Any subject, any viewpoint, any concept. I will put it in a blender with my perspective and give it to you. If you do not like it, I will respect you if you read it. If you do like it, I will respect you if you tell me you like it and keep reading. I reserve the right to use all that I have written in future book, and then to have you pay for it. So get it free now.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Trepidations
It was what everyone else was doing, though some more mobile than others. I realized that everyone was hooked, tobacco had nothing upon this. There were those who started with live journal like it was drinking in high school. We all started drinking at MySpace State collage. Indeed, some of us experimented at this college far beyond what could be considered safe while listening to some really crappy bands. Then it seems as if all that experimenting was leading towards making progressively worse decisions, eventually culminating with moving on to the hard stuff.
I speak of course of Facebook and Twitter. Which will be known from now on as crack and meth, respectively. Sure it sounds like a great way to meet new people, yet the people you meet seem so distant, most likely because they are all floating along like you are in your drug crazed newfound existence. None of this is readily apparent to you, because all experiences seem new and heightened. You make excuses, like this is what everyone is doing, and I am just fitting in socially. You try to make it look like it makes you so much wiser and deep. Status updates that sound like song lines, or even worse using song lines as metaphors for existence.
All it takes is a little encouragement, someone likes what you have to say might as well take another hit.
Then you see a response and they pass the needle around, shouldn't have to worry about where this is going...
Before you know it, you are sneaking crack and meth at work, paying big bucks to be able to pick up your phone and get it quick. No big deal, it makes getting through the day easier. However hard you try, it starts to get in the way of your work. Pretty soon, the thought of what is going on with crack and meth consumes your world. Maybe you will take a hit under the table at dinner with your parents, or while your boss is in the other room. Then it comes to the point where your real life relationships become strained by it. Slowly but surely you lose touch with real people, though some check in from time to time, mostly so they can gossip about you and hide it from you. Others seem to be on top of their addictions. She doesn't seem to be abusing meth. Crack makes him interesting. They just do it to get ready for parties. Why is this hitting me so hard, am I somehow broken?
Well, then it gets really bad, and you then go far outside your circle of friends looking for people who can make you feel good again. Shady characters hooked on this stuff themselves share inauthentic. Before long you are strung out and you have nothing to offer the meth/crack heads. You just float along stinking of shame, teeth rotting out behind a new profile picture, incoherent ramblings of impending doom on a virtual street corner, and you become territorial while begging for someone to give you some hint of normalcy through the drug that you still deny is at the root of your problem.
I sit here like I did for so many days since I took up these filthy habits of electronic social medium. Trying to suppress the urge to look to see if anyone noticed I was gone from the corner, to see if taking refuge in a church nearby or dead in a gutter. I sit shaking from withdrawal, I sit fearful about my future. This is the thing about the drug, it will change how you think and feel. The good and the bad will never have the same context again. I sit and wonder what I can salvage, and how long I can stay sober. I just do not want to be tricked again by my eyes. Trepidations.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
This new interpretation leads me to think Hall and Oates were evil.
Subconscious turns to machinations. Perceptions just plausible enough for me to deem that not only have these developments manifested to bring aspiration and elation unbound to my tired soul, but that these events are substantial and substantive. I suppose this is why they are called dreams, though it seems more like my brain is teasing ever part of me, rubbing it in that it can reject reality for 20 minutes of REM sleep every morning. Worst yet, my mind has studied well and can postulate that it is far more manageable and devastating to make the tormenting part be when I am awake in bed. Falling dreams are no longer the penultimate of nightmares, dreams where the world opens up and lays at your feet a modest and most welcomed set of achievements marked happiness (paid for with dues) have usurped the mantle. You never hit the ground in dreams, at least experientially, when you wake up it is a different story. Thank God that someone put this mattress here, otherwise this might have hurt a trifle more.
If you see me today, there will be a smile worn on a tired face. Optimism and meditation to drive back the subtle waves on the rocky shores has changed the course of my life. Still looking for the lighthouse, but at least I didn’t nick anything. Soon I will go to sleep again. One-day in-between the daylight and the twilight, there shall be my face staring back at me mischievously. I am going to slap that sunnavabitch right across the cheek. For if my dreams turn to putting nightmares on the precipice of my new days, I will just steal the aspirations and sanguineness from deep within. It is far too sunny and warm outside for it to stay inside.
I know my mind has taken notice, someday you will too…
Friday, June 4, 2010
Chicago, never bleed red forever.
I am quite upset with the number of "hockey fans" in the area are rooting for Chicago in these Stanley Cup finals. Never mind the fact that Pronger is on this Flyers team, or that Philly fans have the fans behaving badly market cornered. You cannot root for Chicago if you are a Wings fan, not only for our past but for modern day dealings with the team.
Does no one hold reverent the fact that they are our rivals? Does no one in
We have rebuilt their city with our timber, we have built the cars that travel all the roads that lead through
Most of all we shall out number them in class, as we never chant
Indeed, we know that there is NO ONE that they shall play to make us root for them to win Le Coup de Stanley, except Sidney Crybaby, of course. You have been schooled, and if you doubt me, go ask Dr. Cox. The
If you don't believe me