For the happy man! - Collected writings DEPRESSION: Ed Atkins

The repulsion of two-two fleshy magnets, back to back.
Fleshy – nowadays crisped. By the back of the sun’s
face, which is of course terrifically cold. Represented here by
sprawling negative numbers. Degrees beneath degrees. Beneath
long divisional lines. Some new term of measurement in use. Its
devising a consequence of reaching the limit of a prior standard.
A cold, dead, snakelike sibling for Kelvin, Celcius. The apologists
of Fahrenhait, the juju of sprained frenulum linguae – the
thin purpled muscle connecting the tongue to the bed of the
mouth, where you and I both have buried hundreds of those
metal tips of thermometers.
This cold being one of a suit of environmental factors
that have been suggested as aggravating to this skin condition I
suffer from. The list also including stress (depression – perhaps
by that FAT THUMB, or the terrible THREE FINGERS that
shift between dimensions, etc.), withdrawal of systemic corticosteroid,
some form of fengshui of the internal organs, etc. –
Few have shown statistical significance. So we turn to the advice
of quacks and tabloid scientists and wolf down great handfuls of
blueberries and drink pots and pots of green tea. Subsequently,
you’re in and out of the downstairs toilet a lot.
We’ve noticed, of course.
WE’VE NOTICED, OF COURSE.
I would say because we care, but I can’t really say that
with any conviction.
Conviction, I’m afraid, is RESERVED FOR ABUSE.
Over there, the lure of the parent planet, attracting and