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bipolarcreate

xmass mania

Dec. 22nd, 2011 | 05:04 pm
mood: bouncybouncy
posted by: moonsson in bipolarcreate

Holiday
cheer is around me
bright lights
crisp air
but I feel only mania
I either love it
or hate it
I need it
or want to smash it
I would welcome despair
if only for the calm it brings

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bipolarcreate

Pretty Bridges

Nov. 30th, 2008 | 01:44 pm
mood: blahblah
posted by: bipolartist in bipolarcreate

Pretty Bridges

I hate it when it’s over
And the bridge is burned
Dust jackets to cover
The last page is turned
For every dump, a collection
For every word, recollection
When it’s all a coincidence
Familiarity breeds contempt

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bipolarcreate

Art for recovery?

Oct. 23rd, 2008 | 07:44 pm
posted by: acellarinaday in bipolarcreate

I usually think of art as one of those things I do when I'm manic. Super-creative. Brilliant ideas.

Right now I'm damn low. Thinkin' about you-know-what. And then this weekend I started drawing these crazyassed things I can only describe as two-dimensional colored doilies. And it put me into this really weird mood. Not happy, but not unhappy. Just very, very calm.

So I guess what I'm saying - do you do art when you're depressed? Can it pull you out of it? I'm wondering, if I keep it up, if things will start to get better.

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bipolarcreate

Nothing stands alone

Oct. 10th, 2008 | 04:51 pm
posted by: ghostlion in bipolarcreate

Nothing stands alone. All things
must hold together with seams of substances
and woven bonds.
Friendship and need, love
and camaraderie.
Gather together
We are stronger.
When we remember
to hold on.

I am
frayed
on the edge.

I unravel
and
threaten to drift away.

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bipolarcreate

Why?

Sep. 21st, 2008 | 08:46 pm
posted by: mutly in bipolarcreate

Why can't I write? I have the ideas and work through them in my head but when I sit down to write them out I can't. I'm tired, frustrated as hell and I just want to write. To work on the list of story ideas I've collected. To create a world where things turn out in the end, even if it doesn't seem like the main character stands a chance. Writing used to provide an escape. A way to live through my characters and work through the stuff that was in my head, even if it didn't always seem to relate. Writing was my way of getting stuff out and now, I don't know it's gone. Part of me wonders if part of it is the lithium, that it slowed things down too much. I'm not that great of an author but I was getting better. It was like with art, when I had my teacher there to help me through the projects I did a fairly decent job but after she died it hurt to much. So I didn't do it for a long time and now when I try to paint or draw it's okay but nothing like it was when I was younger, and even then it wasn't great.
But writing was more recent. I know the principles. I just can't seem to get the words on the page. I want to pursue photography too, but even with that I don't know if I'll ever be good enough. I don't know how it's possible to have a logical mind but still crave the creativity of my youth. I'm thirty years old but I'm still just an overgrown kid. I still get a kick out of going to the park and playing on the playground. I just want to feel like myself and I honestly don't know who that is anymore.

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bipolarcreate

first post

Aug. 14th, 2008 | 08:35 pm
posted by: ohpasco in bipolarcreate

i wrote this the other day. i used to write constantly but it was usually when i was drinking. and that's just some awful shit.
i'm trying to write every day or every other day. this is something i'll probably work on to finish but i think i need to get things started.

homeless

i saw a movie with my friend from work
and acted like a hag the entire night
to come home to my mother's words
i wanted blueberries she said
but i hadn't brought them because
i got panicked in the blockbuster
while choosing an amusement for the weekend
it was very very bright and my eyes were
not accustommed to the second sale

and she's grunting in that new voice
like she could seize
but she's in control and just grouchy
and it's a new voice, still being learned.

there is corn on the dinner table inside of
its husk and she didn't feel like unwrapping it
so it sunk into a yellow prune and got cold
for me to take it out after cleaning out coffee mugs
and drying the things she wanted cleaned

but my doggie wants to go outside
like it's been a long time
and he can't choose sides or find fault
with either of his owners
so we just look at each other
homeless.

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bipolarcreate

Paintings by the Sun

Aug. 12th, 2008 | 08:07 pm
posted by: danparables in bipolarcreate



Lord, write the book of my life. Let your Son/Sun bring light to radiate and color my world.

I overlooked my campus and saw a Mighty Cross of Amazing Grace overlooking all. It gazed at the white "S" amidst the green astro turf canvass. The crowd, too numerous to count, seemed as little, colored, dotted paints of light to the Mighty Cross, but at the same time each individual speck amounted to everything in the way of importance.

If He looked close enough and He did, He could make out me. I was in the stands amidst the crowd.

Then He astonished me, the Lord handed me a cowbell. With this small instrument in hand, I was to direct the crowd to a large Cross overhead-- the Sun Himself. Many people feared that if they got too close to the Sun, they would burn up. They were right. They couldn't even get a complete picture of the Sun from a distance and needed sunglasses to simply gaze at Him.

But as an instrument of God, I had some the crowd's attention. I was playing my part with the cowbell-- letting them know they needed new bodies to approach the Sun. The individuals in the crowd would have to die to self just as the Mighty Cross/the Sun had died for them-- that they might start a new life in communion one with the Sun.

Lord, God, I don't just want to paint a pretty picture of words. I want You to write Yourself through me.

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bipolarcreate

one of my poems

Aug. 3rd, 2008 | 10:14 pm
posted by: prairie_berry in bipolarcreate

I wrote it after a man whom I loved dearly broke my heart, and it spun me into a downward spiral of severe depression.  After writing this, I felt a little better.  Now I share it with you.

The Harbour
by ~Ellie Waldner
copywrighted 2007
(last change Aug. 3, 2008)


~Not willingly her mind takes her
from the chill clear mountain peak and down,
down where subconscious thought lies ugly and dark.
The memory of Them is there beyond the pain;
all that followed, an ugly wound.
Her mind will beckon her to original comfort...
Through the gate into the black valley
where rain falls incessantly,
the travail of the path less arduous.
Winding down to the harbour she goes,
and now she will pass,
passed,
past.......
soon the soft lilt of the ocean waves
will carry her away, she embracing cold
on a cloud of other consciousness
to where They lived happily...
where I was sure he loved me.~

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bipolarcreate

(no subject)

Aug. 2nd, 2008 | 01:51 pm
mood: draineddrained
posted by: mutly in bipolarcreate

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bipolarcreate

Scared to Death...

Jun. 3rd, 2008 | 08:05 pm
location: Cleveland, OH
mood: scaredscared
music: David Lynch, "The Air is on Fire"
posted by: bipolartist in bipolarcreate

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