Remember there are birds...

Just breathe... breathe it out and count to ten.
1....
2...
3...
4....
....
...5
....
6....
....7
.........8
....9.....
10....
in.... and out.........
control your rage......
sure you can be angry. but don't let it control you. Your not crazy. You hear me in there Jimmy Hyde. YOUR NOT CRAZY. You are fucking mint. You are so mint you know everything before it happens because your so fucking tuned in. Oh yes. Oh yes. Fear the god. Fear the fucking god. Hear the crowd *rooaarrr* Its okay. Your better then this. This is not you. This isn't you. Your not angry. Just breathe it out....
mmm.... better. much better.

I'm getting better at expelling feelings I loathe. Much better its gone far far away. Feelings are like balloons, if you relax enough you can just let go of the string and woosh there it goes. And I'm being very good and refusing to run after these balloons. Instead I sit on this imaginary sand dune, watch them float away and wave. Not everything is an issue and there really isn't anything wrong with me, sure the intensity of feeling might be a little overwhelming at times, and mostly everything reflects bipolar disorder and the events in my life do amplify this reflection. But actually I'm fine. There is nothing wrong. And this conclusion is very definet. Because I can hang on to that euphoria for as long as I want to. And by god I love euphoria.
This is today's conclusion: I am an island. I am safe... I am remote and far away from anything and its okay.

August 11th 2007.... well before now and everything I now know to be life. Shove:

I sit on my beach. I say my beach, because recently I’ve decided I’m an island, and with it I must have a beach. So this is my beach. It stretches for miles, I’m a rather big island, the sand is white and fine like the type of sand you find in egg timers. There are a few palms draping over the sands to kiss the floor and behind me there’s a mash of strange foliage and jungle beaded with sweat from the heat.
So I sit watch the waves. Think under the moon light; listen to the stars hum in the wake of the morning. Just me. My island. My rules. Trails of foot prints are washed away by shallow waters. I kick around on the dunes. Cartwheel on the beach. Paddle occasionally.
Yes. This is my Island. Shove off.

old... badly written.
I've come full circle I think. Cept now it goes something like this:

I let trails of sand fly into the wind. Taste salt in my mouth and kill it by lighting a cigarette and taking a deep breath of it before feeding that to the wind as well. Deep swollen clouds have gathered above and threaten to rain on me, they threaten more then rain, there's a silent hum saying we'll destroy you with a hurricane, we'll rip you apart with everything we've got.
I sniff at them. Spit. Unimpressed. This is my island. Your forces are obsolete so enough with your empty silent words.
I yawn. Swear at the sky, V for victory, v for valour, v for vindicated. V for we will very kindly rip your skin off and eat it if you come too close.