Totally Mental II: One Weak, In Pain Day 3 Wednesday

0720 hrs
The morning couldn’t be more different from yesterday. It’s raining, and dull, heavy clouds threaten joy, and seek to blot out all memory of bluesky.

It mirrors the morning of the soul. I am suddenly living in a different world, one where even emotion is difficult; no anger, no light, no life. I live in a world where few care that cotton kills 10,000 people a year, where some people think a bullet in the skull of a 14-year old’s skull is the way God intervenes, where corporations who contribute nothing have the greatest say in economics.

Reality is so difficult to come to terms with, I wonder that I try at all. Why would I want to be a part of it, why would I want to straighten out my convoluted brain to be a part of it. Surely better than being an unabled side liner, is to let go and embrace the chaos with a slide into catatonia, shutting out all that is such a gross offence to the sensibilities?

It’s a comforting thought. Peace at last. An inability of the outside madness to affect the inner. Not even electrical shock being able to pierce the gloom and silence. It’s not even suicide, it has no stigma, no shame, at last, the perfect mental illness that none could deny.

It’s a comforting thought, but an empty one. I need more than google maps to show me the way to Catatonia. It’s something that happens, not something you can engineer. It’s not voluntary, it’s always compulsory. Bugger.

So, live with the morning that threatens to engulf me – but never does – I must. Live with the blanket of liquid tar that weighs down effort I have to. So, I’ll take Monday’s visit to Tate Liverpool and go paint what I could not yesterday. I’ll do it today because I have four hours in Towers Above, our art group for unquiet minds. I shall do it while wearing a mask so thick, everyone will think I’m a jolly sort. I’ll join in with the grateful socialising. *

I don’t doubt most will think me a little madder – a colourist pun, unintended – at the end than at the start. The result I doubt will inspire, or uplift; it will probably bring on an attack of morbid puzzlement.

I’m not feeling myself. That’s a double entendre, too.
It’s the best quip you’ll get.

Until we meet again.

*I may not.


13.00 hrs
In the fun factory, the art emporium, the creative corner; I am in the corner with the dunce’s hat, with my finger in just one pie, pulling out a typewriter with the ink slightly smudged on the letter ‘y’. They’ll find me for sure once the list of demands hits No.10’s doormat (aka Clegg) unless that is a lot of machines have that, give me strength my mind’s alive they think I’m mad, well I am but not bad I can sit still or stand up and groove it, my friends I know I’m mad, and I’ve got the ‘scrip to prove it.

I just wanted to write something poetic. I failed, but not SOS you would notice.
I’ve thirteen feral rats scurrying around in a place the size of a shoebox, and they’ve had a good dose of speed before starting their mad dash for freedom. They’re bouncing off the walls now, and I’m completely and utterly … Erm … Beggared.

The art group is making up boxes and peanuts. I am doing a piece that is making people avoid eye contact with me. Nearly. But they know me by now. I think they might be a bit annoyed with me not joining in with the nuts. But they might be envious. No they aren’t. They’re my friends and they think the best of me. Whatever crap I produce. But it’s not crap.

I’m not looking forward to leaving. In an hour. I just want to stay and put things on my canvas.

I’m not sure if I feel good or bad.
All I know is I feel.
Photo of artwork to follow.


He And Me.


Well, I managed to find a few minutes where I can sit and scribble.
20.30 hrs
I’m mightily stressed out thinking about tomorrow – a visit to Oxford and the Pitt Rivers museum. I need to get things together, but the manic episode you probably guessed I was going thru in my last update has left me a bit stunned. I’ve had to buy – horror of horrors – a ready meal, and stuff it in the oven.
I just can’t organise anything. It just isn’t going to happen. I’ve got to get shirts ready for the march in London. It will have to wait until I get back from tomorrow’s trip.
A party in a brewery. Not possible.

How can I hope to work, when I don’t know what is going to happen in the next few hours?

I’m instructed to find a way to sit in the present, not go into the future. I think it’s a good idea. So I’m going to have a real go over the next few days to work at it. At present, the future looms dark and foreboding.

I’ll go get the ready meal out. I’m feeling shamed over that already.
It is a cop out.



2 comments on “Totally Mental II: One Weak, In Pain Day 3 Wednesday

  1. Unprettified honesty is no bad thing. But what if it provokes unprettified questions? The most immediate and obvious of which is this: Ashamed of a ready meal? Really?

    Eating a ready meal every day would be a cop out. Eating one occasionally is not. Yes, they’re relatively expensive, and yes, they deprive you of the satisfaction you would get from the creative process of making a meal, but you trade that for the time and effort they save you. If you’ve been busy, and you have, and you’ve got still more business to come, and you have, then what’s the problem with having a ready meal?

    When I visit London on rare occasions, however much I enjoy my visit I am usually reminded of how much I would hate to live there. Likewise, when I choose to eat a ready meal from time to time (sometimes it’s just because I’m being lazy) I usually enjoy it, but at the same time I think it’s not something I’d want to do every day.

    If you’re concerned that you may be failing in your role as family meal provider, and that those you have to provide for deserve better, then I recommend you reread the contract. I suspect it only says that you need to provide palatable, wholesome food as required. The occasional ready meal is almost certainly going to be acceptable.

    It is not a thing to be ashamed of and it is not a cop out.

    Enjoy your trip – I look forward to reading about it at some point.

    • vetican2 says:

      I haven’t half taken some stick over saying that about having a ready meal.
      I take it all on board. Honest!

      I hope the painting does provoke I pretty questions. Even if they are “Lord, he DOES need drug intervention!”

      Thanks for your comment. It means a lot.

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