underwater hold…


Some days are unforgiving, not offering succor in any way. Acedia seeping from every pore — feeling like the Sisyphean boulder is planted on your shoulders. You’re bent under the weight, but somehow you don’t break. You want it off, but it’s immovable. The best you can hope for is that it won’t crush you today. There’s no shaking this feeling. You pray for the end of the day to come before you go for the bottle and sink to the bottom. You remember getting sand blasted by the wind one day on a gray beach. A cold day pinpricked in your memory. Resignation at a sallow horizon where the sun could not break from its underwater hold. It seemed like ages in that cutting wind. Shearing. That is today. That may not be tomorrow. And that’s the best you can muster. There will be another attempt. Another day.

“You are a difficult case. But don’t give up hope. Everyone is cured sooner or later. In the end we shall shoot you.”

— George Orwell / 1984

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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