So. I started writing a post about some strange and quirky and unusual ways to get in touch with your inner child.
It skittered and collapsed like a shot deer. I deleted it. It was literary spew. Yuck.
I think you know what I’m getting at here.
Sometimes, days are just hell, you know? Everything you touch or make or do withers and wilts and dies and decays and dies a million more deaths, going through the cycles of life, and then even the matter that makes them up scatters and breaks down until only subatomic particles are left, shivering and stinking up metaphysical places. The world becomes a graveyard, a desert, a barren something, scattered with the dry bones of your soul.
What I’m trying to say, and failing to do, is that sometimes life is super-duper crappy and you just doubt everything about yourself and wish you could just stop being conscious and erase yourself from the world and be drawn back into the picture when the stars feel more aligned in your favour.
Actually, I have no clue what I’m trying to say here. I suppose, well, I hope, if you’re having a hellish day, that this will be of some comfort? Maybe? Like, I’m in pain too, so your pain is okay? I don’t know.
I suppose I could end this pitiful post with little sparkles of inspiration to buoy your depressed and dolorous spirits – lift my sword-pencil and proclaim with the wind from flapping book-pages in my lungs and a fire in my eyes that, “EVERY CLOUD HAS A SILVER LINING, MY FRIEND,” or “NOTHING IS FOR FOREVER, Y’KNOW”, or even, “DARK TIMES SHALL PASS, LITTLE ONE.” Lord.
But yeah. I think I will. Even if the words dribble and splatter in a god-awful mess that would make even dogs run away if they were to get a whiff of it and not stop running until they’ve reached the moon where you can’t really smell stuff anyway (I think?), ears flattened and whining. The fact that I’m still typing away can be a source of inspiration for you, my little one. Every word is agony write now but I’m still typing them, and after this I’m going to write a bit more even if I have to use my own blood as ink. So, there’s that.
I love the moon. Do you love the moon? I really, really love the moon. It’s an obsession of mine. I can’t stop staring at it when it arrives in the night sky. Its just a ball of cratered rock, but from down here, don’t you think it’s just so luminous and large and lovely? The moon makes me feel safe. The moon makes me feel like magic is possible. You know, like lunar magic, and werewolves, and the like. When I look at the moon – just look, not think or feel or do anything else – I feel at peace.
Go find your moon. Imagine your moon in your head. It’ll make you feel better. Okay, that was the inspirational part. Give me a pat on the back – I got this far without deleting it. And I’m going to hit publish, even though it’ll make me cringe so ferociously I’ll feel like I’m shriveling up into myself.
I shall now return to my misery. Happy moon-gazing, my friend.