Reading this fascinating article about how deep-brain stimulation failed or did not fail in its surgical attempts to cure depression, I realized most of mine was manageable once I remove myself from this world, the industry's world, the phone world, the internet world, fueled by narcissism and an excessive need to "connect" without fitting the proper puzzle pieces, impulsively "express" without the due diligence of definition, and "document," almost like a serial killer returning to the scene of the crime to relive the slaughter over and over again because he can't get his dick up in real life, kill after kill, post after post, tweet after tweet.
Escape, do I; find refuge in the flaws of man, once admitted; crave for the poetry of the Pastoral, perhaps more gothic, twice removed; I remain, I retreat, curiously, in that which I was repressed- artistically, historically, religiously. May I remain, may I retreat, may I reject repression while the world spins in its meaningless meaning, may I find the harmonic convergence in atonal tintinnabulation. It is the key to make all of this fathomable, holding fast to hope.
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