rarefied

it's a bad start on a blank screen to crumple bits of text into bins - float a few tens of Ks of money toward a vague vacation, towards a tank of flotation, find some way to escape the mundane that isn't the done-to-death substance slaveways

the modulation wheel finally died, end of an era, the original keyboard is accelerating toward becoming a carcass - i can't remember how many letter ems are in that word - there's no kinetic decay here though, nor controlled demolition - i'm trying to write about this, this, it, as i feel the disgust of being passively vague - sober depression with no drama, no good reason - hope things go well in korea - there's never been this quick of a shift from winter to spring - i get high on spring for half a day, and then a noveaux green depression oppresses, a snap back to perma-depleted baseline, a feedback loop of warmth and light and sweat and short-shorts and me outside this, incongruent, why can't i enjoy nice things? can't enjoy green things, smoking grass would help me but i'm forbidding myself half-measures, they killed my spirit for: cleanliness and godliness and dignity and i don't even mostly mean that sarcastically, a good life, and being good to good people in my life, etc... yes, getting into the half measures, the codeine and kratom and cannabis and cough syrup and that quickly spiraled out of control, and i don't have any better way to say that, because i'm riding the worn rubber of the wheel, the turgid death of the wheel spinning because inertia