Time to Ride….

So all things must come to pass. As I approach a stable period of my bipolar I’ve decided to set up another blog and discuss there the things that bipolar doesn’t define about me. I may mention it in passing but I have a huge amount to say about other things other than bipolar.

No doubt, I’ll have my ups and downs so I’ll occasionally put my Poetry here but even that I’m taking mostly back into the personal realm as I’m preparing a poetry submission for Faber & Faber and some other publishers.

The new blog is simply for my thoughts on the world from my closet corner of England.

So those still with me here’s the link;

Last Human Standing

Peace

D

Accept

I need proof of my existence like I need a bullet to the head.

For all I know this is all a dream and the whole world is already dead.

I’ll float in this spiral of empty essence, spinning in infinity,

There’s no book in the world to prove my heritage and divinity.

How the hell are you ever going to understand my insanity?

When you don’t even accept yours….

D September 2018

Dave (and Other Girls); Work continues.

So as I focus myself on my writing I’ve reread the first 5 chapters I have of ‘Dave’, it’s characters, scenes and plots and feel the slow creep of inspiration. So many ways this could go.

I posted the first chapter on my blog months ago, link below if ur interested. The chapter I’m currently dealing with deals with an attempted suicide by one of the crew, a dark place I know about but never crossed. I think it’s good to get these ideas out of me, for me it’s not profiteering from misery but a cleansing process that normalises a deep dark set of emotional trauma for me. Will I include that chapter in the finished article… Well let’s see if I finish it first.

Peace D

https://bipolarbycola.blog/2018/04/30/dave-and-other-girls/

Bullet Bipolar Tales

I’m the shell shocked lover with a bullet ridden mind,

A labyrinthine tale of woe and highs you’ll ever find.

Don’t hold me tight in the night I may just explode,

Or fall to pieces slowly over the years I reaped then sowed.

So I don’t know if you can hear over this plane crash,

Maybe you shouldn’t hang around while I burn and flash.

I could say I love you but I’m not sure which voice said it,

I feel it coming again but you and me baby are a tight fit, will we split… Or fight these mindless demons and stick!

D August 2018

How can?

How can I tell you that there is no further you can break my heart, all the quips, cold shoulder statements, dismissals all added to tear my insides apart.

How can I tell you that this empty shell no longer cares, of the wounds you threaten to inflict or the scars you wish to bare.

How can I tell you now I’m stronger than ever, as a broken heart doesn’t last forever…

… You see during your fire storm forgot to take stock and see, and I know now all I need to survive; is me.

D July 2018

The Rolex Man and The Dick Doctor

wandering-peace

[Based on a real life event]

I, D and a friend C, were in a beer garden mindlessly chatting the day away when a tall sharped suited man wearing a rolex and some expensive shades rolled up and said.

‘Hey C, haven’t seen you in ages …’ he then eyed me up and down ‘… Oh your … D!, the man who had the mental breakdown.’

There was an awkward pause and I summoned up the courage to say;

‘I don’t know you, yet you seem to know something about me, are you in any way a qualified Psychiatrist, community mental health nurse or any way qualified to back up that statement?’

[awkward pause as I guess A was expecting me to fold straight away] … ‘No it’s alright mate, I just heard from a friend that you, you know had, had been in the ayslum.’

‘Is your friend in any way a qualified Psychiatrist, community mental health nurse or any way qualified to back up that information? … no? … Yet you think it’s acceptable to come up to me and use that as your opening for conversation with me?.’ … ‘If I had an obvious disability would you roll up and say, ‘oh how you doing Mr no arms?’ … ‘Lets swap this round shall we … Hiya A, aren’t you that guy with a really small dick?’

‘What the fuck?’

‘Perfectly reasonable statement, going by your rules, a friend told me. She’s got a polaroid and a ruler and everything, and all the girls know about your small Phallus. Even Dr Minimus Phalusnus signed it off as true …’

‘I don’t need to hear this shit from madmen ….’

‘…. and I don’t need men with expensive rolex’s making up for there tiny dicks interrupting my pleasant evening with my friend.’ … I lean over ‘This is the bit where you leave.’

I return to my cider with my friend in the sunny Surrey summer.

[Although this is paraphrased, this did happen and versions of it over the years. It’s called stigma. And no one should be ashamed of their mental health or have it used as a conversation piece for the masses. Go bug the Kardashians]