Merry Christmas.
Driving home from various displays of debauchery I often think that I should write again. Topics that come to mind frequently vary in quality so much so that I’ve tried graphing the relationship between the drugs and the storyboards. So far my results are inconclusive. Either the drugs have no effect on the ideas or the relationship is simply too complex to decipher with my limited knowledge of calculus.
Last night one of my plans was to write a sermon. Although finding a suitable church to deliver said sermon -- a sermon so devoid of the cordial messages we’ve come accustomed to - well fuck I’m fairly sure there would be no place for me to speak. Nevertheless it’s fun to toy with the idea of going before a congregation and detailing the corrupt activities of the previous night. Starting off with a line such as “Jesus I’m hung over” or “Good Lord was I high last night” really stirs the blood. The idea isn’t to horrify the audience but rather be honest with myself and with the people that my message is intended for. A true test of “Love thy neighbor” so to speak. The body of such a sermon would detail the hypocrisy of most churches: the cliques, the rumor mill, and the general distaste members have for people they don’t approve of.
Therein lay the problem with my sermon. Once again it’s about faulting others for their issues whilst making light of my own problems. My own problems… I don’t believe everything in my life is wrong, I’m fairly sure if a friend were trying to talk me off of a ledge they’d have quite the bank of positive things currently going on in my life to make me step down. However something is wrong. Something is clearly wrong in me. The best I can explain it is like a cancer. I imagine it as something that you first don’t notice, but then the symptoms begin to surface… and sooner or later, you finally realize you’re fucked. However this cancer is nothing like the physical breed. Fuck maybe it is. Maybe I have cancer. Anyone had cancer round here? Would anyone like explain how they realized they had cancer?
I don’t have cancer.
So what’s my deal? Narrowing the field on this culprit problem has been difficult. I feel like everything I do these days has a film of poison over it, something that has slightly removed me from all experiences of the day. Some sort of acid that’s dulled all the sharp feelings of joy and pain. Maybe I was always like this. Maybe I’m just lonely. Maybe I just haven’t really experienced anything really worth experiencing recently. If it’s the latter, suddenly we’ve arrived at a wholly different set of troubles. Then again, maybe we’ve come to some sad realization: my life has slowed down.
At the fair there’s that Gravitron ride, that spinning monstrosity where you get thrown against the walls and then lifted into the air. Everyone gets on it, either to enjoy the second best ride at the sad fairs we have these days, or to void the stomach of that elephant ear you ate all too recently… Either way, sooner or later you’re on that ride. The spin up time is mortifying, everyone just standing there looking at each other like apes with dumb grins smeared on their faces. All of us waiting, waiting quietly for some sort of wild excitement to occur, a small distraction to make the doldrums of the slowly accelerating spin worth it. Finally when that thing is really moving, only then does everyone get loud and talkative. For those 15 seconds where you’re blasted by a centrifugal force up against a wall and 2 feet off the ground, those 15 seconds of hellish fun makes the ride worth it. I feel like my 15 seconds is over, and I’m yearning to ride again... And for the past few months I’ve been pulling various tricks out of my bag so in a savage attempt to re-live that experience.
I’m fairly sure the rules have changed. Nothing I’ve learned so far will give me that magnificent wild ride I once was so easy to acquire. That is the poison film, the cancer… my inability to get a high off of the shit that is blowing up in my life.
Maybe it’s time to blow up a bigger, and a wider array of shit. Maybe it’s finally time to do something with my life.
…
Fuck.
Keeton
Last night one of my plans was to write a sermon. Although finding a suitable church to deliver said sermon -- a sermon so devoid of the cordial messages we’ve come accustomed to - well fuck I’m fairly sure there would be no place for me to speak. Nevertheless it’s fun to toy with the idea of going before a congregation and detailing the corrupt activities of the previous night. Starting off with a line such as “Jesus I’m hung over” or “Good Lord was I high last night” really stirs the blood. The idea isn’t to horrify the audience but rather be honest with myself and with the people that my message is intended for. A true test of “Love thy neighbor” so to speak. The body of such a sermon would detail the hypocrisy of most churches: the cliques, the rumor mill, and the general distaste members have for people they don’t approve of.
Therein lay the problem with my sermon. Once again it’s about faulting others for their issues whilst making light of my own problems. My own problems… I don’t believe everything in my life is wrong, I’m fairly sure if a friend were trying to talk me off of a ledge they’d have quite the bank of positive things currently going on in my life to make me step down. However something is wrong. Something is clearly wrong in me. The best I can explain it is like a cancer. I imagine it as something that you first don’t notice, but then the symptoms begin to surface… and sooner or later, you finally realize you’re fucked. However this cancer is nothing like the physical breed. Fuck maybe it is. Maybe I have cancer. Anyone had cancer round here? Would anyone like explain how they realized they had cancer?
I don’t have cancer.
So what’s my deal? Narrowing the field on this culprit problem has been difficult. I feel like everything I do these days has a film of poison over it, something that has slightly removed me from all experiences of the day. Some sort of acid that’s dulled all the sharp feelings of joy and pain. Maybe I was always like this. Maybe I’m just lonely. Maybe I just haven’t really experienced anything really worth experiencing recently. If it’s the latter, suddenly we’ve arrived at a wholly different set of troubles. Then again, maybe we’ve come to some sad realization: my life has slowed down.
At the fair there’s that Gravitron ride, that spinning monstrosity where you get thrown against the walls and then lifted into the air. Everyone gets on it, either to enjoy the second best ride at the sad fairs we have these days, or to void the stomach of that elephant ear you ate all too recently… Either way, sooner or later you’re on that ride. The spin up time is mortifying, everyone just standing there looking at each other like apes with dumb grins smeared on their faces. All of us waiting, waiting quietly for some sort of wild excitement to occur, a small distraction to make the doldrums of the slowly accelerating spin worth it. Finally when that thing is really moving, only then does everyone get loud and talkative. For those 15 seconds where you’re blasted by a centrifugal force up against a wall and 2 feet off the ground, those 15 seconds of hellish fun makes the ride worth it. I feel like my 15 seconds is over, and I’m yearning to ride again... And for the past few months I’ve been pulling various tricks out of my bag so in a savage attempt to re-live that experience.
I’m fairly sure the rules have changed. Nothing I’ve learned so far will give me that magnificent wild ride I once was so easy to acquire. That is the poison film, the cancer… my inability to get a high off of the shit that is blowing up in my life.
Maybe it’s time to blow up a bigger, and a wider array of shit. Maybe it’s finally time to do something with my life.
…
Fuck.
Keeton