No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2001-07-24 - 11:23 a.m.

now is the very winter of my discontent

now is the very winter of my discontent.

a man does not know the heart of alienation without insomnia, until he has made a meal of his own inadequacies at 3:12 am on a monday night. there is an otherworldliness to a state of sleep deprivation. it is compounded by depression, and compounds depression in turn, creating a self-destructive feedback loop.

today i am of the world, but not in this world. it is as if i perceive my day through a layer of cheesecloth, with cotton in my ears. everything is just a little disjointed, just a little muffled.




i keep expecting to wake up in my bed and discover that it's all a dream.

i know it's not.

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