Mag 300

rain Wolfgang Suschitzky - Charing Cross Road, London, 1937

Charing Cross Road, 1937 by Wolfgang Suschitzky

Once you acknowledge your captivity

there is nothing left to do but run.

A panic-driven, soul-clenching reform,

she of the bedrock, of the rain-washed streets,

of the sewage-crusted moats.

The last of the bourgeois, a phenomenon

in her own right, a patent still pending

completely ordinary, delirious

in a wash of festering cumulus.

Walls are a consequence of denial.

She is running to him, crossing streets

and archetypes to deliver her message.

His answer is only possible in chase,

because he does not really love her.

I am struggling psychologically and as a consequence my writing is suffering partly because I am not writing. The night before last I had two panic attacks. I didn’t manage to get any sleep and I am still feeling the physical effects. I know I am over-thinking, over-reacting, being completely ridiculous. Every fiber of my being seems to be rebelling and while I have kept the self-destructive, self-sabotaging impulses at bay (for the moment) I am just not feeling very stable.