23 May 2015

The Fog Machine

i just don't care anymore

a deep apathy

reverse psychology / self-fulfilling prophecy?

maybe wellbutrin would be different

maybe I have ADD, maybe I need speed, wouldn't that be convenient?

i can't seem to care, except to care about apathy, wonder if there's anything to add...

hiccup, comp hiccup

maybe i need a big hearty meal - well i'm connected in that regard, maybe if performing an apathy cadenza, go full bore with the actual pathetic circumstances and reduce any possible inspiration, maximize malnutrition

what good are words anymore, what do they do? they look ghostly on a screen - i shut off from scenes, don't mix it up anymore - surely it's possible, but doesn't happen, like there's this inertial certainty in this dead connection

a drink would be great right now

how can one need to be freaked out all the time? what is that little sliver that's likable about it? and then wants to smooth with booze... blend... mix it up... A splinter faction, AA parenthesis, THCok.

no outlet, no electricity, need to plug into something - words are one thing, maybe low value these days, but something nonetheless

need something to worship, yes, something other than the unknown, that doesn't cut it anymore...

I KNOW! I need to spend myself out of misery. I'm not broke, so why not? Either kilos of good drugs... or personal possessions, high tech high quality everything. Or both. Well, one of those would be inspiring, anyway. Why can't I be grateful for what I have? Because I'm not. Cause, euphoric recall of more soulful feeling times in the not so recent past.

I write blog posts, or I write letters to friends, it's basically the same thing, not very satisfying, plugging into nothing. The plug rusted down the drain. The tubes are the drain, George. THE GREAT DRAIN. Maybe at the bottom of the Great Drain is THE BIG ELECTRON. Whoam.

Not bad, I need a boardroom of yes men and liquored up ad men and one perky copywriting woman to advertize my imaged position in a self-created haze of cannabinated twilight.

Not bad, yeah. See there's a facility that edges out of the fog every now and then, but I can never grab hold of it, cause I'm too nodding out in the fog right now, and can rarely seize on any worthy seeming vision for more than a passing flight of fancy. This would be fascinating to others, if I was an interesting person, which I'm not. So it's just this fog.

How about this? An interesting fog, free as vapour, just floating through the bars in the prison wall, even squeezing through plexiglass, one filmy molecule at a time, an interesting fog like the smallest uninteresting number, and isn't THAT interesting? see? I'm pitching this as a potential euphoric feeling to my self, the dour self who's depressed all the time, unfortunately the chairman of this drab boardroom. Turn on the synthesizer machine and make an art project. The fog could be mechanized, made into a machine, a fog machine, it's what's in those E-cigs, buy an e-cig and vapourize a homespun blend of tobacco, hashish, and purple-level salvia and unplug from the program's guilt machine, can I not have a program for a while, must I run back right away?

Can I say fuck you to everyone, mainly my own feelings of paranoia and persecution? Yes, let's say I can. And dayum son, unga binga bunga!

For a moment, I just wanted to get baked and watch Mad Men for the rest of my life.

These modern UIs are screwy. Glitchy. Counter-intuitive. Google's getting rotten. Or had already gotten, I just hadn't noticed til now.

Why not write about Luc? Instead of surrendering to the getting baked and consuming other's better ideas about what makes a good story and character...

It doesn't seem quite so cohesive, a second time around. Sidetracked by potential paradigms of where it's okay to say whatever, it's all perfect, very in the moment, the knowing you're high and appreciating it moment, which is nice, when one can get it

What's all this one usage all of a sudden? Am I trying to be someone else? I successfully dileniated the chord progression there. Attaboy, me. Why does google not know that word? Tangent not worth it.

The great song, the worthy song, or even a feelingful song is wrong. Or rather, nowhere to be found. Just wanted to rhyme. What does that say about anything? What was the ticket? I had it in my hand a second ago.

Wait a minute. Gotta connect back to that feeling. When words really mattered, individually, had personalities. Only looks lonely from the outside. Although I've made it a mystic mythology, esoteric to even myself. But I remember the appeal. Of being a shut-in, shutting out the world. There has to be enough action in the interior to make it desirable, and that's hard to sustain. My attempts always seem to become deliriums. I don't like the delirium anymore, I want to remember things, have perception resonate. I don't care if my words don't matter to anyone else, or at least I could feel above that if they mattered to me, that's all I need, but these days, it's tricky.

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