A Voice From The Shadow

Today's subject is one that I have been considering addressing for some time, and did partly, in a previous post.  I have been reluctant because it is intensely personal for me, but a recent event convinced me it is time to speak up.

In the grip of the demon again

Far from joy

Close to the end

Examine and describe the ugly

The wretched

The walking dead

Smiles are memories

This now crushes

This now blinds

Even in the light I am but a blink away

The words are mine.
They seem a bit odd today.  Embarrassing. The really bad days are gone now, I hope for good. But the words are also a bit scary, because I know they came from deep inside of me.

Which me today

Shell or sunshine

Love or landmine

Do I choose or am I driven

How can they both be me

Which one reality

It's a cliche, but I know of no other way to describe it.
It's a shadow.
But I also know it's a shadow I cast on myself.

Standing at the edge

The top of the slide

Corkscrew down

If I drop my guard I go for the ride

Step over here

Look from the other side

I think my way there

When no exit can be seen

She reminds me I’m not really there

There's a hint at some of the solution there. At least for me.

If you love me like I think

You hide the suffering well

I must put you in purgatory

When I’m in my hell

Will you keep waiting for me to emerge

From the shadows I walk through

Can you breath for the both of us

Can you be sane for two

The right days are wonderful

But too few

From the darkness I can barely remember them

And the wonder that is you

Every situation is different, but professionals will tell you that interacting with others is key to our mental health.  I know it's not easy.  When I was down, the last thing I wanted to do was to be around anyone.  But I also found that interacting with people was exactly the thing that helped me most consistently.

But mainly, know this:
You are not alone. 
You are loved. 
You have no idea how many lives you touch and how many people would be devastated by your loss. Even people you have never met.
If I made it, you can too.


If you need help and don't know where to start, write to me.  I will help.  


If you feel like you need to talk to someone right now, call The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, 1-800-273-TALK(8255)

You are not alone. 

You are loved.

My Aching Headline

Spell check fails to save New Years Eve party goers from baboon drop.

The Passing Of A Giant

A giant left our world today.  Others more talented than myself will be better able to eulogize him.  But I wanted to pay tribute in my own small way.

  Ray Bradbury is best known for his novels, and in particular, science fiction.   However, I find myself most entertained, most enthralled, by his short stories.  And I think his most compelling work, the stories that reach inside of your heart to the place that tears and smiles are born, are the ones that have no scientific bent to them at all. What follows are excerpts from two of my favorites.  I would encourage you strongly to seek out and read these, and his other stories, in their entirety.

"The first light on the roof outside; very early morning.  The leaves on all the trees tremble with a soft awakening to any breeze the dawn may offer.  And then, far off, around a curve of silver track, comes the trolley, balanced on four small steel-blue wheels, and it is painted the color of tangerines.  Epaulets of shimmery brass cover it, and pipings of gold; and its chrome bell rings if the ancient motorman taps it with a wrinkled shoe.  The numerals on the trolley's front and sides are a bright as lemons.  Within, its seats prickle with cool green moss.  Something like a buggy whip flings up from its roof to brush the spider thread high in the passing trees from which it takes its juice.  From every window blows an incense, the all-pervasive blue and secret smell of summer storms and lightning."

The Trolley

"The grapes tasted of fresh, clear water and something that they had saved from the morning dews and the evening rains. They were the warmed-over flesh of April ready now, in August, to pass on their simple gain to any passing stranger.  And the lesson was this; sit in the sun, head down, within a prickly vine, in flickery light or open light, and the world will come to you. The sky will come in its time bringing rain, and the earth will rise through you, from beneath, and make you rich and make you full."

Hopscotch


"The Trolley" was originally published in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING, copyright 1955 by the Hearst Corporation.  It also appears in the book A Medicine For Melancholy And Other Stories


"Hopscotch" copyright 1996 by Ray Bradbury.  It appears in the book Quicker Than The Eye.

Shutterbuggin' 2

Shutterbuggin'

Self Portrait

Lens Cap

My first effort at selling my photographs has come to an end.  Vortac Photography no longer has a home at Smugmug on the web, but when I find another venue to display my work I will add a link to it.  Many thanks to those who did view my work, and an extra thank you to those who purchased.

Careful What You Wish For

There are those who believe that the best thing for our country would be a return to the time when businesses were free to pursue profits without government interference. The halcyon days when there was no minimum wage, no OSHA or any other government agency to hamstring businesses with regulations.  A return to, say, March 25, 1911.

The building was fireproof. It shows now hardly any signs of the disaster that overtook it. The walls are as good as ever so are the floors, nothing is the worse for the fire except the furniture and 141 of the 600 men and girls that were employed in its upper three stories.

... 

At 4:40 o'clock, nearly five hours after the employes in the rest of the building had gone home, the fire broke out. The one little fire escape in the interior was resorted to by many of the doomed victims. Some of them escaped by running down the stairs, but in a moment or two this avenue was cut off by flame. The girls rushed to the windows and looked down at Greene Street, 100 feet below them. Then one poor, little creature jumped. There was a plate glass protection over part of the sidewalk, but she crashed through it, wrecking it and breaking her body into a thousand pieces. 

Then they all began to drop. The crowd yelled "Don't jump!" but it was jump or be burned...

...

Five girls who stood together at a window close the Greene Street corner held their place while a fire ladder was worked toward them, but which stopped at its full length two stories lower down. They leaped together, clinging to each other, with fire streaming back from their hair and dresses. ... There was no time to aid them. With water pouring in upon them from a dozen hose nozzles the bodies lay for two hours where they struck, as did the many others who leaped to their deaths. 

        Excerpts from the account of the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire by the New York Times.

The doors to the ninth floor work area were locked from the outside, trapping the victims. At trial, one of the owners

admitted to an almost obsessive concern with employee theft even though he conceded that the total value of goods taken over the years was under $25.

 

http://law2.umkc.edu/faculty/projects/ftrials/triangle/trianglefire.html