exhortations

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