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Driven by Daemons


My body is rebelling against me; it is screaming, “Be kind!” Years of self-destructiveness have affected my physical health, I have chosen the life of the mind above the call of somatic well-being. Those of us who watched The Rolling Stones’ set at Glastonbury, will be only too aware of how lifestyle “choices” are reflected in the faces that we wear. Last Saturday night I saw the walking dead perform and it was not pretty. However, evidence that they are still alive suggests that someone is on their side. Power to them, I do not think I shall be so lucky.
In the heat of my psyche, the will to write and bipolar disorder unite and battle for supremacy. On days when I do not write, I prickle with agitation. When I write, my mind focuses with such intensity upon the object of my will, that afterwards, I feel drained to the point of sleep. The adrenaline I produce in the act of writing lingers long after I have finished and thus, I become subject to the contradictory desires of sleep and activity. Generally, these feelings pass, leaving me tired, but contented that I have fulfilled my drive to create. When they fail to subside, I reluctantly resort to a dose of “Mother’s little helper,” and curse my own weakness, until I fall into a medicated sleep. When I awaken, I thank heaven that I am still alive, turn-on my laptop and write.

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