Prose & Poetry

Most people like food. I like words. Poetry and prose. So does the Bipolar Clown, but let’s put him to one side for a moment shall we. Because the writing pages here on my blog are where things get a little more serious. This is where I cut open my soul and bleed out my pain. It’s the white knuckles and the toxic sweat, it’s the walls closing in and it’s the piranhas crashing against our doors in packed relentless lines. It’s where I fight the Reaper head on and try to coax you out of bed. I’ll try to take you on an odyssey. It’s where we lick our wounds and regather ourselves after the latest in an endless chain of wars. I’ll leave you with a passage from my bipolar memoir Clown & I:

“The bipolar life can look like a bloodthirsty and beautiful war, more than anything that resembles peace. It is love and the disaster of heartbreak, the dreamfight that must never end and the everlasting black and jewel quickening of the mind as it relates to the spirit and the soul.”

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