So much for giving modern psychiatric medication it’s chance.

Not that I’ve given up on it — still taking my Clonidine and Lexapro (not to mention my Neurontin) — but I made a few extra bucks today fixing an outdoor faucet for a neighbor and (surprise! surprise!) used the proceeds to buy a big jug of whiskey.

Yes, I’m weak. And yes, I’m an asshole for doing such a despicable and selfish thing, especially when it’s been made clear to me that if I keep caving I better start looking for a cave — or buy a tent or gather up some branches for a lean-to. But a new poem is happening. And not just one, but two! The first poems since I agreed to do this “med” thing instead of my “self-med” booze thing (for the record, I’m doing both med approaches). Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, I don’t know and honestly don’t care. Until the booze runs out, I’m relatively happy.

In any case, I’m working two poems simultaneously (not that I’m trying to be a show-off, I’m just of two minds right now) and for the past week I haven’t been able to focus on one. Not even an edit of an old poem.

The one I’m working the most on (for now) has to do with being a boy doing and thinking boy things that revolve around an abandoned railroad trestle me and some young friends used to dangle our legs from while fishing and playing pirate and talking about girls and all that boyish shit. The other (which I keep going back to, mostly to make notes) is a more philosophical piece relating to Tolstoy’s “What is Art?” essay/treatise or whatever you want to call it. The thoughts I’m having about “low” versus “high” art brought me back to that piece and now I’m digging into my own ideas about it.

So it’s a poem-in-the-works about boys doing boy stuff from an abandoned railroad trestle, and another poem-in-the-works based on my take on “art” as described by Tolstoy.

Welcome to my world.