Mirror images

There's two sides to me. Always has been, always will be. And they seem to be growing stronger and closer together. Maybe even drifting into bi-polar, albeit without the shrieking psychosis. One side likes to tell stories with meaning, if quietly so. Lyons' Den. Alice '65. David Martin. Even ...Owen Taylor.

The other side loves dipping into a darkness that's always been a part of me. From ...Straight Guy to Hunter and Blood Angel. Destructive, but not as much as they could be. I still have too tight a grip on that part and keep a little bit of hope in them all.

I've often said, the reason I write my darker books is so I don't become one with the black part of my soul. The anger and frustration and sadness it contains. And it does hold true for me. I've caught glimpses of it lying in wait to burst forth, but continued to make certain the bars were still in place to keep it trapped.

I try to be kind to people, to help push back against the unfairness of the world. I do what I can to support those who need it, even as the dark part laughs at me and says, It's a pitiful amount. You could do so much more. If I donate money, it's never as much as I could have. If I donate time, it's only the minimum, compared to others. Since I won't let the beast loose, it whispers in ways to hurt me.

I've been keeping up this pathetic balance for years, and I'm fairly certain that the reason I don't go hard in supporting politicians I like, or howl to help Ukraine fight off Russia's terrorism, or even join demonstrations to beat back the growing fascism of the GOP is I'm afraid if I do give in to that passion, I'll get distracted and those bars will vanish and the monster in me will roam free.

Imagine Dragons has a song, Demons, that I've tried to configure into my art...to my work...but it's too raw. The words...the lyrics...are knives slicing apart my soul and I fear what they're whittling away the barriers I've put up. My one safe thought is that it's really too late for me to go batshit crazy, except in a stupid eccentric old man sort of way. Can't hurt anyone, that way. Not like I was hurt.

I'm not saying this well. It's vague and jumbled, thanks to the chaos within. Just nattering to settle the madness. Not easy to do. Just another freaky writer trying to figure himself out. It's just, both sides of me look at each other. Stare at each other. Lock eyes on each other. And the fight to keep them where they are gets really tiring.