I am engrossed in my research for my Civil War Greenville book. The more research I do the more I know I need. I'm working on clarifying the city's status leading up to the war... what businesses were here, the notable people, things of that nature.

    Story writing is coming slowly. My short attention span gets the better of me. Yet I feel on borrowed time, trying to go in multiple directions and ending up going no where. God willing, I'll have some more story parts soon.

    Dat Bat. Nebber a dull moment. Der he goes again, stealing Spidey's best carapace. Why, it was just di udder gnight...

    Spidey was so berry happy. It had been a gweat day for the nest! Sebben flies, and Spidey had finished the Mona Fleasa, my primier werk of art for di community.

    Spidey was so berry pwoud. She was BEAUTIFUL, and quite tasty looking. Well, no sooner had di lights gone out when there was a flapping sound at di window. Spidey rushes to look. Der must have been twenty bats out der! All carrying a most pwecious cargo!

    "HEY YOU! BATS! DROP DI CARAPACES! HEY! NOT IN DI... ribber..."

    They had stolen Spidey's prize carapaces, worth countless flies. Den dey dropped dem in di ribber. 

    Gone. In di ribber. Di cwazy bat duddent know how to stop. 

A lack of Conspiracy after all...

    Well, it turns out that my family didn't actually talk the hospital into re-bipolarizing me.. Seems the staff just got creative in an effort to flip my script. Sneaky little devils. All's well that ends well though. It got me writing more, and I love to write. I do. I hope I can write something people really enjoy. 

    I get frustrated with the process. Then I get grouchy about it. Today it was the website giving me trouble. Found a few broken links that I fixed, but I wanted to splash up the colors and the editor was not that responsive. I continue to research. I'm working on adding more writing and some more images and other content. 

 

Dichotomy of the illusion of Reality

Split between the person I am and the person you would have me be

Unable to blend the two into one without periodic flashes of truth

that reveal the dichotomy of my reality and betray the illusion outright

Making the consistency hard to maintain.

The persona, its perfection marred only by acceptable flaws of social construction

The other, a living being contorted to maintain the illusion

They draw me out with the bait

Looking for some facts to twist back into some semblance of the illusion.

Occasionally we come to crisis created by the inability to tolerate our truths

Seeking to restore the myth, we wind our facts into narratives

Hoping to disguise the inconsistency of reality with a pretty lie dressed up in theories

Running away from the truth, we only trip up over the inconsistencies

The inconvenient truths of our imperfections and failures

Cannot overcome the engineering of our most contorted perfection

In which reality is the disease, and lies are the cure

Inevitably comes the crash, through the conflict of what is and what we pretend to be

In the end, the illusion is the reality and the truth is the psychosis we hope to deny.

Tips from a Therapist

 

Spidey a liddle under di wedder...