Friday, January 16, 2015

blowback and boundaries

protecting one's autonomy from the barrages of another's intransigence is one of our enduring dilemmas. particularly if one is invested more in outcomes than processes. this is further confounded when motives are skewed and boundaries occluded. particularly when said outcome is irrationally coveted by interested parties. 

Saturday, December 13, 2014

first-world problems

some say, "only boring people get bored."

the maladaptive reply, "fuck you!"

or, "be grateful."

to wit, "eat shit and die motherfucker!"

however, 

there is plenty to discredit in how ingratitude can deform inaction, and misshape passive detraction from a group. being happy, one must forget ways to stay reactively disengaged from  unnatural mood-diminishment. there's drugs, therapy, and thought-experiments that are panacea for capriciousness. this is the opposite of maladjustment. but discarding something let-go-of, like a literal handrail, will always misguide one into darkness. this can be as complicated as foul air, a bad-book, or an enemy. anything done the same way, or in one's comfort-zone can be a weak trapdoor farther from destruction. taking no time upon sleeping to forgo breathing can be the start of an unfocused and unproductive evening.

leaving the bed unmade also keeps one sedentary at night.

but consistency is easy. having been lastly addicted to delayed-masochism, it's easy to get ahead in these complicated perfections, and trudge that final ripple of depression they diminish. the trick isnt the short game. rarely destroying infinite changes eliminates old pathways to slavery and consternation.  


Thursday, December 4, 2014

Lazy-Bowel Syndrome in Constipation Nation

we'd like to retract the previous assertion made here that natural bowel movements are primitive and obsolete.

although anecdotal, and based on this authors experience, we now believe there is an intrinsic link between bowels and mind. that perhaps the peristalsis required to naturally evacuate one's bowels also activates a certain mental peristalsis to eliminate waste from the brain? as such, when one becomes physically dependent upon unnatural evacuation, intestinal peristalsis is no longer required and shuts-down. this inadvertently causes the mind to shut-down some as yet unknown mechanism of purging subliminal data. much like dreams being consciousnesses' natural "de-fragging" processes. perhaps the insomnia-caused psychosis is the inability to de-frag, and the inability to eliminate waste naturally causes an inability to delete those de-fragged files? maybe there's an unnatural method for deleting the mind's recycle-bin? drugs?

"you have too much free-time."

no shit. 

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

time-trudging...

I remember my dad helping me with my first car. it was an old heap, but he helped me pass inspection and be safe. he took great care to make things right with limited resources. I believe he also enjoyed the time spent together on the project. tonight I remembered being so selfish and self-absorbed, that I just wanted the car on the road so I could hang out with friends and get high.

I inevitably crashed that car showing-off in front of people. I remembered feeling terrible about messing up the car, but I also scored a pocketful of cocaine that night. this was the first time I consciously used a drug to really change a feeling found inconvenient. 

when I finally told my parents about the car my father sarcastically told me, "that's okay. your still cool." he must've known me well enough to know how this would hurt me. I've always held on to this resentment towards him for saying that, and have even said it back to him as a joke.

tonight I had a glimpse of what it must've been like for him. I felt the probable hurt to his feelings by me being an ungrateful and irresponsible shit. I wish I can tell him how much those moments mean to me now. how I am aware of all the sacrifices my parents made, e.g., so much time and energy spent on my fleeting interests and capricious whims. all the times I've used them, their stuff, time, and how they were always willing, even knowing I probably wouldn't reciprocate or fully appreciate it.

I do tell him I love him now. I also tell him he's a good man. sometimes this gets through to him and I see a glimpse of my da still in there. 

I also needed to write it down and send it out into the universe. let the universe hear and know this feeble apology to my da for being inconsiderate, selfish, ungrateful, and irresponsible. and for also not expressing my gratitude and respect earlier and more frequently in my life.

thanks dad. your a good man.

Saturday, November 29, 2014

starvation mode...

"hello sloth, I am gluttony."

[we're going to bust out of this narrative and speak in the intimate manner customary philistines.] 

after capricious whimsy an no forethought, we stopped eating. a false look back at earlier blights occluded the unclear desire for flailing inaction on this matter. it confuses an uncertain and inelegant nonsense. lastly is the inexplicable repulsion to starvation as the least significant no-thing to not-do. the least ____. the less ____. the last ____.

here goes nothing!

we'll check in to track events daily. we won't stop until famine. there's something magical at the end of this. a feral funeral to behold. to be held up above the pyre like an ornament from ancient something-or-other. fuck knows. 

hunger is righteous.

empty is to be. 

being empty being.


Wednesday, November 26, 2014

restrict. binge. purge. repeat...

imagine a peice of pumpkin-pie with whipped-cream, ice-cream, apple-crisp, hot-chocolate, a sloppy-joe, pizza, sausage, peppers, bread, cookies, yogurt, granola, a muffin, bananas, cheese, coffee & loads of diet soda all mixed together in a cheap blender and poured into a bowl, with bile and mucus. 

force it through an aperture the size of a dime, with chyme, blood, bowel and gut flora. rotten putrescence. the mixed-bag is squeezed, bursts out the cyclops' angry eye, mired-brown, purple, pink, and steaming. 

what a waste. 




Saturday, October 25, 2014

suicide or euthanasia?

wanting to die is a reason to live. 

it's better to never have been at all. 

but, we can't always get what we want. 

and, some rarely get anything. 

some suffer from birth.

some never knew desire.

to long - is to live. 

I want... 

therefore I am.