My perception of reality is distorted, just a little bit, I think. Not in a cool, quirky way… not in a sad veiled way…
A neutral/mostly undetectable/non-affecting way.
I think that’s it.
Narco-Haze
Disclaimer: this message is intended for mature audiences only, viewer discretion advised.
A narco-haze is the only thing that will do, I believe. For a weekend. This nice Easter weekend. Relative narco-haze. I mean, a vastly dwindling supply of Vicodin and a relatively dwindling supply of Klonopin.*
*I do not advocate the use of this combination of drugs. Narcotics and Benzodiazapines should never be mixed. You will die.
And though I have an over-sized bottle of white wine in my possession… The weekend rule is not to drink generally.
For reasons, very much under my control (at least, at one point)… I’ve found myself in a situation wherein I literally cannot deal. Now, I say the phrase, “I cannot deal” frequently. Abuse would be the term. Desensitized and overwrought, I’ve rendered it useless. It’s a possibility many people overuse the phrase. For whatever reason and whatever frequency of use in the general populace…
The term I should use is, “I do not deal”. Things that might possibly be too overwhelming do not get dealt with. And so, I have this overall sunny and optimistic disposition. I never understood those with this impending anxiety. Many of these people exist. I was never one of them.
Every single second of every single day, I have some sort of anxiety brewing just subcataneously. Right there. I don’t like it. And I don’t want it. I’ve never experience anything like this.
I understand that this is an acute episode stemming from a specific event. Once I’ve been able clean everything up, it will go away. But I don’t like it.
So narco-haze.
In my decade plus under the influence, I have never gotten the downer-thing. The heroin-thing. I mean, I got heroin, it feels nice, no doubt. But I never understood the wasting away in a dark room-thing.
I like activity.
In any event, the details of my troubles are very mundane. and I cannot possibly get into them here without actually thinking about it. Total buzz kill.
Maintain the narco haze.
Peace out.
Public Transport aka Night passed Night
Public transportation in New York is a… not given… not anything… it’s just how you do it.
One takes the A, C, E, the 1 and 9, the F… I don’t know. One dreads the L at every moment that they are forced to take the L.
fuckin’ grey shit.
… because the L is only ever taken by force. The borough of Manhattan is only 2 miles across. Walk that shit. One finds themselves on the L or more likely, waiting for the L. It’s never a conscious decision.
Unless one lives in hipster Brooklyn… in which case… well, enough said. You don’t live in New York… you live in gentrified Brooklyn… The ‘hip’ can’t actually be ‘cool’.
Plus, many of these aforementioned gentrified Brooklynites own cars.
Cars? In metropolitan New York?
Ha… fuck you.
But I digress.
after 10, 11pm … just like…
…night passed night. Yeah, you know, THAT time; 4am in the morning, for example. I don’t know when the frequency actually stops. When the urgency of people cease to matter. And the people must adjust their urgency to the frequency… or lack-there-of, of the trains.
One better like the wooden bench-chairs… the emptiness… and the clack-click…woosh of all the distant trains that aren’t theirs [one's]. They better like that.
Oh and the cold… I always forget about the frigid freeze.
Because they’re gonna be there a while. And a while passed that while. They better be pretty fucked up. And wake to the noise of the train roaring into their station at last.
My car is dead… sort of. Monetarily; for the foreseeable future. On the IV drip that is mechanical life support. I believe it is on the accelerator donor list.
and… I, now, live in Southern California.
And as NY is to subways; CA is to cars.
But fuck that.
I don’t need the car.
I just need a really cool mix to listen to as the bus takes me where ever.
That’s another thing, what the fuck is a mix cd? Ha.
its never too late to be what you might have become
I mean, really?
Of course.
just, just if you don’t think. Just if you just do. go. go.
it’s an outstanding idea. outstanding.
just go.
but you can look back. you have to look back. you need to comprehend ‘back’.
unlike before. and before that and before that.
because if you just do… you need to atleast know that there is a ‘back’.
or else you/one ends up…
…here.
HERE
So, this is what this is.
A neverending purgatory or limbo.
I don’t want to acknowledge that this time exists. I just want it… not to be what it was… but a different version of what it was. The thing that I remember.
I don’t know what this is.
I just know that it’s a dull ache. I don’t like it.
Sometimes one forgets because it’s so dull.
This is why I drive to the bright though dark rich maroon of my own blood; this why I stare as the needle pierces the skin… then the basilic vein.
I need color, vibrancy… I need something.
God, this sounds like every 15 year old cutter’s manifesto.
But 15 was eight thousand years ago. And cut I do not. And I like things. And not just things that categorically “hurt”.
I like to smile. I have a brilliant smile. dimples and all.
and it’s almost 2009. It’s actually 2009 in New York. On 23rd Street.
My hair is different.
Please just calm any buzzing in any brain right now. and just try to absorb. and be cool.
I like odd numbers. 9, though curvy is odd.
I guess it just depends how you write it.
Happy New Year!
DVD’s revisited…
So, that DVD post somehow turned into a self-esteem sexual assault post. I’m sorry.
The 23rd and 24th were a combo of nitrous, vicodin, alcohol, dexedrine, klonopin, possibly a quarter a snort of adderall somewhere in the mix… so, this sounds like alot of stuff. Though it really isn’t. small, rationed portions of all, dexedrine, time-released… spanule… what the fuck is a ’spanule’?… time release this!
anyway
Everything prescribed. Everything, barring the N2O [dental procedure] and alcohol, in pill form.
PILLS! Man, I hate pills. I’m sorry. I love drugs, speed. And yes, I’d rather have the pills [I would never say I hate pills if I didn't have the luxury of procuring them.], but…
But why pills? Pills are a more mature form of a high. One can’t abuse pills in the way one needs to abuse. Unless it’s, say dilaudid… and i don’t even need a rig and a spoon. Though it would help.
Not the point, not the point. The point being, that’s how the DVD post went awry.
Thank you, drive thru. Happy Christmeth.
They say…
“you can’t always get what you want… but if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need.”
see, this is a problem when one doesn’t need anything.
oh…. shut up. shhh! shut the fuck up.
I acknowledge that I need stuff. okay?
Categorically.
The needs of physical existence.
which is what… matters, I suppose. You’re dead… you don’t need. …and you certainly do not have the capacity to want.
and this is precisely where I… “you can’t always get what you want” as if want where less important than need. a neccessity… a need… one NEEDS…
I want meth. but, the argument can be made that I don’t need it.
No… for my corporeal self to continue exist… I don’t. I’ve “lived” over a year without it. I’m healthy and alive.
i get to work on time. early… ha, could anyone believe that?
I’m sorry, I don’t want anyone to think bleak things… but, then again, no one reads this shit. I don’t care if I’m alive, if I’m not on meth.
FYI, the past year has been the most uncomfortable subtlely excrutiating experience of my entire life. I’d tilt my head and say it’s something else. I’m doing well. or whatever.
I can only tilt my head so far.
I’m easily distracted.
but I’m sorry, I’m not retarded.
