Morton Feldman

Can't remember what the piece was called. It was short, apparently dedicated to his piano teacher. It sounded like the sky. Well timed radio schedule - just in time to scare the ghost away. You might think I'm making it up. I'm not. There is a spectre thing which comes into my room at night. It tugs at my duvet like a patient calling for the nurse. Maybe it wants to talk. Maybe it wants to be alive again. Not what it's cracked up to be though living, is it? As a ghost you could have more fun turning invisible and scaring chavs. A few hours later bedroom door slammed shut. Would have cacked pants except Dilly was there. I jumped and she sat bolt upright. Strange how a small furry animal can make you feel less alone. She's a really stupid cat but does have an amazing talent for spotting when I'm down. If ever I start descending into the hole of doom she appears as if to say, don't look at that look at me. It's far more exciting. Makes you wonder though, are people with depression weak? Watched a bbc thing a week back. It was about what happens in your head when you get the more severe forms. Apparently part of your brain shrinks and you lose the ability to process normal emotions. Nice. Reassuring in a way. I never felt it was right to tell a victim of clinical depression to 'pull themselves together.' But it's understandable. Sad really. Like the bit of the brain that used to believe in something has been crushed. How do you cure something like that? Part of living here has forced me to recognise my limitations. I am poor, and not 'good' at anything. I'm just dull. What happened to me in the past was a result of me trying to exceed those limitations. I wanted to prove a point. One up against the truth. It went very badly wrong. I wanted to believe that there was something better out there. In fact there was, but even the slightest glimpse came on sufferance. I paid the price. Now I don't even feel better, because all that I could have had is gone. Ignorance = bliss. Those were the days. I've accepted my origins, my history, who I am, and actually it's okay. I'm not good enough. I'm constrained by my own selfishness. Probably always will be. I tried to be good, but one day woke up and realised that I have never been good my whole life. I take after my parents, and that says a lot. At best I consume, at worst I thieve. That little part of my brain that once made happiness just can't anymore. If it feels anything like I do, it's exhausted.