sunny, and me and my cat are in the garden.
She likes to get grass all over herself so she can rub it off on my bed later.
Just to annoy me.

I took this photo, and then lolcatted it up…
Whaddya mean lolcats are a representation of all that is wrong with the western world?

Lolcats are great.
Just cos you’re a miserable old curmudgeon too pompous to have a laugh at a cat talking in txt speak doesn’t mean we all have to be tedious 😉


03-04-2007 Juice I must blog this pic of my daughter Esme. I don’t blog photos of my daughter because I am too freaked out by the amount of freaks out there. Same reason all my flickr photos of her are not public. But this is so cute!

on prozac

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So numb that writing seems like enforced therapy rather than something I want to do, but I know I have to release some of this cloud that’s settled comfortably into my soul.

It always feels like a heavy dark fist slowly clenching inside my chest, simultaneously making it feel like I can’t breathe, and that I need to strike out violently at something just to release the pressure. In less interesting prose, I guess that would be anxiety…

Everything always feels so futile at times like these – the depression stops by like an old friend from way back who always makes you feel bad, and leaves your place in a mess. You always hate him when he’s around, but in a peverse way you kind of miss him when he’s gone. He might be an asshole but he’s honest – real – you know? No shows, no pretence.

Life always seems like such a masquerade when I’m down. Not in the everyday conceptual way, but a soul-crushingly pointless shadowplay that serves no purpose other than to distract ourselves until we die. To fill the emptiness with something, whatever comes to hand. We grasp at anything within reach and call it important – what we’ve always wanted – invent stupid goals that are just far enough away to keep us playing, keep us watching.

Before Prozac these feelings would paralyse me, render me incapable of motivation, the desire to do anything, because everything seemed equally pointless. With Prozac I feel and see these things, but I am slightly shielded, and I feel like I am clutching a magic box close to my chest – a tiny vision of how other people see the world. Yes the world is pointless and yes maybe nothing matters, but look at this – if you can only do this, and achieve that, you can maybe forget yourself for a while, the feelings will subside. Maybe for weeks, or even months. I can see that there are ways to ignore the blackness, and as depressing as simply hiding from it may feel logically, I can see that there is no real alternative – that we create our own reality. Only some people are better at it than others, and some people, like me, find it difficult to pretend that we mean something as individuals, that we are important. We just sense the void. How do we hide from that?