half trance

Don't feel like nostalgia tonight. Don't feel like much of anything. Used up. Not sure what I was used for. But there's little left. Subsystem, system failure. Auxiliary failure. Rivulets of solvents. Putting weight into gravity. Agent of collapse. Another contact circuit. Zero. Flawed swallow. STING. That'll wake you up in the morning, boyo. But what about in the evening? I never made it through both traffic control classes. But I made it here. Got a job. Some kind of life. Slave to the ebb and flow of energy. Can't circumvent currents. Can't find the thrills. Guess I should do something crazy. Don't know what though. Shudder to consider context.

I'm not utterly solipsistic. I see how others write like this - expressing desolation. I read them sometimes. Not the generic other, but characters. I relate in some way I can't say poetically. But I see, reflections of redundancy. I don't know what every magic word means for them. My language is algebraic, trinomials, a future fractal of joyce, septuple bastardized. I'm left to express the dregs. Haven't written anything good in ages, the last words I cared about I read at the Vienna last week, and those were written a month prior to that. I guess it's why writing about drugs is a stronger addiction than getting high, it's guaranteed to bring temporary meaning that weighs me down in the end, magic fader. Trading sanctity for the meaning of sobriety - how could it not render everything absurd?

I'm writing to see if I can write, to see if I care about anything, to see if words make any difference, other than in the strict binary sense, of information. It may be that I'm flattening out. I won't say why. But I suppose that would be better than misery. Maybe I should give up on words. And just be a musician.

Eye sting brings memories. Neurochemical sophistry. My playlist is shuffling. I'm telling myself to resist the urge to skip every ten tracks for one I like, and give in to the wisdom of the random. Wait ten seconds, and maybe you'll see that random choice that winamp made is just what you NEEDED to hear. Iron Maiden? Yeah, okay. It's true, it does work like that. My split second reaction is NO, THIS ISN'T RIGHT, but letting it sink in brings a kind of real-time integrity. What little integrity life can squeeze out for me, these days. It's gonna be a solitary season I think. Which lends itself to integrity. I'm learning how to be anti-social again, how to stop craving.