Working hard, cleaning buildings. Trying to find some time to write in between tasks. Managing time in a near-panic, body consciousness enhanced, caffeine turning the gears in the old machine that's my body, trying to keep the autopilot software running before it glitches and I have to reboot the system. Need a firmware update. Should be a mentat, to go along with the Bene Gesserit training. The witching ways. I wanted the creativity boost which I've got so I want to make use of it, but I have to keep working and I'm falling ever behind, and since I bought the creativity ticket I also have to take the body conscious ride, which is a difficult thing to ride, when I'm noticing how much pain I'm in. But I'm still beholden to obsessive compulsions, my personal idiosyncratic standards for what is a good job, what must be done at all costs. It's not for this building, or the employees, or the students, it's really for me, like Walter White in Breaking Bad.
Listening to Noisia. I like when it gets trancy. Creepy, chanty, drony, trancy. Fancy trancy. Like that track from the Bowie album Outside. Noisia. Over-powering gravity pull, flow thru inevitable music video. A dissociative-filled sound alright. Fueled sound? I like to think it is.
This second, I'm content with my pathetic niche in the cliff face of the global economy. Let's try and make that second last. Maybe I could make it last ten seconds. Surely it could last at least that long, if we drew out this moment like a mouthful of opium smoke. Ten seconds could feel like a hundred seconds, in this mental fog.
I think about how a charismatic leader on my side would be nice, wouldn't it? Someone I would follow into hell. And then I think about how funny it is, the idea of a leader of anarchists. But that's not me. I'm playing with communism, so it makes more sense, to want a leader, to channel misplaced feelings of responsibility. Could there be a black wing? Even if so, what could they claim credit for? I don't see anything, right now. An age of war and revolution might turn specters corporeal, maybe I would get my leader if I lived long enough, and surely far more than I imagined, horrors to go along with empowerment.
Short-lived paranoia about the one co-worker prying into my stuff in the breakroom. Nah, wouldn't happen. Calculated risk. I don't keep the good stuff in the pockets, that's tactically on my person at all times. Most times. You won't get much of a window. But there's always a window I guess. God doesn't shut one without opening a door, they say.
Now eat a spoonful of nuts, like you're solving your personal problems, desperately getting out of a trap. A Kwisatz Haderach trap you set for yourself.
Now another second. Where I'm deeply, desperately burnt out. Wanting the time to go fast. Clinging to a fragile faith that there's an other side. Listening to Mastodon. It's elevating my gray little life. I'm the sixth member of Spinal Tap. We salute you, our half-inflated dark lord. Hushed and Grim is sounding like a really great album. Amazingly good. I’m revaluating rapidly. Having crazy thoughts, like it’s even Crack the Skye good.
You've heard about MAID, right? The medical assistance in dying? It's Canada's euthanasia program. It's a seed, but I'm hoping it'll bloom into a forest of government sponsored death. I'm not even being sarcastic really. I think we should be proud of our Maid. I think it's bolstering the Canadian Brand after a particularly bad round of bumbling on the world stage, our contemptible parliament hosting zelenski and fucking it up royally by clapping for an old nazi war criminal that some dipshit MP had invited.
