neoacidcreep

My breath plumes in the night air.  The stars are glinting flakes of diamonds.  A calming force washes over me, for a moment, just one; all is right in my world.

 

Then the headache crashes back in to the foreground, bringing all hopes of normalcy crashing down.  My burning eyes and tortured memories revitalize my knowledge that all, in fact, is not ok.

 

So little, so very little, is left of me.  I am falling apart at the seams.  Losing all that I ever was, leaving me to reexamine everything that I thought I already covered.  I find myself constantly asking myself “Didn’t I already have a reason for this?”  or “Didn’t we cover this topic previously?” 

 

Yet, here I am.  Questioning myself, questioning, my world, questioning my friends, questioning my life, et cetra.  I find it alien to meditate suddenly; I find it alien to even acknowledge the fact that it is alien to me to meditate.  I keep coming up against that same wall that my friend’s always talk about “It is too hard to stop thinking”.  I too now feel that way.

 

Who would think that one girl could fuck up my all assessment of the universe?  Well, actually, I did.  I foresaw this to a minor degree.  I had thought (…hoped) that Liv and I would just never break-up and this would never come to head, but, alas, it has and I am broken upon the rack of her rejection.

 

We are done.  I am broken.  I am trying to put up a strong face around my friends, the loose façade easily peels away after a few moments.  This idea culminates it one beautiful moment of debasement; I manage to get out to my best friend Rob’s place, out in Syracuse, while him and I were hanging out I crack down and send a text message to Liv.  Nothing serious, nothing crazy, a simple recitation of my feelings at that current moment (“I miss you.).  She never replies.  My mind reels into all the plausible scenarios as to why she didn’t reply; her new boyfriend is over, maybe she is asleep, maybe she isn’t near her phone, maybe she is fucking, et cetra.

 

The next, and final, day of my visit I am wrapped up in this Liv and Josh bullshit and fear that I don’t give it my all to Rob and mother  fucking Josh day!  I am still so hung-up on her.  I have to get over it though.  I need to bring myself back from the edge.  I need to find myself again.  I need to be Me again.

 

Hopefully these “Liv” entries will grow less frequent, hopefully cease altogether, but baby steps.

 

Something I have been giving some thought to lately is my basic assumptions on existence.  I have two basic tenants to my overall philosophy on life and the living of said life:

A)    To always enjoy myself no matter where I am.

B)     To live the life of art.

 

That’s it.

 

No mas.

So, I’m impotent, so that’s fun…I mean funny. I’m trying to jerk-off and my dick is like “nope, not gonna happen, let’s get a cup of coffee”. It’s a sad day when a guy becomes so disenfranchised with life that he can’t even crank one out. Mother fuck.

I can feel myself slipping away, being pulled in so many directions I will end up sitting down and doing nothing. My friends keep making innuendos and snide comments about the rarity of my “aroundness”, or some back-handed comment about how I “am always sleeping”…does that make me wish their mom had done the proper thing and had had an abortion…with a coat hanger.

I try to be around. I do. But between her, school, and work, I just don’t have much free time. On the note of her though, shit is going to change. I have relinquished too much control in the relationship. I act as though I had a drooling-bleeding cunt and not a massive throbbing erection…well I mean metaphorically, cause I am suddenly impotent.

I have some how managed to allow her the power over my emotions, I crave the slightest bit of attention that she doles out infrequently at best. In response to that, I’ll be uber-dick-miester. She doesn’t want to play my game then we won’t play at all…let’s just hope this whole impotency-thing sticks around until after I see her. I refuse to ask for sex again.

I never had to beg…never wanted to, take-it-or-leave-it twas me motto. I tried to need her more in the beginning, actually going out of my way to let her in and try to not read into what she said or did, no “testing” her per my broodlings request. Now though, I’m fucking sick of it. We have been together too long for me to keep trying to get her to show me she loves me, despite popular opinion being told your loved is not as good as being shown (I think I already said that a few entries ago….? FACT CHECKERS?!).

Since I think I have mentioned this whole little “I’m a fucking bitch with a drooling-bleeding bulbous cunt, I will just move on, saying one last thing….either shit changes or I change.

I guess that’s where I am at in the overall scheme of things as well. At a junction of roads with different paths leading to different destinations. Top of the list….Divinity School. I’m going to apply to a local Divinity School, see if I am even in the ballpark of being a candidate for acceptance with my C- average (I’m actually happy about that, thought I was riding a D something or other). I probably won’t be but I need a change of pace.

I see just this slow decline into normalcy, a general malaise to my theological prospects. I think not on topics like philosophy and theology, I keep writing chapter for “Dreams From A Forgotten Past” that have no merit whatsoever but EJ likes ‘em and offered to publish ‘em at some point in the next year or so….sooooo my overwhelming need to be published over rides my ditest for the book to keep me churning them out. I did start writing a short story-poem kinda thing ”The Philosopher and The Whore”, it does actually have some philosophical ideas in it, which is good, but not good enough. I need to get back to my writing more hardcorely.

Lot’s to do lot’s to do.

Next semester schedule is going to be fucking chaos, of this, too, I am aware.

I lashed my Mala back to my ankle; I haven’t worn them for awhile. I don’t think they will stay there for long, I think they are going back on my neck, around my throat, around my heart, around my very soul. I stopped wearing them because of simpletons like Greg who went out of there to offend something so innocuous as my choice in necklaces and then have the audacity to say that I offend them. I will not allow myself to be steered by these fucking morons any more.

Coincidently, or maybe not so much so, I am getting back into hardcore music, hopefully this cycle I’ll catch a vibe to move forward with the destruction of the “Self”. Oh! Side note: my philosophy professor/adviser cracked on “Siddhartha”, wow, did I want to rip his throat out….he’s helping me pick my schedule though.

Anyhow, hopefully this next pulse of maggots…I meant pulse of hardcore music will lead me into a drastic change in life because I am starting to burn out. Between her steadfastly refusing to pander to my need for over the top displays of affection, my lack of intimate friendship moments, and a deep-seeded hatred of my job…not to mention my ever ensnaring addiction to pills, I just don’t really give a fuck anymore.

I feel my roots pulling in, my feelers retracting, my psychic ether returning and bringing me back into my spirit, my true “Self”, as true as one as I can actually have.

Eye to eye, we just stare at each other. Neither of us move for several long instances, we just stare, I at it, and it at i. I flare my nostrils; sniff at the air like some great wolf head thrust out in front of a man’s body. It just shrinks back from my approach with no sign of fear…more like sentient cunning, as though it were trying to obscure any detail about itself. The darkness it was clad in only adds gravity to the assumption it sought to avoid my knowing it. I lope forward, my body moving in a cacophony of raw movement, extending all sections outward towards it. I come up against an amorphic wall of psychic…noise. The noise crushes my senses shut; slamming ears and eyes physically closed, while I wallow in a sensationless-vapid-void of nothing. Whence I regain my faculties it has fled back again just out of range, to which I start the game all over again.

my dreams have taken a drastic turn for the worse(?). That’s just a taste of my dreams, and that one feels like it goes on for hours, days, years, epochs. The whole time knowing that the thing you are growing to hate and want to destroy for it’s elusiveness is the shit you are made of…maybe there is some symbolism in it…I doubt it.

The other dream I have is where something rips out of me. like it’s body fills up the inside of me and then slowly keeps expanding, slowly shredding all my skin and breaking all my bones. Oh yea, I can actually feel the things that happen in my dreams. I always wake up right before the thing burst completely out of me, not out of the pain (god forbid I ever get roused from a nightmare from pain), but from the fear that that thing that wants out is part of me somehow.

Ok

I’m done.

“Something must change. Something must die. Something must be born.” Sounds like a good mantra for the time being. so say it with me kiddities “Something must change. Something must die. Something must be born”, repeat until enlightened.