Cubic Rubric

I'm staring at the screen again. And what's so wrong with that?
Why can't I learn to enjoy the void?

I used to have no problem with television. Now when I do allow myself near the box, it's an uneasy alliance. I watched more Larry Sanders tonight. It filled me, but this worries me because I don't usually need filling. To resort to my DVDs raises alarms or at least it would if I could muster up enough serotonin to flood a certain alarmist brainlobe. No, there's some starving regions up in me cortex, maddam. Speculate on the cause if you want, strip me to my synapses and put me on a poster. I'm pathetically apathetic tonight.

Got no time for civilization tonight.
And civilization's got no time for me.

"It's my party and I'll die if I want to" said the skeleton on the poster - guidance councilors in junior high. I never got high in junior high.

Now I don't care, about wrong or right, stoned or sober. And yet my nervous system isn't dullened and I feel the weight of living. But excessive analysis robs me of my allotted apathy, I wasted currency in self-imposed profundity.

I can't be bothered, to write my novel, to write my songs. I can almost be bothered to clean up. I will be bothered to go to work in three hours. I will.

The snow is so paltry this greenhouse winter, and yet it keeps me from taking my spirit walk, what would have been a writing walk back when... back when I was far stupider than now, and happier. Also more intellectually potent because I could focus – stupidity can be a problem solving aid – when you’re a hammer every problem looks like a nail. I was more useful then - I could have been reined in, trained in mathematics, my energy could have served something, I could have 3d rendered, I could have wrested power away from the plutocrat conspirators and designed the space colonies. I could have realized McKenna's dream of allowing humanity to live in our imagination - for whatever that's worth. I can't really dream anymore, except when I dream. My dreams have become nocturnal, the day is nightmare. Now I have self analysis and the extrapolation of this to... uh, whatever that thing is. You know, the thing. Do you know it?

Damn, this entry sucks. I've written suckier ones, but I haven't indulged in much self-flagellation for a while, so I thought I'd try it out.

I can't be bothered to read, and there's nothing I want to google. Ah yes, let everything I've ever cared about slip away, unclutter the neurological lattice - perhaps that is tranquility, an electro-chemical nirvana. Oh God, could I please shut up about chemicals already? But I can't, they seem so important, and I know jack shit about genes and sub-atomic particles.

Dez said I should be grounded, I'm guessing that's a great idea, but I'm also staring up at the winking blinking lattice and its black depatterning like it's the mobile above my deathcrib - I'm not exactly fascinated but it's something to look at. Not quite the void, not quite the void, not quite the void.

Whoops, this entry was supposed to be about staring at the screen. Well, maybe I'll lie down and stare at the inside of my eyelids instead. Catch you later, boys and girls.