I have an
“Anxiety
App” that
generates
anxiety.
It’s also
called
“Fires near me”
Tag: anxiety
Snake in the grass – somewhere…
The “Black Dog”
is the symbol
of depression.
The “Brown Snake”
should be the
symbol of
anxiety.
Eyes wide closed
Having an online
map of bushfires
in this state,
constantly
updated,
is good because
it keeps you
informed about
what is burning.
It is bad
because it keeps
you informed about
what is burning.
Better late
I reached my
seventies, it
seemed, in a rush.
Suddenly I was
wandering in
a forest of years:
71, 77, 73, 78,
74, and look,
over there, at
the edge of the
forest, is 79.
And I think,
“I won’t be in
this forest very
long, for I am
running through
it. I should make
up my mind soon
what I am going
to do with my
life.”
Ask not
Clive James and
Jonathan
Miller are
dead? What is
that bell I
hear tolling?
Collective noun
I awake,
each morning,
to a shudder,
of anxieties.
Drip, drip, drip
As we grow older
small invisible
pores form in our skulls
and from them (like holes
in water tanks) drip
thoughts and ideas,
and memories of
recent times (being
closer to surface
of the mind), and wit
and concentration,
and names of people
once known like brothers
and sisters, and new
appointments, and old
research written by
me (apparently).
Quite soon the tank of
my mind I thought so
full will empty, like
dams drying in this
fearsome drought of my
old age.
Without a trace
Anxiety
soaks up
mental
energy
like dry sand
soaks up
water
But proportions matter
We all
need to live
simultaneously
in past,
present,
and future.
Homeward bound
Just as well the house
I lived in as a child has
been demolished,
bulldozed, removed from
the surface of the planet
and replaced by two new
houses with no history.
Not that I would want
it still standing but
extensively remodeled
and modernised. No
point in that other than
it representing the spot
on the planet where
I was formed and grew.
What I want, I suppose,
is to magically return
to the functioning 1950s
house, even the 1960s.
Furniture still in place,
pictures on walls, carpets
on floors, ornaments on
shelves, books in bookcases.
And people, people in chairs,
in kitchens, watching tv,
in the garden, welcoming
the New Year, talking of
the past. A house, a home,
reconstructed, revisited,
a place I once couldn’t
wait to escape for new
adventures, new sights
and sounds, new people.
But the past is another
country, and you can’t go back.
