I’m, so far, a depression survivor. It’s a mixture of depressing and hilarious. I’ve started to collect the weirdest, dumbest and most illogical things people tell me when I mention that I have depression. I usually mention it as a disclaimer—and for comic relief because depressed people tend to love black humour. It somehow fits
I went out shooting for a bit today. There’s chronically nothing to shoot around. So I made do with the seasonal enhancements to the village square. I deliberately toned down the bright colours and cheeky glitter in some parts of the photos. To me, this is a more appropriate representation of the season than the
People swarm and swell And form a dumb mass Of bodies to fill the train Their vital signs are sound Except—they are dead And there are too many of them In this hell hole of a train Don’t they have somewhere else To be—or un-be—these undead? Like, I don’t know— Home, for instance? I’m open
I don’t even know what the title of the post means (but I can’t be bothered figuring out a more meaningful one). What is it, to be where you’re meant to be? Who does the meaning? I don’t know. I know who doesn’t do the meaning though: me. (Also, god, because I’m godless and faithless.) I’m
Design IKEA Made in CHINA What the f*ck? Well *shrug* Glass is glass You drop it . It breaks . . Into millions Of shards . . . Except, I guess In CHINA There’re no unions
I’m apolitical. Nay. I’m anti-political. I suspected that my country was holding a parliamentary election one of these days, and my fears were confirmed when I retrieved a set of ballots from my postbox. It was a bulky envelope bulging with two or three dozen ballots, one for each party running. I was unsure what
To take a break from contemplating suicide, I thought I’d brainstorm some ideas to stay alive instead. That’s my notion of testing the power of positive psychology. I believe I’m doing it right, theoretically, but really, I’m not feeling it. Let’s go through the exercise though. Here’s a bunch of random reasons why avoid suicide.
These days it’s the first anniversary of my nuthouse staycation. Despite the bad publicity these institutions suffer, my experience was that of the best holiday I ever had. There are so many reasons. You’ll never have more you-time. There was an obligatory programme to take part at for most of the day, but it was