hedonic
exhaustment – oh, hedonic exhaust ment – now, time for a mint, a melatonin mint
- pop it under my tongue and let it dissolve, slowly - the flavour pervades
like a fog - melamints - why do i take them? to help me sleep, or more likely
to help me dream, because tonight in particular, i need dream therapy - i've
exhausted options for waking life, having focused maniacally on pleasure to the
maximal sum possible when sober - materialist mechanized gratification ad abdurdum
- i struck an oil pipeline, found out it was flammable, warm and somehow
chilling at the same time, i tapped in like there was no choice, mainline, i
didn’t know stuff like this existed, i was so lucky, so so lucky, it was so
good, so fucking good that it had to be the devil and i had to make a deal, i
still don’t know what to do with that incendiary stuff except get more and more
and more, there will be blood, i guess
mint-flavoured melatonin, though i
mostly sleep in the dark these days, but it doesn't hurt and the peppermint
stings a little, cool burn, and i like the taste - so, there's any number of
temptation gauntlets in the future but i can't think about them - i only figure
i won't have to pay the piper for this sort of pleasure, it's as empty as
anything else, as substantial as chemicals, as disgustingly real as that, and
as fleeting as an artificially induced serotonin spike, but it hasn't got the
same cruel neurological aftermath, this digital indulgence
still, i feel abused, like i used
myself, which i did, in a lot of ways, and the world used me, and i grabbed
ahold of the world’s giving hand while the other took from me, pride for
pleasure, as i collected, collated pleasure, categorized beauty, aesthetized in
a big crunch, conditions similar to the birth of a universe, second time farce,
could scarcely breath, pumping blood like a muthafucka, and i used the world as
a way, for narrow will and no purpose, just a metabolic sub sub-routine,
pathetic and inhuman and i'm still a lil buzzed on the caffeine or maybe some
dealer fifteen floors up flushed a kilo of blow down the drain and into the
sewers where i swim and that’s why that thing is whatever it is
there's fucking knobbing beauty
popping out of every grate, goddamn cocksucking beautiful blossoming metal
hoops and body piercings, nose-rings and clitoral chandeliers, cheeseball
beauty i could never think of myself, a glut of style, style inside style,
chintzy VR utopia - when i finally got to the ultimate junk of that product
line i wasn’t even consciously looking for it, i was just looking looking
looking, in every direction for the next thing which i didn’t think existed and
it was called SPH, it was a thing - a full body orgasm, localized, but it
wasn't crack
it did remind me a bit of that,
though, and in a way it’s just as blunt - but i declare i MUST possess a vice
of some kind, i demand to have one, and if i can't get down and dirty and
disgusting and sleazy and bad and bent in the conventional way, i'll do it in
some mediocre and pathetic way that doesn't fry my brain in the blatant upfrontal
lobe way, and buzz on that for a while, and then take melatonin to steady the
mind a bit, and facilitate dream therapy which is truly nature's medicine - and
that’s almost enough for me, but i’ve been known to add synthetic sprinkles for
inscrutable exhortational flavour
so, what have we learned, anything? consummation
of consumption is not actually a con game, only fair trade, but this is why i’m
writing, hence, producing something, instead of taking and faking and faking
and taking, and using, and spending – i need this, to feel anything again, i
need to piss in the wind, 0s to 0s, 1s to 1s, i’ll never be done
if i was really that tied up with
the CHUDs, i wouldn’t be writing this – even though i used them to get my cheap
thrill – and they used me to make money – and we’re mutually low, we’re in the
same abysmal bracket, even if you two are in a chasm above my pit, what used to
be a dishpit - i never called that pit a dishpit but “they” did, and they still
do – so we’re basically low and attached to that sleazy system, consumers and
abused producers, aren’t you? haha, that makes me laugh, cause i’m in a
tragicomic mood and things are dark through the life frequency modulating
algorithm i’m seeing in everything – but the system didn’t count on this explanation
of it, did it? so, i’ll call it elevation, and actually feel elevated writing
that, even as i’m hedging my bets by self-deprecating with sarcastic
inflection, via the “i’ll call it” classifer
