neoacidcreep

Have you ever stared at yourself for so long that you forget who you are?

I have, I do it all the time.  I just watch myself move in the mirror.  Try to imagine what other people think when they look at me.  I observe how my muscles flex, my brow furrows, i watch my jaw clench, my nostrils flare, and then suddenly, someone I don't know is staring back at me.  For one single instant, just before my mind puts the pieces together, I see myself as I truly am... and I'd fuck me.

So much of this condition we call life is attached to the identity of self and our unique perception of the surrounding universe.  Actually all of it is encapsulated in those two ideas, actually just in the first.  Personal identity projects onto the universe "outside" of us.  "...There is no difference between what you think and what you think you perceive." 

I impress my will onto the world and shape it as I think it should be.  Not necessarily consciously, usually passively, but nevertheless I am creating the world around me.  What I see as faults in me I project onto the world, what I see as virtuous in myself I project that onto the world as well. 

This theory is reinforced at the cellular level in the way of receptors.  I actually reprogram my cells by subjecting them to a barge of emotions.  Whichever emotions I experience the most my cells will become dependent upon.  Also my neural nets become dependent on thought patterns; so that when I keep thinking similar thoughts or remember similar memories consistently my brain actually becomes hard-wired to recall that data more effectively. 

So, quite literally, I am making myself a pussy. 

Still hung-up on the fact that I am so needy and dependent, even in regards to my memories.  I used to think memories were a weakness, a disturbing encumbrance that leads to attachment, something that should be dealt with as limitedly as possible.  If I cannot recall information off the cuff, i.e. without actively thinking about it, then it most have been trivial and not worth remembrance.  I used to be able to "realign" my memories, in that I used to be able to eradicate memories that were counter-productive or inhibiting (childhood trauma, fights, bouts of depression, ex-girlfriends, failed friends, etc.) but as of late not only am I now incapable of forgetting certain aspects of my past that I would rather not think about but my memory banks have been rattled open and I am remembering all sorts of events from my early childhood.

I liked that I couldn't remember my early childhood, I enjoyed that my memory "started" when I was fourteen.  Now I can suddenly remember instances from second and third grade with clarity.  Not just traumatic experiences but little random moments in class or at home.  On top of that certain memories will just be automatically triggered by exterior circumstances.  Memories I don't want any more, memories that I don't want to think about, but there they are, being replayed in my mind's eye.

I just got out of the shower, hence the whole staring at my reflection thing, while I was in the shower though I suddenly, and unexpectedly, started thinking about Liv and subtle moments between her and I.  I hate it.  I hate that her and Tammy pop-up in my head before sleep, in the shower, during masturbation, while eating, while cleaning, etc.  I don't want to think about either of the Ashley's, nor the Laura's.  I keep remembering laying next to Becca looking up at the ceiling while she slept.  I keep remembering why I like to wear as much clothes as possible during sex.  I am consumed by all these memories that I had worked so hard to destroy and suppress.

I am forced to look back on my life and think about what I have done to myself and to others.  Not cool.  This is how regrets are formed.  Whereby reviewing the events of my life, and with the power of hindsight, I see how things could have played out differently, how I could have stepped up and been a better man.  I was able to say once that I didn't regret one action in my life, but if this constant barrage of memories keeps up I will be unable to do anything but reevaluate my life.  And for some reason I cannot reprogram my mind.

These thorns in my side are relentless in their pursuits.  Something inside of me wants me to see these images, I cannot figure out why though.  Is it that I want myself to regret the course of my life?  Am I sabotaging myself, trying to do what others can't, i.e. make myself feel bad?

Why would I want to do this to myself?  I can see no reasons for this sudden explosion of the past except negative motives.  How can regret be needed at this point in the game?  Why now after all the shit I have done and gotten away with? 

Meditation does nothing to stave off this epidemic, except piss me the fuck off.  I meditate way too often to not be able to stop thinking about something I don't want to.  I don't care that that isn't the "goal" of meditation and I know that meditation isn't supposed to inhibit thoughts, so fuck off.  I should be able to pull my mind away from these thoughts through meditation, I should be able to reprogram my mind and cells consciously and proactively. 

"Sometimes when I close my eyes I see the world drowning in blood."

Ah, Kittle has curled up into a little ball in my lap and passed the fuck out.  I love having a cat.  He is so calming, except for when he is a little fucking shit who attacks you when you aren't paying attention.

And why can't I remember the tenants of my moral code?  Why should I be able to remember the hundredth kiss shared by Beck and I and not remember the fucking moral code that I developed and designed?!  What the fuck!?

I just want to forget the last three years of my life.  I want rid of the memories of everything I did for the three years that I have started referring to as the "Dark Ages".  I want to be done with the good and bad instances alike.  The high-points weren't that high and the low points were fucking crushing.  The sense of loneliness and lose that perpetually haunted me, the feeling of inadequacy the lurked behind every action, low self-esteem, and a debilitating drug habit.  I don't want those thoughts any more.  I am done with them.

What the fuck?

God damn is Kittle the cutest fucking critter in the universe.  He is so completely assed out on my lap, laying in the most awkward position in the history of awkward positions.  The little fuck curls up into a ball right under my neck while I am laying on the couch and him and I just pass out for an hour or two until the little shit wakes up and thinks it is a good idea to pounce on my fucking head...the little shit.

I am alone again.  It is a nice thing to be alone for a few hours, despite how bored I am.  I might hit the streets to find someone to at least get me stoned, it is Saturday, I always feel that I should be out and about doing something on Fridays and Saturdays.  Even the more often then not lately I have been at home watching TV with Macs and Rob.

Fuck it.

I am gonna find some where to get fucked up for free.

I will not apologize for who and what I am.  I never have, I never will.

 

I don’t give a flying fuck how close you think we are, if you think I am going to start saying I am sorry cause I did an asshole move then we aren’t nearly as close as you might think.  I make no bones about what I am and how I treat people and I am tired of being attacked for what is essentially me.

 

I am so sick of people giving me shit for something I did, especially when they don’t have the balls to say it to me while it is going on.  No, instead they sit around brooding on it, seething with their bullshit, waiting for me to be in the right place to be attacked.  I am tired of it.

 

I don’t care if you think I get fucked up too much.

 

I don’t care if I ruined the mood with a girl.

 

I don’t care that I called you about some stupid shit you did while fucked up.

 

I don’t care that I fucked your girlfriend/sister/wife/mother.

 

If I had cared I would not have done what ever action that you have concocted in your little head as some form of personal slight.  People that have known me for a decade still think that I give enough shit to actually act out of malice.  You’ll know when I am being malicious.

 

When your house is burning down with your recent raped mother still inside and I am jamming all fm frequencies so that no cordless phones will work…that’s me being malicious.

 

I operate in direct proportion to whatever you are doing.  I am the mirror of equanimity, I am karmatic retribution.  I will give you back what you are giving to the world.  I can see into who and what people are.  I know what people think and how they feel and, even, who they really are.  Just by making eye contact I can see the entire course of any relationship I will ever encage in.  

 

Humans are predictable.  They are boring.  And, by and large, stupid.

 

Shake it off.

 

So, where was I?

 

I’m at work yesterday and I rip a line of adderall off the counter with my boss.  His boss calls and tells him to buy us all beer, so I am drinking all day at work.  Around twoish my boss gets pain killers and shares them with me.  …this is my life.  One random event after another strung together with a loose throughline. 

 

The throughline normally is me, by myself, wondering as to why I am the way I am.  Sitting in my darkened room staring up at the ceiling, trying to sober up enough to masturbate, and wondering why no one gets me.  Trite?  Cliché?  Banal? Childish?  Fuck you.

 

Oh!

 

That’s whatever.

 

Thusly, my time in Syracuse has been…amazing.  I am happier then I have been in a long time.  I am never lonely; I have a decent job doing work I hate.  I am getting fucked up constantly, in a good way though, in a very social-communal-“hang-out” kinda way.  It’s slightly healthier.  At least I am not doing painkillers.  I am going out and having a few beers, I am getting stoned with my roommates and debating on why I am a republican and why are they crunchy, dumb, granola eating, vegan, fucks.

 

Also, I have started going back to church, at least for now.  I’ve always known that I have been God’s man; just Him and I had a “parting of way’s” over some trivial shit that I knew I would get over and slink back into a church pew.  So…I went back.  Mom says I need protection or some shit, I say I need something to do in the early evening on Saturdays, tomato/tomato(…that doesn’t really work visually, more of an audio cue, so say tomato two different ways please.).

 

My first day back in mass though was a little hard on me, spiritually speaking.  I almost cried around four times, climaxing with tears actually rolling down my cheeks.  I was a little maniac.  I have the tendency to laugh when I am about to cry, normally laughing will stop me from crying and I will be able to pull back far enough to actually see the humor of the situation, but if you were watching me at mass you would think I was insane.  Raging back and forth between laughing and tearing up.  I looked insane.

 

My boss at work is busting my chops about being a “believer”.  In between his feeble attempts to make me feel stupid for being faithful (I say feeble because deep down he wishes he could care about something like that.) he asked me one of the most poignant questions never asked of me: “How can you be into philosophy and all that shit and still believe in God?  You seem a little too smart for all that.”

 

I laughed, hysterically.  I laughed until I did cry.  No one has ever asked me that so simply and point blank; people have pussyfooted around the topic but no one has just said it.  Greg has tried but he knows, or at least knew, that I don’t go to church, so he always assumed I believed in God when it suited my purposes.  This question stems from a fundamental breakdown in knowledge of my personal philosophy about, well about philosophy itself. 

 

I believe philosophy is everything, everything, there is nothing that predates philosophy, philosophy is it’s own predicate, i.e. philosophy is God.  It is the Created and the Creator.  God had a philosophy before he began creation.  God had philosophies before He even knew He did.  On a more macrocosmic level; man only crawled out of the caves or trees because they held certain things to be true, they established philosophies by which they developed themselves.  It is a philosophy to believe that a pack is more protected then an individual; it is a philosophy to believe that this rock will crush your fucking skull, it is a philosophy to think that you want to have sex with that girl. 

 

Before any of the sciences were written down and scrutinized, there was simply a philosophy to it.  We are all philosophers shaping our existences and shaping the inevitable outcome of the world, the whole universe is one seething mass of philosophy. 

 

Therefore, asking how I can be religious and philosophical is, to me, like asking how can I like cigarettes and beer, or peanut butter and jelly, or how do I remember to breathe.  These aren’t conscious decisions for me, these are axiomatic truths that the universe has established and relegated me to follow.

 

I see harmony in the three “divergent fields”, Science, Religion, and Philosophy.  Religion, in my book, was one of the first moral philosophies to be written and prescribed to followers.  Science, well fuck, science is based solely on ideas that we hold as truths, go look up what philosophy means.  And Religion and Science, I believe, can be reconciled because they are no different.  I am a creationist, but I believe a week to God is 14 billion years to us.  I actually think it severely pigheaded and foolish to believe that we could know even the most minutias of details about an omniscient, omnipotent, omniconscious being with our fragile little psyches. 

 

I also believe God talks to profits in telepathic burst, He hits them with a shit ton of information and they try to comprehend all the information they just received.  Ergo, some of the message is shifted into more organic human terms, but the core message is the there.

 

…I have bad pop music to listen to while I smoke cigarettes and masturbate…

And then some days everything is just… amazing.

 

Like a bomb bursting on my retina the beauty of the world sears my cornea.  It blazes even when I close my eyelids, screwing my eyes shut trying to rationalize the sheer awesomeness of this world.  A daunting task that my fragile psyche cannot even begin to fully comprehend, so I throw wide my eyes and just let the joy and happiness wash over my aching soul.  I allow the Great Comedian’s joke to gain the scope and grandeur that it truly deserves.

 

I see the humor that lingers even in our commercial society.  The joy granted me in the passing bus’ ads and sad, flashing, blurred faces rushing past me to destination unknown.  More people I will never know, that I will never embrace, that I will never love, never kiss, never have an inside joke with, never trade experiences, never share in our Human Condition.  I smile at this thought and a thousand others.  The child plugging up his ears with his index fingers singing a little song as his mother drags and pulls him to wherever she need be in such urgency.  The 30-odd year old man playing with monster truck replicas in his front yard greeting disdainful passer-bys and checking out the woman walking in front of me.  The sullen face of a pretty girl talking on her cell phones makes my soul smile.  Even the gaggle of young men, garbed in long greasy hair and full beards hiding their youth, even they make me happy in their way.

 

The trees, the air, the sun, the breeze, the road under my feet, my feet shifting in my shoes that are too loose for any serious walking, the throb of the music blaring into my ears, the muted sound of cars and construction rushing by or going on, the light, the smells, the architecture, the buildings themselves, windows, glass, shiny surfaces, reflective surface, my distorted face in the passenger window of a car rushing by, my sweaty palms, my mind and body debating on whether or not to smoke, the feeling of my spine starting to melt eve so slightly, the sweat beading on my forehead, the atrocious smell of my sweat soaked hat, the way my oversized sun glass dim the sun light and stop me from adding wrinkles to my already wrinkled face, the burning in my thighs and calves, the two bronzed men jogging for pleasure and health talk excitedly about god knows what.  Or a million other little things that I all too often forget to be aware of on a constant basis.

 

“God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh.” Voltaire.

 

All too rarely do I see the joy of this world.  I have been attempting to disdain the corporeal world for so long that I forget that this world is actually a pleasant place to be.  Another contradiction I guess; I have two ultimate goals in my life, far more reaching, almost grasping, goals then the simplistic base ones (i.e. wife, jobs, kids, et cetra.), I want only two real goals, the ability to be completely and happily alone and to live a very deliberate life, a life of art.  Inside of these two all encompassing goals I want three ideals, three things that I think will make this experience called life go more smoothly, i.e. I want to think, wait, and fast.

 

I have to remember that, I have to breathe, eat, and live those concepts.  I have to drown myself in this moral philosophy, I have to drown The Self under these lofty concepts hopefully to crush and kill that illusion of The Self.  On days like today it seems easy.  I feel as though I can see the long chain of causality, that everything is connected and everything does have merit and meaning.  That the chain of moments that make up my life does have weight and worth, that everything that I have ever experienced has been for a purpose, that I am not just a calamity of confounding principles but am truly a child of God, or the cosmos, or the universe, or the Tao, or whatever you want to call it.

 

It is odd that, although I loathe these senses, it is through them that I might peer into the gaping chasm that is spiritual revelation.  Only through this fragile skin and feeble sight can I even begin to understand the Ultimate, the One, the Way; only through dulled sensation can I start to see God’s true face and His true Plan.  The scope is awesome, in the truest sense of awesomeness.  It takes my breath away and leaves my jaw a slack and my mind open to the beauty of the natural order.

 

Beauty is the only thing I truly believe in, the only thing I ever truly respect.  In all its multiform wonders I see it and revere it.  The one constant in my life has always been my respect for beauty in whatever forms it manifests itself in.  A sunset and a pretty face, a laughing child and a crying woman, they are both the same in their beauty; it is what binds us all together and holds our world apart.  Beauty…art…”We use mirrors to see ourselves, we use art to see our souls.”  To live a life of art, to take every step with a divine assuredness that this is the best possible placement for my foot to fall.  To never react, to always be conscious of your actions.  To never just get by, but to truly, truly, live. 

 

A beautiful dream to dream. 

 

…A beautiful dream indeed.

It was told to me today that you are either a believe Plato or Aristotle; the division lies in the methodology that they both looked at the world with.  Aristotle was complelled by bodies and relations there to whilst Plato was soncumed by the mind and it's ability to relate to bodies.

I think Aristotle is a douche.

The basis of my moral philosophy is that nothing else exsist.  As in "nothing besides me".  I am the "most real being", I can't remember the latin form of that quote...FUCK!

The philosophic outlook I am most akinned to is Solipsism, this is a slightly flawed theory I fear though.  Solipsism wishes to put forward the idea that this is all a dream and you are all characters in my dream.  There is still some kind of flowing time in this dream theory though.  Time is illusory.

This is it.  This is one instant protracted for an enternity.  I am the only real person, there is only one moment.  It is not a dream that I might awaken from one day.  Some pleasent fallacy that I might wake into a more suitable lifestyle.

All the pain and drama of my life is an inflection of my psychological outcroppings.  Everything I hear/see/do is my subconscious restating it's basic premises on life.

Incoherent thoughts I will expound upon later...later date, that is.  Lots of thoughts, too many that need to be sorted, organized, and classified.

Oh, some body spell check the entry for me?