Read something Russian. Novel, short story, play, poem. Especially Pushkin or Dostoyevsky. Holy moley did those guys live train wreck lives, and they lived them in a state of near-constant, tomb-like winter. They didnt write happy stuff, those Russians. But man did they sling some defiant word-bricks at the darkness, as if to say, to their own depression and madness, I own YOU. Youre merely renting space within my mind & soul. You REALLY want to stake a claim to my headspace? Then youre gonna have to share it with some darkness of my OWN creation. Im gonna give you a roommate called CRIME & PUNISHMENT thatll send you screaming out onto the Russian steppes. Read something Russian. Remind your depression that you have access to ancient, arctic gloom-blasts, and that if you cant make it leave your head, you can sure as shit frighten it into being a polite guest until the snow melts.
Posted on: Wed, 31 Dec 2014 19:03:54 +0000
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