Difficulties

Active flux
Supporting things
Is this not also piercing through?

Resistant matter; sounds of creaking;
Then burning; boring through.

Yes, resistance.  I can hardly write a sentence without being interrupted.  Iím not in a good place mentally.  I am not happy.  I feel like my life is controlled by adolescent values.  When the teenager is home the television is always on.  I canít stand being at home.   I was teased a lot when I had spent some time in jail because this was the first thing I said when I got out:  ďThis is a terrible place for someone who grew up listening to classical music.Ē  The clatter of commercial television and even commercial music is torture for me.  In jail the television was blaring almost constantly up to and beyond time for bed.  Of course no one would ever let me change the channel to PBS.  Those big guys just wanted to watch sports and westerns. Now my fellow inmates, my family, watch sitcoms.  The laugh track is the loudest part of the show.  Itís always the same tune droning on, ďBlah, blah, blah . . . hungh, hungh, hungh hungh!Ē  The television and commercial radio is constantly shouting at you.  There are no pauses.  Not even for two seconds.  I teach class to television addicts and what I teach is incomprehensible to them because it doesnít have the stupid rhythm of the sit-com laugh track.  Iím trying my best to be a little humorous in describing this, but this annoyance on top of my anxiety about being in a ďfallen stateĒ and not having a job to support my family, and nothing happening art-wise that I would want to add to my resume and make me feel like I have been contributing to the world . . . is starting to get me pretty down.  I donít feel like Iím a part of this world and even my home seems to be becoming less and less of a world in which I wish to live.  In my lowest states (which my present mood seems to be approaching) I feel like there is really no place for me on this planet.  Maybe Iíve done what little good I could and itís time to leave . . . itís time to leave . . .