One day I suddenly stopped writing poetry and I began thinking too much. It was then I began to feel as if my soul was dying. The next three months were characterized by bouts of severe depression with short bursts of manic energy. For the most part, I sat around, stagnant, fighting thoughts with thoughts. Depression swelled into a maelstrom of unpredictable emotional outbreaks.

One evening I sat down with my typewriter, at four in the morning, and punched out the first brilliant poem of the season. My typewriter then chanced to break and I became hyperactive on a blogging website called Tumblr.

Recently, I began again thinking in song, verse, and arcane implication. The following is my story. Will I think myself to death?


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