Another World
Previous - this entry written on March 20, 2006 at 5:31 pm - Next

So I write.

Yesterday things went Wrong and I was still smiling through much of the day, until agony crept in and even then I was smiling soon, little capsules of forgetfulness down my throat.

I live my life from one pill to the next. Admitting it is not the first step to anything. It changes nothing. No goals, no awareness, I'm still sitting here with bottles strung out over the desk, waiting for the moment when my stomach settles enough to let me ingest a new rush of almost-contentment.

Your phone claims to belong to Gentry Remodeling now, boy. And yours, yours says the number is not in service... and yours, could I even reach it? My cell phone won't work now. I'm recharging it and praying. The land line seems to be throwing fits as well, nothing but static or silence. The power flickers.

Even the fucking shower... no water pressure, hot water cutting out at random intervals. I feel like I'm in a third-world country. The mice have just gone from cute to annoying. The garbage scares me now instead of comforting me, wtf? Everything looks like it's the set from some outdated horror movie, or maybe one of those public awareness flicks. Grey and dingy. Dirty. Filthy. Desperate to see anything other than this, I keep staring at the screen.

Nothing here.

FLickers. For all I know the power will go again halfway through this fucking entry and I'll be left unsatisfied, half my mind still trapped inside my head, where gods know I don't want it. Get it out, get it away from me... there's something wrong with me.

The buttons other people have, the reasons they can do shit they don't want to just because it needs to be done, where are mine? Where is the USEFUL guilt complex, where is the need to tidy and straighten, the overwhelming certainty that I should clean house or diet or exercise or go to church or get out more or plant flowers or have babies or be anything other than what I am... gods, is it any wonder I love drugs? Sober, I see the shit. Doped up on whatever concoction the doctors and pharmacists and my own experimentation with OTC and interesting substances can provide, all I see is beauty. Everything is perfect, everything is right, I'm happy.

And then the curtain falls, the house lights come up, the intermission between highs, and I see...


I try, I search you out, and halfway through pleasure the world interrupts, no more communication. I write, long stanzas of what later becomes drivel, I never see it, it never matters. I want to do something meaningful.

I want to have meaning.

I don't even know why... yep, there go the lights again. Beep beep backup. Fuck this. Fuck it all. Bring on the drugs.

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