Drowning in the Sky.

I have the opinion that my brain ends up in some pretty awful places, as if it is separate and autonomous from myself. Obviously, anatomically, and physiologically, untrue, but I feel separate and detached from my brain, as though I have a smaller, separate, spare brain that’s piloting me and shaking it’s little head at the madness of Big Brain. Not a soul or a heart, either, just a separate raspberry pi version of the massive cortex computer that’s fritzing.

I wake up, and feel “depressed” but it’s not just the word. It’s the despair of knowledge, that today is no different and that I could have made it different and didn’t and that I still could make a change but know that I won’t… it’s a fascinating and difficult-to-describe listless despair. A little like a sparrow caught in a hurricane, given up on fighting the vortex with little wings, and just flying by momentum, embracing the inevitable doom. Drowning in the sky.

An odd notion to wake with.

The little computer fights to regain pieces of the big. The tiny brain slings the stone at Goliath.

And Goliath shrugs.

Depression Disorders are a problem, and, like wondering about those Wright Brothers down the road trying to fly, I wonder if there’s some duo trying, in their corner of the world, trying to surmount the impossible.

To find a solution to this infatigable despair…