Something
Emporium

October is the cruelest month

I thought I didn't feel like posting yesterday. Well, now I really don't feel like it. But I have to, if only so that this can serve as a sort of marker point. See, this strange thing happens to me around October and it doesn't seem to clear up until the end of February - right throughout the best months of the year. It's happening again. It's a kind of fever, I guess. I mention it quite often when in the company of others and under the influence of alcohol. Like anything worth talking about it's hard to describe. There's a peculiar sense of loss - loss of meaning particularly - and at the same time I really don't give a damn about it because there's other stuff going on. So, I pretty much turn into a gabbering wreck and walk around half-dazed.

So, it all builds up until (predictably) around Christmas time. Then it's just a matter of burning it back for another six months. It's a refreshing cycle and it seems to mess around with my head just enough so that by the end of it I'm all set to sit through a boring autumn and welcome in winter. Dammit, I wish I could enjoy summer more.

Roll on 3/1/06.
Dominic

Comments

you better not be s--tty all January.

t.
aymar
April (read: October) is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

The month part doesn't end the line remember; maybe it's just a bitch to come back to life after being dead for the winter. But necessary right?
aymar
Yeah, I know it doesn't end the line, and that I was bastardising it up there. It's a little hard to fit the entire meaning and intent of multiline poetry into a single headline.