Tag Archives: Lost

…enter title here…

I have.

I’m almost certain that I have.

…lost that child-like wonder… that absolutely exquisite limbo… that comes with limbo. The moments in-between things. When one can be anyone, anything, in any town… anywhere. This complete freedom of not being responsible for yourself… pretending.

And everything… anything’s possible.

That giddy-ness, that complete molecular dissolve into surroundings. I can’t feel it anymore. There is something eery. I can sense some sort of slightly nagging absence of something inherently. …not something enough to be something.

The denial has become anxiety.

And, I hate to say this, but I think it may be the prescription stimulant. It allows me to communicate, to be direct, to actually pull things from my brain, to understand what I’m thinking… to not seem like a slow retard…

But to what affect?

A level of anxiety that presents itself in subtle ways. But a level of anxiety that’s not me, maybe. Because, maybe, I don’t like the entire genetic manipulation-esque function of the drug. Pill. Long-acting. Swallow. Ahh. Good.

Maybe speed should just be speed. Not acceptable in societal norms. Not made long-acting. Not for children.

Because maybe that dulls the senses. And maybe…

…it’s too good. It’s too comfortable a thing to know that a pill will make you okay. It’s just easier to take the thing that makes it possible for you to wake up in the morning and face the world.


Because, then, it’s harder to actually deal with anything that actually exists that’s bad.

If I’m shooting up (in my lovely, engorged vein) ice that has been procured by the guy in the car that I see everyday (night), and we have to be discrete and beware of cops (or whatever)… I mean, he is a drug dealer that delivers explicit and illegal substances to me.

…as routine as this will become in my two and a half year daily dance… it’s not routine enough that you don’t (somewhere, atleast, in the back of your comprehension of life) understand that

…the pills are nihilistic. My pills are nihilistic. That is my conclusion.

And nihilism is to bad as searching for bobby fischer is to good in kiko realm.

…bad metaphor.

But, beyond this… what can I possibly do about any of this? (as I no longer have anyone in my corner)… as I’m in a hotel room, in the mid-eastern most part of new mexico… driving away. From the immediate familiar to a familiar that (even after five years, maybe a bit raw… and will always be a bit trapping).

Somebody help me!

Wait, nobody cares.

I have to help myself.

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Now what?

Well, I don’t really remember.

Nothing spectacular I’d assume.

I don’t trust, nor do I really like this pharmacopeia.

Not true. I just haven’t learned to manage it, I suppose. I like the comfort of it’s name. Of having it. I don’t particularly need it. But I have it. Doesn’t matter, I don’t know how to use it to my optimal benefit.

I don’t have to manage it, at all, actually. I can just… stop.

I was somewhere… in the dentist’s chair inhaling nitrous a few days ago. It wasn’t the same. I wrote, “Don’t be so obsessed with getting high” on my hand as I my eyes peered left… then back skyward… then shot left toward the tank. It’s N2O, of course, but it’s O2, too. Two balls in two distinct cylinders float on a puff of air. I’d say a ratio of 3/4 to 1/4. Still…

I felt my body. I remember, in the last instance not… feeling my extremities. Something was wrong… different. I didn’t like it. That’s all.

I remember last time. Last time was different. Last time was in Rosedale. Last time, I took the tongue ring out before anyone would see it was there. Because last time I cared about things of this degree. Last time I took the A train into Queens and walked to the bus stop and got lost, because that’s what I do. Last time I probably weighed around… well, numbers don’t really… anyway. I probably already couldn’t feel my extremities anyway. So, last time, in a blind study… a study in general… wouldn’t be so blind. so..

Desperation causes all sorts of things to go awry. And it occures to me that I may have been trying to obtain a high to prove that I am still the same.

I am not.

I understand what I thought at the time that I thought it. And I understand what I thought then, now.

But I didn’t understand the aforementioned.

I will continue to go out of my way to prove that I am the same. and time and time again fail.


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