disconnected from emotions - countdown to burnout

and a lot of other things besides... improvising toward the cold toes that warm up in the morning ... and so many tangents of interpretation - captain obvious here... trying to drop cover whenever possible... a strip-tease of cover - a veil dance, and a poetic metaphor about theoretical narcotization... jam night in the reflecting pool, distorted, scary, normal again, too normal, too fluid, too high a frame-rate, doesn't seem like a movie should seem anymore - that's why i mentioned dextro earlier, cause i remember, by proxy, that feeling of being in a music video - nostalgia for tchaikovsky's russia, just nostalgia that's all, harmless bittersweet nostalgia, that kind of thing


shirttails, handrails, coattails, slip and slidies - better shut the blinds, bury self in self again, find a layer to hide out on, renounce a certain percentage of perception, not have to feel the world's pain in aggregate, slough off, slip off the feeling, slip'n'slide, refuge in corners of the mind...

hospital terms, anatomical terms, funeral tones, mahogany imagery, respirator bets, stipulative definition of hospital tones, morgue terms, gurney words, gibberish, and surprise at death, still plans, welfare cosmos, plan reverb, remastered twenty years later, cryo-wake - blogger podcast output data

intensity of thc spun thinking, writing about it later, mostly harmless, like the earth itself... wondering if there's such a thing as spiritual sickness... hmmmm... puff and ponder...

to qualify before i quantify absence, there's a "feeling" now, to quote a qualitative adjective, it's a feeling, and not objective, but there's a feeling of just about everything being mostly gone now - too many predictable patterns - pot burn out, caffeine burn out, chi-less - there are safer headspaces for me, one among them being analogous to sobriety - but when all is safety, all is pretty dull and uninspiring - not really, but i guess at times i crave one of the baser methods for introducing something almost dangerous, at least to emotional balance - emotions, it's not that i'm disconnected from them it's like - well, hell, i don't know what it's like... i may NEVER EVER know, oh wow, imagine that... never ever - well, like, whatever...

emotions... i'm actually more connected than i am when i haven't got the more obvious mind and mood altering chemicals in my system - there's so much in play, in the food, in the water, there's zoloft, it's almost like voodoo psychiatry for me, at this point, i think, i feel okay enough cause i'm sticking this painless pin in this mockup doll, so, better keep on doing it... i'm actually more connected to those emotions, but it's a little scary, and makes me feel like sobriety, or what passes for it, is safer

there's also thoughts like, wow, where am i now? what has this life come to? well, it hasn't been all that dull lately - was it a good idea, to come here? well, i went with a flow, anyway, i kind of created a flow and then went with it - not normally so creative in that area - creative meander is more what i'm partial to - eddies, just your general eddie in the small pond

dreams have been really emotional lately, connecting to them in weird ways - lots of past, work, kitchens, kentucky-fried chicken machinations for some reason, maybe cause i applied there once, just applied, old ruins of rooms i never knew existed in my parents' house, old houses, houses in houses, subhouses, underground ruins, underground ruins that aren't quite ruins, that still got some functionality, some energy, some electricity in some weird subterranean scavenged form, catacombs, egyptian imagery, mummies, yes, fucking MUMMIES, but in a more informed form now that i've learned a bit about that stuff, like slaves didn't build the pyramids, nuh uh! so there...

and last night, oh wow... a tundra on the northern bc coast, a tundral community by the sea, and the inuits practiced mummification too, and had elaborate temples in a network of ice tunnels in and around and under a tall seaside cliff, and there was this ancient inuit pharaoh who had a burial chamber way up north, past the arctic circle, and i learned about this through briar who was showing me a documentary about it when we lived together briefly in kansas, yeah, i know, dream conflation, it happens a lot, don't blame me, i don't make my dreams, i just write about them... the documentary about the ice pharaoh whose name sounded like tuthankhaman, but he had a haidi feeling about him, so i felt from the documentary... so one of briar's friends came to visit me in this bus i was living in, along the side of a coastal highway with pristine pacific scenery and gray skies with little shards of sunlight every now and then and this friend had some kind of snowmobile that was a supersonic jet as well, and we drove/flew to near the north pole to take a tour of this inuit tomb, i was checking it out through briar's connections, but there was a sad feel to it, maybe, well, suppressed emotions obviously, but i wouldn't presume to know what they add up to...

dreams fascinate me though - that's one of the many cool things about my bb, she agrees, we have a cool conviviality when discussing dreams

sea-sawing between states of mind dragged through the mud or spun past the ionosphere by drugs can bring hollow feelings in transitional periods... but i look at the man, etherized on the circus circus table-go-round, and i think to myself... what a wonderful world... i've had worse problems in the past... maybe not everything is a problem - drinking, getting drunk, and falling down became a problem for me, but - oh, here's johnny, axeing through the door, i don't have the will and bravado to continue transmogrifying references into word soup and salad so i'll sign off