bless one

i guess one does sound like that sometimes ~ when the fog clears, there's still the meds and amino acids intermingling - leaning on the rusty wall, chips of oxidized tin flaking down my shirt collar

there's been moments of bliss, a kind of joy that is natural and pure, so clear, like glacial streams, that doesn't smack of this or that, that doesn't need to be called this or that - so, there's that - there's things to be grateful for - there's the fact that i'm really doing it this time, doing the next right thing, and i could keep doing that

then there's this fact, that there are trials coming that are beyond my imagining right now, that will really test me, and my willingness, and my strength - cause i'm in the glow of fresh recovery – and on top of that, as lady luck would have it, infatuation with a girl, but maybe a cool infatuation, like a cool breeze, and maybe there's glades of love beyond the hills, hazy on the horizon, lovely things, that are always mirages aren’t they? or whatever that is, love and mirage and the baby carriage, and there's categories - maybe one doesn't have to say it, maybe me and her, we don't have to create roles, or even be aware of them, we could de-telescope to a pre-natal garden ~ when one is green, one is growing, when one is ripe, one starts rotting -~- and what of it? does that devalue the youth, or re-value its rare slice of the cycle?

i know i can ride out the storms, get through the moments that test me - there is only this moment? that never seems all that profound to me, it's not clicking - the felt presence of experience is over-rated by sages - except when i'm in that kind of tight embrace with her that i know i've never had with anyone else, there's glades of unsaved waves, and amazing things on the horizon, maybe the labyrinths could dissolve - maybe tonight’s irritability is a blessing, it certainly could be

and besides that, now i get to sleep - been working overtime on waking life, exceeded my quota, now i get to sleep and hopefully not sweat, it's not too late to trend in a desired direction, but that's up to the good and orderly, which has often been an insoluble problem for me, best not to get involved with that brand of trigonometry

poco adagio

Sometimes a new paradigm can sidestep a jinx - even when it's talked about. Sometimes it can't be seen but approached with a blind stagger.

I remember when I would devour war movies like pringles - even fantasize about being in the shit. Sure it would be horrible, sure, sure, but what a fucking thrill! This thrill-craving extended to any kind of violence or carnage as long as I was safely away from it. There was something stylistic about the kinetic energy of steel on flesh, blood splatter, bullets, smoke, destruction of any kind, that turned my crank. The same way chemicals do today - that same stubborn obsession that laughs at reason and rationality.

I went through a paradigm shift in the last ten years - without expending any conscious effort to bring it about, or even realizing that it happened until recently. It involved an expansion of empathy, and a deepening of knowledge, about suffering, about the human condition, about the different ways people think and feel. A lot of that “knowledge” I knew before, and I had reason enough to know that suffering is a consequence of that thrilling carnage, but feeling it is another matter. This empathy was a downer quite often. It soured my enjoyment of movies and 3D shooters and everything I used to live for, because I would be forced to identify suffering that I would feel no obligation to before, when I had the ability to be distant. It took the fun out of my passions, and after a few years, it completely killed the craving for them.

Today, I heard some sad stories at my NA meeting. The woman who was jonesying to leave the hospital room where her dad was dying, so she could get out and use, so she could numb the grief for at least ten seconds, and go from there... The guy who gave up his wife and kids - I know these people. And even now, when they tell their horrible stories which I can relate to, with just a smidgen of extrapolation, I still feel the thrill of that destructive power, combustion of chemicals, flooding of neurotransmitters, stark consequences good and bad, kinetic energy!

But lately, more and more, I feel the dark and bitter tragedy of it all. The ratio changes a little more each day, on the whole. But the dynamics are so spiky and serrated and sea-sawing between insanity and sobriety. And there’s so many stumbles and step backwards for every little patch of ground gained. I can only hope that this new paradigm mirrors the last one, where I graduated from half-hearted aims at mass murder. I did say “half-hearted” mind you - whoever might take that the wrong way. But “half-hearted” is far too close for comfort, coming from a later, more-seasoned vantage. But Christ, not nearly enough, cause there's so far to go, so little peace of mind, and sometimes I splinter chips of skull into my brain trying to get past a blockage - when the whole time, the blockage is on its merry way out of my head on its own terms. That's as spiritual as I get these days.

win it ba ck again

"win it ba  ck again" the sign said

with a gap between the 'ba' and the 'ck' stick-on letters

like some gang of pro-bono hobos

gung-ho for the lottery industry

had vandalized a gas station for the purpose

of pimping gambling, just that

no particular casino or scratch and win

"win it ba  ck again"

sounded so desperate as a proselytization

some amateur solicitation for dreaming through gaming

win what back?

the soul you lost in the '80s?

the crack you vaporized?

"you're a winner just for playing"

the sign said to me, "and not hating the game"

really, you, win hope, right here on freshwater road

just for hearing the message, yo

double or nothing

whatever you lost (and we're sure it's a lot)

you can win back in equal measure

you can be a fat cat like wall street wants

that's what wall street wants, in fact

that's all wall street wants is fat cats

some conditions may apply

painful reminders

artistic expression
reminds me of ego
"look at this thing i made, aren't i awesome?"

ego makes me do things for instant gratification
reminds me of drugs
"look at this drug i took, aren't i awesome?"

drugs remind me of hangovers
"look at this pain i've caused, aren't i the scum of the earth?"

that's why it's hard to do anything creative when i'm down like that
it's painful
maybe i should play bach, instead of trying to improvise
but that takes work, playing bach, requires a lot of memory
i did manage to get a few good feelings while improvising
when i'm this depressed, i get more expressive than practically ever
even though it's hard to play even a note, it's the tragic feeling
of nothing having any value, nothing i do being of any use
no light at the end of the tunnel, no more chances
but i put it all into the music, that feeling sometimes
i guess it helped, a little, just now
as does writing, a little
don't want to lie down, i haven't earned it yet, haven't lived enough normal life
for a day yet

why do i get pissed off

at people who play music
that i don't like

when i actually even like it

it's MY music - you're not allowed to like it!
territorial pissings

i'm not like them

but i can pretend