Comedy
I am in a suicidal phase. I become my own crisis centre- I document the moment. You hear it in my initial silence, the breath, then I go for it. I describe what's up, how I'm imagining doing it. I intersperse violent images, I talk about my sister's murder, I describe the symbols on my bookshelf, I remind myself of transformations. This is what I had wished for, a simpler life and now it is here and I must shed, shed tremendously, shed significantly, shed painfully. It is unimaginable living in a tomb, this house, my refuge, my sanctuary will be dead to me in eighty some odd days. It will be gone. All I worked for, the memories, the house fire I survived, the rebuild I oversaw, the struggles with the contractors, the necessary magical swims in the lake after work, the motorcycle rides at night along quite country roads, the long moments of contemplation, peace, of feeling present. All this is gone from the cities, where there is no nature there is no soul however hard we might try to replicate it. The vibrations perturb me. This is my perturbed podcast after having come back from the what is to be my 480 square foot apartment, and a funeral home to attend the death ritual of a woman consummed by a bacteria.