Idle rambling.
When I'm laying in bed at night I have the most (I'd like to think at least...) profound thoughts and marked streams of consciousness, but I don't have a way that's easy as a keyboard (or markedly more legible for that matter) available to me where I'm staying. (petty bitching, I know)
A girl I'm somewhat seeing at the moment is presenting quite the conundrum. I don't feel like a man unless there's a woman in my life to some extent. However the damages done to my ego and super-ego from the last *relationship* I was in are still bleeding and the scar tissues have truly yet to form. Not to mention sex with this girl may have lasting consequences. I pride myself on my prowess in the bedroom and whatnot, yet I'm not sure I want to wholly commit myself to anyone... let alone this particular female.
The medications I'm on make my libido near zilch as it is, and now I'm nearly terrified of women to the point of self-preserving indifference to the whole subject. I need a break. I need to resharpen the intellectual pencil of my mind, assuming I haven't irrevocably damaged it with cannabis and booze. I can actually note a difference in the way my mind associates words, memories, and ideas to my hands and mouth from say, 3 years ago. I've gone from a quick-fire cynic who could decimate scores of internet shitbags with wit and sarcasm... to someone struggling to spell words properly and format a reasonably formed sentence.
Had I known the effects would be so pronounced and distinct, I'd never have abused to the excess that I did. Sure I knew weed fried your brain, but I suppose I didn't care at the time.
Hrm, on to something else. Let's see if this addled mind can recall some of it's previous bullshit.
Well let us see. Pause. A break in the mindstream, I note the fellow patrons of the library, tapping away and murmuring to fellow classmates or sweethearts. Disconnected, it's as if I'm here yet not quite. I'm on the same book but each life is just a page. (yeah I know this is stolen, but it applies, and all being a scholar truly is these days is knowing when to regurgitate someone else's ruminations) I suppose this jaded sense of separation from the community whole is what they call growing up. Strange, I still feel like a fucking little kid around the big boys, but my front wouldn't indicate such... and the stream of lies and smiling malice I'm capable of come now out of habit more than actual heartfelt emotion of desire.
Ironic. I wish to become a "respectable" person, but my old habits of cruelty and deceit are rooted deep. I don't know how to act around people. I'm sober (well, not totally, but fuck you, I'm a retiring junkie, if you haven't been there... suck out my farts and die) now. I've forgotten how to be a real person, so used to the fraudulent and old ways it takes honest *hah* effort to show what I feel and think.
Instead of the usual "Right on." response to practically EVERYTHING said to me, I'm trying to become more involved in the daily drama of life, out of boredom if nothing else. Christ, I cannot shake the feeling that everything I say is some brass cliche used by every other fuck with half a mind and a pen (mine being electrical, obviously) with which to write.
Ah, the sublime struggle for individualism amongst a sea of different and beautiful fishes. One of the paradigm changes I'm forcing upon myself is to appreciate -everything- and try and understand why they do what they do, how they go about it; and the possible causes for their current mindset as well as the way I react to them initially, in retrospect, and then in memory.
Fuck me, the only words I can truly claim as my own are when I forget for that fleeting second what a truly sorry fuck of a lifestain I am. Not out of masturbatory self-accusation, (guilt is sweet, the finest liquor has no compare) do I say this, but a bitter realization that I have recently turned 23, I'm homeless, a junkie, and my mind is a bit frayed around the edges, and yet I WILL STILL BE LEAPS AND BOUNDS SMARTER THAN MY PEERS.
Will I ever get over my own ego? Doubt it, becoming a humble person is the hardest damn thing I've yet to attempt. But I say fuck humility, take pride in what you do, where you are in your life, scholastics, athletics, BE PROUD. Fuck absolving your accomplishments to God. He created cancer. FUCK JESUS. I may be more "spiritual" as it were, but AA is just re-igniting my fires of rage for totalitarian religion. I see these old men, 25+ years sober, but I can almost smell the shit they've replaced their addiction with.
They come to the meetings giddy with delight at the fact they can yell at the newcomers, about how "Cunning, crafty, and Menacing" or what the fuck ever, alcohol is. They love being the martyr. AA isn't about sobriety at the one I'm attending, it's highschool drama motherfucking bullshit combined with a homophobic atmosphere... (Having said that, I don't see much difference between the two)
I see these fucking college pukes who almost... Fuck what's the word. This is what I'm talking about with the weed damage. I should know it. Prostrate. Yes.
I see these fucking college pukes who almost prostrate themselves at the community tables, thanking their lord and savior Jesus H. Christ for their whole 2 years of sobriety, when I fucking smell the whiskey on their breath.
What goes on in their mind? Are they still so plagued by addiction that they feel no guilt for being that false? Fuck knows I've been there countless times.
Do they feel shame, guilt, resentment, or rage?
I think this is enough, my right hand is still pretty fucked up, and this is perfect exercise to keep the hand away from atrophy... the mind as well I suppose. But with no one to communicate with, I suppose I'm just the same as the crazy man in the solitary cell, speaking only to phantoms he can see.
Insanity isn't so bad.
A girl I'm somewhat seeing at the moment is presenting quite the conundrum. I don't feel like a man unless there's a woman in my life to some extent. However the damages done to my ego and super-ego from the last *relationship* I was in are still bleeding and the scar tissues have truly yet to form. Not to mention sex with this girl may have lasting consequences. I pride myself on my prowess in the bedroom and whatnot, yet I'm not sure I want to wholly commit myself to anyone... let alone this particular female.
The medications I'm on make my libido near zilch as it is, and now I'm nearly terrified of women to the point of self-preserving indifference to the whole subject. I need a break. I need to resharpen the intellectual pencil of my mind, assuming I haven't irrevocably damaged it with cannabis and booze. I can actually note a difference in the way my mind associates words, memories, and ideas to my hands and mouth from say, 3 years ago. I've gone from a quick-fire cynic who could decimate scores of internet shitbags with wit and sarcasm... to someone struggling to spell words properly and format a reasonably formed sentence.
Had I known the effects would be so pronounced and distinct, I'd never have abused to the excess that I did. Sure I knew weed fried your brain, but I suppose I didn't care at the time.
Hrm, on to something else. Let's see if this addled mind can recall some of it's previous bullshit.
Well let us see. Pause. A break in the mindstream, I note the fellow patrons of the library, tapping away and murmuring to fellow classmates or sweethearts. Disconnected, it's as if I'm here yet not quite. I'm on the same book but each life is just a page. (yeah I know this is stolen, but it applies, and all being a scholar truly is these days is knowing when to regurgitate someone else's ruminations) I suppose this jaded sense of separation from the community whole is what they call growing up. Strange, I still feel like a fucking little kid around the big boys, but my front wouldn't indicate such... and the stream of lies and smiling malice I'm capable of come now out of habit more than actual heartfelt emotion of desire.
Ironic. I wish to become a "respectable" person, but my old habits of cruelty and deceit are rooted deep. I don't know how to act around people. I'm sober (well, not totally, but fuck you, I'm a retiring junkie, if you haven't been there... suck out my farts and die) now. I've forgotten how to be a real person, so used to the fraudulent and old ways it takes honest *hah* effort to show what I feel and think.
Instead of the usual "Right on." response to practically EVERYTHING said to me, I'm trying to become more involved in the daily drama of life, out of boredom if nothing else. Christ, I cannot shake the feeling that everything I say is some brass cliche used by every other fuck with half a mind and a pen (mine being electrical, obviously) with which to write.
Ah, the sublime struggle for individualism amongst a sea of different and beautiful fishes. One of the paradigm changes I'm forcing upon myself is to appreciate -everything- and try and understand why they do what they do, how they go about it; and the possible causes for their current mindset as well as the way I react to them initially, in retrospect, and then in memory.
Fuck me, the only words I can truly claim as my own are when I forget for that fleeting second what a truly sorry fuck of a lifestain I am. Not out of masturbatory self-accusation, (guilt is sweet, the finest liquor has no compare) do I say this, but a bitter realization that I have recently turned 23, I'm homeless, a junkie, and my mind is a bit frayed around the edges, and yet I WILL STILL BE LEAPS AND BOUNDS SMARTER THAN MY PEERS.
Will I ever get over my own ego? Doubt it, becoming a humble person is the hardest damn thing I've yet to attempt. But I say fuck humility, take pride in what you do, where you are in your life, scholastics, athletics, BE PROUD. Fuck absolving your accomplishments to God. He created cancer. FUCK JESUS. I may be more "spiritual" as it were, but AA is just re-igniting my fires of rage for totalitarian religion. I see these old men, 25+ years sober, but I can almost smell the shit they've replaced their addiction with.
They come to the meetings giddy with delight at the fact they can yell at the newcomers, about how "Cunning, crafty, and Menacing" or what the fuck ever, alcohol is. They love being the martyr. AA isn't about sobriety at the one I'm attending, it's highschool drama motherfucking bullshit combined with a homophobic atmosphere... (Having said that, I don't see much difference between the two)
I see these fucking college pukes who almost... Fuck what's the word. This is what I'm talking about with the weed damage. I should know it. Prostrate. Yes.
I see these fucking college pukes who almost prostrate themselves at the community tables, thanking their lord and savior Jesus H. Christ for their whole 2 years of sobriety, when I fucking smell the whiskey on their breath.
What goes on in their mind? Are they still so plagued by addiction that they feel no guilt for being that false? Fuck knows I've been there countless times.
Do they feel shame, guilt, resentment, or rage?
I think this is enough, my right hand is still pretty fucked up, and this is perfect exercise to keep the hand away from atrophy... the mind as well I suppose. But with no one to communicate with, I suppose I'm just the same as the crazy man in the solitary cell, speaking only to phantoms he can see.
Insanity isn't so bad.