can i say, what the hell i will, that i'm especially sick of the good - the goody goody, everything that's supposed to be healthy - i know how ridiculous that is, how ridiculous i am - how twisted my attitude is - how nearly everyone else is better, they've got something to offer, they do more with less - they've got character - unless they'd rather not be saddled with such a label, in which case, nevermind, forget i said anything

where does A get his attitude? i could go for some of that - surely it wasn't bestowed on a platter - even if it was genetic birthright, that right would come with the duty of cultivating said character in an arduous trial and error ordeal with hard lessons and all that

there's something about low character and mediocrity and the freedom to shrug off the burden of the good, that appeals to me - is this organic excursion in any way compatible with my nature? the simple well-worn rut of the effort equation doesn't seem all that humble, rather simply high and mighty on itself - now to do a low, mediocre thing for a cheap tin thrill and read this back to myself

hiding in the car on a beautiful sunny warm late september day because i don't want to weed - i'm refusing, because i can, because i'm taking a swoon, i'll call this a harmless substitute for the old-timey alchemical mega-swoon, that lapis philosophorum water skipping thing that i can't forget - if i could forget, things would be so much easier and softer, and maybe harder in all the right places - this is the living-sober equivalent to the old swoon, and it's vital to what remains of my spirit when i have to stay here out on the farm, to be, ostensibly, "working", but not weeding - i hate weeding, i really do - and plus, i'm not really interested in... anything - not a damn thing - that being said, there are still microscopic degrees of disinterest that make all the difference i can muster, in order to see color and hear pitch for some reason, or some seeing-hearing thing

there are still limits to expression, i wouldn't say this shit - and i wouldn't want to be caught by the weed tourists in this car on this day - so many hard swallows - you can swallow hard and acknowledge the heavy truths, but it doesn't change a thing, not even attitude - oh, that five minute rule for obsessing about things, i shot it to shit - but i'm still doing ninety meetings in ninety days

at least this day is nice for people who appreciate that sort of thing... which means my decadent self-indulgent decrepit attitude will not seem so unbearable - to those feeling warmed, body and soul, by the sun - it'll be a peripheral irritation

Weeding is Fun! :)
for ya'll, i'm guessing
it might be fun if i was concurrently on amphetamines - i can remember tasks like that being fascinating and euphoric on drugs like that - but even then, i'd be too amped to do one thing for more than ten seconds - when i'm on the crank, i burn through any and every potential activity like the wehrmacht through poland leaving scorched earth and sadness, and perhaps, doubt in god's existence, or at least, god's love - and look, here i am thinking about drugs again... scenarios

ow! car door in the solar plexus - or just the stomach - why do exclamation points seem so friendly? i'm sure that A's earned his car - he did something good, lots of things maybe, not in past lives, but in this one - the temperature in here is nice now - warm after the hammock in the woods - "davey boy, 26 years old... counting his curses, counting his curses" but a few blessings too - counting curses and blessings alike in the manner of a sour-faced accountant working overtime, paperwork off the grid - tallying the blessings with no emotional links

i wouldn't agree that i'm one of those brave new world citizens - i like my walks in the woods now and then - i have my neologism i call "sacredity" - i need more than Natureland, but i'm sure i seem pretty post-nature to a lot of these people - i'd like to be seen in the hammock, not in the car, but i'd rather be in the car right now, it's more conducive to the swoon - the swoon is synthetic in its natural form, to get it au natural, one must build an artifice of synthetic conditions - it's a fake swoon, a crude mimic, but it's something

these people, i respect them so much - i like them - so how come i'm always sneering and sarcastic in my head? maybe because i can't sway and swoon how i want anymore, and it makes me spiky and pent up and unsatisfied sometimes