Mistress with an iron hand
Draws me forward, back again.
How will I spend my time today
God, please make her go away.
Boredom is an evil lure
Disease is worse, by far than cure
Where to focus, what to do?
The list is long and me the fool.
Secret lies, secret goals
Ritualism fills the hole.
Turning round, inside out
Leave me alone, I can’t stand myself.
I hate my life, sweet and warm.
Feel the calm before the storm.
Binge and purge, cycle complete
Face to the concrete, find my feet.
“Highland Falls”…me, again.
Billy knows, Jack’s a friend.
Who am I? I wish I knew.
I long for the taste of something new.
Never happy, never sated
My past is gone, rewards unwaited.
Pruned the tree, you can’t go back.
Step right up and tack a whack.
Feel the need to move on.
Pain erupts now in song.
I see the beauty. I want to stay.
Suicide’s not the end of my day.
Spiral down, familiar place.
Bill Burroughs knows the great escape.
Pain is crystal, sharp and clear
Poets flare, writers fear.
Some may argue, middle age.
Others assert, quiet rage.
Me, I think the average Joe.
Better wordsmith, bucket-hole.
Carousel goes round and round.
Themes return, but older now.
Look at this, look at that.
I am, myself, the filthy rat.
“Inter-disciple, expand your mind.
Follow the path, and the world be thine.”
I heeded your words, you led me blind
Into the land of the Philistine.
Life is a wheel, back to one,
Cycle complete, over and done.
Now I think I do know why:
Complacency really means waiting to die.
No, this is not a typo. Don’t look for any particular meaning in the lyrics, they are a jumbled collection of disjointed images. If the stream of consciousness rings a bell, you’ll know it. If not, the song is just creepy. Since I have a platform (of sorts) to make a statement, I submit my opinion that addictive tendencies, attention deficit disorder, depression, low self-esteem, seasonal affective disorder, and perhaps a host of other clinical manifestations are not really different disorders. I believe that these are all symptoms of a more general malady. If I were to grossly over-generalize to illustrate my point; there are two groups of people, the satisfied and the unsatisfied. Satisfied people are great workers and they are very predictable and reliable. They have even temperaments and sunny dispositions. Unsatisfied people tend to be wildcards. Even in the best of times, unsatisfied people will experience ennui. Their productivity ebbs and flows with mood, season, and other less obvious variables. Unsatisfied people are also the explorers, pioneers, colonists, scientists, builders, philosophers, writers, and inventors. To be unsatisfied is not, of itself, a bad thing. To have one’s dissatisfaction turn inward is the beginning of a downward spiral that many people never escape. Recognize that and redirect the dissatisfaction.