A Creamy Black Whirlpool

Posted on March 19, 2006 in Journals & Notebooks Mania

From a notebook:

The thing that made my manias stressful was that I could never endure myself in a blue-skies-rubbing-on-the-brim-of-space euphoria. Every time I started thinking that I was better than everybody else in any small way, I snatched punitive religiosity from my creamy black whirlpool of a mind and forced myself to be humble.

There was just no permission to be happy. So here I existed in that spinning froth, head down, porcelain on every side as I rose.

Other friends have reported splendid elations: wild trips, great sex, and fabulous fantasies. I denied myself all of these. Remember the captain in Mr. Roberts? I existed like he did: Hiding in my battleship-grey-solid-steel cabin most of the time, only coming out to squawk at seamen and squalls, wave my arms, and water the damned palm tree.