Lost dreams 5 (2)

The name, ‘Lost Dreams’ came from a lyric in a Mob song….although looking at the lyrics now, looks like I might’ve got that wrong ha ha ha!! Bloody typical, anyway it certainly sounds like (from: our world): ‘lost dreams lost, cuz no one was there’ Instead, the actual lyrics—according to the poster are: ‘lost scream lost, ‘cos no one was there’.

Close, listening to it - it sounds more like dreams than screams well, it did to me back whenever I used to sing along to ‘Let the tribe increase’ almost 10 times a day & night, back in the day!

Wait a bit, what’s this… lyrics to ‘Cry of the Morning’: ‘no time for reflection on lost dreams and hopes.’ Yes!!!! I knew it came from this album of awesomeness! Just wasn’t quite sure which song-well, there ya go.

Yan Tree 2017 To 2018 & beyond; Fuck it to the Fucking Fuckest! Ever! I love Dreams—I hold on to them, I long for them, I wish for dreams— who doesn’t? I’ve had dreams come true! So dreamers dream on.

If you wanna contribute to a future Lost Dreams zine email me your art or poems or stories at: jan.shaw@talk21.com ok? Please email me!!!!!!!

I’m trying to make peoples experiences of mental health to be shared; to basically enhance peoples life, to share our experiences, to believe in one another, to support one another, to make our experiences count and be educational towards potential experiences that we all may face.

The possibility that these mental health issues represent upon a person is an eventuality of accidental death. That is what the professional mental health worker is attempting to prevent & offer supportive therapeutic interventions within the community rather than a hospital admission. We cannot cure—we can try & manage—it is up to you, at the end of the day.

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Hey, Lost Dreams was a poem art zine myself and a few friends used to make from back in the 80’s through to the late 90’s. There were 4 issues actually printed. I have scanned these and they are available on line — that’s if anyone really, REALLY wanted to check them out (email me for details). Basically they were an art/poem zine in a time of punk band interview and music review zines — everyone seemed to hate them — yet they were kinda semi-popular. I was planning on doing a ‘Lost Dreams’ No. 5 — if I ever found the time but working, having a family, animal rights demo’s & being in a band just blew making a new zine right from my mind. Well, Steve (bless xoxo) has rekindled the zine within me! I do feel a resurrection of Lost Dreams or similar if possible. The kids have grown up a bit & there’s more I can do before I’m fucking dead!!! I re-found a dream last night which was unbelievably surreal, so maybe those Lost Dreams are not forever lost…….

The lost….Lost Dreams…poem/art zine.

This is Jan (or Yan) in a squat, in Armley, Leeds. He used to go to Chumbawamba’s house for a bath or cups of tea. He can’t recall now.

Yan or Jan, is currently a Mental Health Nurse. He was, and still is, an anarchist and a vegan (though he wasn’t vegan at the time of this picture - he was just being rebellious, what with his punk rock leather jacket!).

This is John, his brothers name is Zippy.

Apparently he is currently a teacher in Wales now.

John used to go to the Chumba’s house also.

This is a cool picture of John chilling out, he is a very cool dude. And, he wrote most of the poem/lyrics to ‘from the time…’

From the time I realised, that I was alive,

I had to fight, and strive to survive, to reach a final reality.

Me I was and I was me, living a life being able to see.

Joyous and sad, the ebb then the flow, swamped by conformity.

Over my face I wore a mask, I had to conceal to stay on my path,

From the time…

a separate entity.

wearing this mask it moulded to be, something I’m not.

Thus I appear to you a paradox, but hidden paths in your mind I want to unlock.

Eternal crossroads, which way to choose, alone in the dark reviewing my moods.

Soon, its too soon, to walk through that door, will time tell? Now who can be sure.

The spiral of time, dissolves as I pass.

Nothing achieved this just not is me, yet cannot go back, spin round and round.

1984 to 2017…

I don’t want to be.

What do I find now I am free, green is the field the fruit so tasty.

but axes are raised, to live is escape, but guarded the ways.

Guarded by force by hate and despise, so very deep penetrate the lies.

Secret poison and a deadly venom.

Show me the way, I’m back at square none.

by John &

The shadow withdraws,

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Hello from Pittsburgh, PA.

9:30am. Labor Day. 9/4/2017

>>> It is sunny and cool, I’m in my living room drinking green tea and listening to Sandy Denny.

I have struggled with depression for as long as I can remember. Ages 10-11 are bookmarked in my head as when my first depressive episodes occurred, but I likely had it since much earlier. Depression manifests itself differently in early childhood than it does during adolescence and adulthood. A couple of years ago over Christmas my family and I were watching old home movies and I saw what a pissy, moody kid I was, even at age 6. We all joked that I really was born to be miserable.

In 5 days I turn 32, and things have not gotten easier. I developed Fibromyalgia (FM) about 6 or 7 years ago, and even with medication it doesn’t take much to trigger a depressive episode. They usually last 2-3 months and happen twice a year. It’s utterly debilitating. I am just now coming out of one that started at the end of June. Each time it feels like this is it - I’m finally going to lose this battle. I’m worried that one of these days it’s going to be true. Depression is a potentially fatal illness, after all.

I have had this nagging thought in my head since childhood that I would one day die by suicide. That eventually I would get too tired to fight it, that the pain simply wouldn’t be worth enduring anymore. That no matter what happens in the future, that’s how my timeline ends. Even now when I’m feeling better, this thought looms over me with this disquieting sense that the end is drawing near. Fuck, I hope I’m wrong. I promise I’ll do all I can to avoid such a grisly and tragic fate. I get to see a psychiatrist next month, so that’s something.

When I was 17 I was refusing to get out of bed and go to school and go to school, complaining of fatigue. Also, being a typical teenage punk, I ranted a lot about not wanting to participate in that conformity-factory-called-high-school’s plan to turn me into a good little servant of a cruel and unjust system, and that there was no future and everything was hopeless and so on. My parents took me to the doctor, where I lied on the little questionnaire so it wouldn’t reveal my depression. I thought they were trying to control my rebellious nature (well, they were) and I wanted them to leave me alone. This may be an un-punk sentiment, but I should have listened.

First of all, the brain is at its most plastic between ages 10-25. If there’s a time to address your mental health problems, it’s when you’re a teenager. The longer you wait the more you are hard-wired (neurologically speaking) for depression and the harder it is to ‘unlearn’. I’m reading a great book on the subject: “Age of Opportunity - Lessons from the New Science of Adolescence. Laurence Steinberg 2015”.

Second, I believe that not getting any treatment until age 26 is what caused me to develop Fibromyalgia. All those years of marinating in stress hormones effectively re-wired my central nervous system until the depression began to manifest itself physically - chronic muscle pain, flu-like aching all over my body. Even my hair hurts some days. I don’t like to be touched. It feels like you’re pressing on a bruise. Simple day-to-day tasks I used to take for granted are now a colossal undertaking. I can’t endure a full work week and am extremely poor. The pain and the poverty naturally lead to social isolation. I could go on forever about how FM has ruined every aspect of my life. The point is, the line between FM and depression is well established, so please get help before you get to this point.

Now it is October 17th and I’m finally back at my desk to finish writing this. The depression is subsided, though nothing about my general circumstances has changed. That goes to show you, as tempting as it is to assign external causes to one’s depression, you can’t. It’s a disease. The disease causes your life to unravel, or at least make you think it is. It tricks you. Try to keep that in mind next time. Recently a friend wrote to me to remind me that everytime I was depressed, I eventually came out of it. That’s worth remembering too. It’s a lifelong struggle, but it comes in temporary bursts. Just wait it out. I know for me, when I’m depressed my decision making abilities are greatly impaired, so it’s best not to make any decisions, especially big permanent ones like deciding to die. I know it’s hard, but it’s okay, you don’t have to decide right now. Try to get some rest.

I don’t know if I can be helpful, but you can write to me if you want.

Dan Gamble 817 Walnut St Pittsburgh PA 15221 USA spirobolidae@gmail.com

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Do you recall those pictures of John & Yan? Yeah? They were taken in a squat in Arm This picture is taken from the same squat. But now we are downstairs & this was paint Snakey. He was into Psychic TV, being a ‘catalyst’ type of dude and basically mind-fu

mley, Leeds, UK. Those pictures were upstairs. ted over the fireplace: by a friend called ucking people, to make them THINK!