welcome to annexia

emotions are hiding - they’re out there, close, gaining strength in stealth - i can’t feel them now, but they’ll be back to rip me apart – it’s as necessary as vegetable genocide - i wasn’t build for solidity, i must be torn to the winds, i’m a weather system

"sexual frustration" is an interesting phrase, especially now, in this transient detachment - i feel uninvolved and unevolved - single-celled mindset, a lot of redundant dinucleic data - i was frustrated that "sexual frustration" didn't adequately convey a heartache i was feeling when i used the phrase, like lust was the surface rust on a centuries-old shipwreck - and then there was the time this girl i was chatting with talked of sexual frustration - i was a pinball sorcerer till i ran out of quarters, it was a frustrating game, the flashing lights drove me insane, i got a little too involved

i'm in some blank reprieve – some - don’t know which one - dull-eyed, tired, can't sleep - haven't got any useful meds - got some money and material – a materialist’s inventory but no meaningful activity - putting life in context like i put dishes in the dishwasher, my professional niche, my life’s work, my one true talent, a serf’s birthright, pays the bills, putting life in context like an obsessive compulsive puts personal items in the order only he understands, an arbitrary order that must be just so, once more, from the top – i’m halfway through a william burroughs bio on wikipedia - lost interest in health - disease seems reasonable – all behavior is neurosis, woodland stress, quasi-rural culture-shock baseline – mike told me he was diagnosed with the list – you know the list, everyone’s got one – if you get your head checked you come back with the list – obsessive compulsion, depression, mania, attention deficit disorder – implying there’s an order – well there was – it was vegetarian – but they don’t serve our kind at the CHUD café

read some of my journal entries from eight years ago - not much has changed really - i'm still this silly person with etched idioms, behavioral patterns inherited from a homeworld that won't have me, that demands imaginational reserves i splurged on level designs for first person shooters, a world i was going to write about but couldn't, that exists as notes for a novel i'll never finish - idiomatic patterns, synesthetic art - i write draw play music, soulless patterns, expressing emptiness with brilliant babble, play of light and sound, amateur - no commercial value, artistic value in that little riff i receive here and there, props from an equally amateur colleague, we're in the same pathetic league, i sample other people on occasion, sometimes feels right to reciprocate, sometimes it's even spontaneous, can circumvent contrivance on an overcast afternoon walk when i'm at my best, i sample, and one in a hundred samples is recognized - i've become lazy, atrophied, energy is rare for me, i take the path of least resistance, that's my artistry, i've become one with texture, redundant writing, the drug of dregs, the dregs of drugs, dragging me through what looks more and more like the way things are, just that way, the utility of futility

i'd almost managed to sleep tonight, the inanity of astroboy on daily motion, episode 3, save the classmate, the soporific purity of a japanime morality play formula almost lulled me to real sleep - woke up with thoughts of william burroughs shooting his wife - why that historical fact woke me up i have no fucking idea - but it did - every once in a while it hits me that william burroughs shot his wife - like whoa, how could i forget that? why do i care? i guess it's just startling sometimes to be reminded that something like that could become trivia in someone's life, rather than, say, the focal point - somehow the fact shattered a precarious hypnogogic state in this absurd life i've slipped into - so i got up and wiki'd bill - i feel a kinship with him tonight, even though i can't really write - but i like writing as an idea, and dreaming, and forging morphine scripts while living on allowance - it's a strange time to be alive, even stranger than that fucked up century he was allowed

i've managed to secure enough trappings of "independence" that i'm not on allowance anymore, even though "independence" is illusory, there are endless layers of sick support, factory farms and arms deals for synergistic slaughter, it's a lean-to shanty town, we've fallen all over each other to prop up a materialistic junkheap, gene made a machine, the machine made gene, he can't remember any other scene, it's the meme, it's clean, chlorine, what else you gonna do? stay in the pool, fluid, won't freeze, keep it warm, sober winter warmth, machine warmth, cause it's easier to warm up than cool down, summer will bring sweat and insanity, too much, maybe i'll find a way to be healthy, but health seems insanity, that maniac focus, that losing game - and the drugs i'm on are an ever-fluxing concoction of what's available and how much life is left in a pattern, how far the fractal extends before the frays blunt into boring curves, not much self-control, just self-loathing, with little blips of self-love to keep the stupid game going for a hopskotch stagger, rarely hip, futurehead, pills on a picnic, making a show of having fun at a silent auction, shallow people on facebook

sometimes i can crack the shell of shallow people, reveal their depths, revel in them till they scare me, but usually it's dissociation with a side of sexual frustration, a dream, semi-lucid, one i can't quite control, only analyze, meta-uselessness - also wiki'd crack today - guess which kind - it's very dreamy, the pale kind, not the pixar kind - not phosphorus peelback, sufficient cut-up code, how appropos - not that much has changed - let's do the timewarp again, pardner - shallow people - even the ones i love - no meaning here and now, nothing sensible to do - i'm not pushing a rock up a hill - bones in my hand, yeah, noted, note able, from each according to his ability, why do liberals love communist murderers? you said it, not me - mad TV - saturday night dead - head start - peewee's playhouse - let down your hair