"In moments of crisis, one is never fighting against an external enemy but always against one's own body...And it is the same in all seemingly heroic or tragic situations. On the battlefield, in the torture chamber, on a sinking ship, the issues that you are fighting for are always forgotten, because the body swells up until it fills the universe, and even when you are not paralyzed by fright or screaming with pain, life is a moment-to-moment struggle against hunger or cold or sleeplessness, against a sour stomach or an aching tooth,"
George Orwell's 1984
30 November 2005
29 November 2005
entry
Well, Thanksgiving wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. In fact, I can say I actually had a good time. I was afraid of some kind of emotional blow-up but nothing like that happened; the demons were silent on Thursday.
Regarding my last post, I'm not sure if there is anything to say. That night was absolutely terrifying.
The demons have been floating again. Occasionally, my head is filled with dark thoughts, darker desires and wicked compulsions. If the reader is wondering about suicidal tendencies, I wouldn't worry about that. Has the thought of suicide crossed my mind? Yes, but briefly. Has the act of suicide crossed my mind? Absolutely not. I would never abuse the precious relationships that I have with my friends. I would never put mom and dad through such a violent end after what they have been through with my sister. I would never leave sister as an only child.
I'm not sure what these demons are trying to pull from me. My intelligence tells me that these demons are not demons but simply an imbalance of chemicals in my brain. But when one is in the vortex of these "demons," it's hard to be subjective. It's hard to be rational. It's hard to remove yourself from that temporary reality. An idle mind shall be the devil's playground. Perhaps taking the last two days off from work wasn't such a good idea. Maybe I need to hit the keyboard and headphones and let my mind wonder in a self-controlled musical cosmos. It's hard to motivate yourself when you feel like shit.
I need to shower.
I need to shave.
I need to move.
Need. Needs. We all need something/someone.
Desire.
mc
Regarding my last post, I'm not sure if there is anything to say. That night was absolutely terrifying.
The demons have been floating again. Occasionally, my head is filled with dark thoughts, darker desires and wicked compulsions. If the reader is wondering about suicidal tendencies, I wouldn't worry about that. Has the thought of suicide crossed my mind? Yes, but briefly. Has the act of suicide crossed my mind? Absolutely not. I would never abuse the precious relationships that I have with my friends. I would never put mom and dad through such a violent end after what they have been through with my sister. I would never leave sister as an only child.
I'm not sure what these demons are trying to pull from me. My intelligence tells me that these demons are not demons but simply an imbalance of chemicals in my brain. But when one is in the vortex of these "demons," it's hard to be subjective. It's hard to be rational. It's hard to remove yourself from that temporary reality. An idle mind shall be the devil's playground. Perhaps taking the last two days off from work wasn't such a good idea. Maybe I need to hit the keyboard and headphones and let my mind wonder in a self-controlled musical cosmos. It's hard to motivate yourself when you feel like shit.
I need to shower.
I need to shave.
I need to move.
Need. Needs. We all need something/someone.
Desire.
mc
23 November 2005
f___e_________a____r
i feel like a little boy with shaky fingers and sweaty palms. there isn't a monster under my bed. the monster is in my head. i should call someone but there is nothing anyone can do and i know, i hope, that tomorrow this episode will seem like bullshit but right now, in the grip of this thing, i'm not sure what to do. sleep has been a rare thing lately and tonight is no different. early day tomorrow but i can't sleep. my mind is racing and something is filling my head with things, thoughts, ideas that i don't want to think about. i see the faces of mom, dad and sister but their faces are distorted...the faces of demons. i never sleep in silence. radio must be on. talk radio. but nothing can silence my mind right now. i'm trembling. the cavity of my chest shakes like an aftershock. just need some time to chill out...settle down...sleep but sleep is not easy. the voice on the radio asks his listeners, "what are you thankful for?" is this some kind of cruel, sick joke you motherfucker? not sure where to go from here but i had to come down here and type and get this out or at least make an attempt. relate. relate the experience. some are thankful that the hurricane missed them...they still have a roof over their head...others are thankful that, even though the hurricane destroyed all of their possessions, they are still alive...so what are the dead thankful for? it's all about the food chain, man. if you're at the top you have the world on a fucking string...people line up for the pleasure of sucking your cock...but when you're on the bottom, well, you're on the bottom. shit, piss drip like rain from clouds of electric hell. "so what are you thankful for?" "i'm thankful that the shit and piss isn't up to my knees yet, jim."___________________________________________________________________ _________ ___ _______________ _______________________ ___ _ __________________________ __ ______________________ _"it's dangerous to confuse children with angels," thurston howell from magnolia
feeling a little better now...maybe i will be graced by the porcelain mask of sleep
mc
feeling a little better now...maybe i will be graced by the porcelain mask of sleep
mc
18 November 2005
shots in the dark
Thanksgiving is around the corner and this means a trip back to hometown..definitely not looking forward to this.
Sister (crying) called me late one night last week.
I don't know what to say.
Sister thinks that some bad things happened to her when she was little. She says that she remembers very little about her childhood. She wonders if this is some kind of defensive mechanism to block out the bad things that happened to her.............
FUCK IT, MAN. I'M SO FUCKING SICK AND TIRED OF DEALING WITH THIS SHIT. I'M SO FUCKING SICK AND TIRED OF DEALING WITH PEOPLE THAT CAN'T GET THEIR SHIT TOGETHER>>>>>>>>>>
GROWING UP I WAS A "MOMMA'S BOY" SO IT'S HARD FOR ME TO ACCEPT THAT.........SHIT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL I'M EVEN TRYING TO SAY. MOM, YOU FUCKED UP. BIG TIME. DAD, YOU DID THE BEST THAT YOU COULD DO SO I GUESS I CAN'T HOLD ANYTHING AGAINST YOU>>>>>>>>>>
WHAT THE FUCK AM I?
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>WHO THE HELL AM I?
>>>>THIS IS WHAT I'VE BECOME.
<>><<<<<<<<<>>SOME 27 YEAR OLD MAN-CHILD THAT SPENDS EVERY NITE TUCKED AWAY IN A SHELL OF TELEVISION.INTERNET.VIDEO*GAME.FANTASY.
>>>>>>IT'S 25 DEGREES OUTSIDE. IT'S COLD ON THE INSIDE, TOO>>>>>>>>>>>>>
IT'S COLD AND IT'S ALONE AND IT'S ALL THAT I HAVE AND I'M HOPING. HOPING FOR SOME 31ST CENTURY SAVIOR. A SAVIOR THAT ISN'T OF THIS WORLD. A SAVIOR THAT I CAN'T UNDERSTAND. NO ONE WOULD UNDERSTAND. A VIRGIN SAVIOR. A SAVIOR WHOSE SKIN IS CLEAN. AND PURE. A SAVIOR WHOSE EYES HAVE NOT BEEN CONTAMINATED BY THE ATROCITIES AND NAKED COLOURS OF THIS WORLD. (remember the vC: the eyes don't come clean after you've seen too much) A SAVIOR THAT WON'T SPIT THE SAME GODDAMNED CLICHES THAT I AM TYPING RIGHT NOW. A GIRL. A WOMAN. A LOVER. A GODDESS. SOMETHING THAT WILL CRADLE MY HEART LIKE A MOTHER TO HER NAKED, TENDER INFANT. I WANT TO BE THAT IGNORANT BABE SLEEPING IN A CRIB IN A ROOM FILLED WITH THINGS THAT I DON'T UNDERSTAND. I DON'T WANT TO UNDERSTAND ANYTHING. I SIMPLY WANT TO FEEL. TO FEEL A WARM PRESENCE NEXT TO ME AT NIGHT. A GLOWING BODY OF NEURONS AND TENDONS AND HAIR AND FLESH. AND NEXT TO ME.
>>>>>>>>IT'S ALL OUT OF REACH. I'VE BECOME ISOLATED. "frank, frank. frank. where have you been? what have you done? frank. it's been years, you're not a kid anymore, and what can you tell us? what have you seen? what are you sure of?"*
>>>>>>I FEEL LIKE WALTER SELBY FROM The King is Dead. IT'S LIKE I'VE BEEN LOCKED UP FOR THREE DECADES AND I CAN'T SEEM TO RELATE TO ANYONE OR ANYTHING. "he was like rip van winkle. he used to tell us: call waiting, contact lenses, price clubs, cell phone towers, said Donald. words like ms. on envelopes and motherfucker on cable television, all those wires and radio waves, all these plastic bags, men and women exercising, corporate parks, organic foods, signs in spanish, video everywhere, radar guns, no one acted their age, there were so many messages from everyone to everyone, all those things flying around in space while all the streets below were empty, reminders and alarms of nothing more important than the day ahead...it seemed to him that half the nation was high on something the other half had never heard of...he really didn't know anything about how to get along."*
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>where do i go from here?
mc
* from Jim Lewis' The King is Dead
Sister (crying) called me late one night last week.
I don't know what to say.
Sister thinks that some bad things happened to her when she was little. She says that she remembers very little about her childhood. She wonders if this is some kind of defensive mechanism to block out the bad things that happened to her.............
FUCK IT, MAN. I'M SO FUCKING SICK AND TIRED OF DEALING WITH THIS SHIT. I'M SO FUCKING SICK AND TIRED OF DEALING WITH PEOPLE THAT CAN'T GET THEIR SHIT TOGETHER>>>>>>>>>>
GROWING UP I WAS A "MOMMA'S BOY" SO IT'S HARD FOR ME TO ACCEPT THAT.........SHIT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL I'M EVEN TRYING TO SAY. MOM, YOU FUCKED UP. BIG TIME. DAD, YOU DID THE BEST THAT YOU COULD DO SO I GUESS I CAN'T HOLD ANYTHING AGAINST YOU>>>>>>>>>>
WHAT THE FUCK AM I?
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>WHO THE HELL AM I?
>>>>THIS IS WHAT I'VE BECOME.
<>><<<<<<<<<>>SOME 27 YEAR OLD MAN-CHILD THAT SPENDS EVERY NITE TUCKED AWAY IN A SHELL OF TELEVISION.INTERNET.VIDEO*GAME.FANTASY.
>>>>>>IT'S 25 DEGREES OUTSIDE. IT'S COLD ON THE INSIDE, TOO>>>>>>>>>>>>>
IT'S COLD AND IT'S ALONE AND IT'S ALL THAT I HAVE AND I'M HOPING. HOPING FOR SOME 31ST CENTURY SAVIOR. A SAVIOR THAT ISN'T OF THIS WORLD. A SAVIOR THAT I CAN'T UNDERSTAND. NO ONE WOULD UNDERSTAND. A VIRGIN SAVIOR. A SAVIOR WHOSE SKIN IS CLEAN. AND PURE. A SAVIOR WHOSE EYES HAVE NOT BEEN CONTAMINATED BY THE ATROCITIES AND NAKED COLOURS OF THIS WORLD. (remember the vC: the eyes don't come clean after you've seen too much) A SAVIOR THAT WON'T SPIT THE SAME GODDAMNED CLICHES THAT I AM TYPING RIGHT NOW. A GIRL. A WOMAN. A LOVER. A GODDESS. SOMETHING THAT WILL CRADLE MY HEART LIKE A MOTHER TO HER NAKED, TENDER INFANT. I WANT TO BE THAT IGNORANT BABE SLEEPING IN A CRIB IN A ROOM FILLED WITH THINGS THAT I DON'T UNDERSTAND. I DON'T WANT TO UNDERSTAND ANYTHING. I SIMPLY WANT TO FEEL. TO FEEL A WARM PRESENCE NEXT TO ME AT NIGHT. A GLOWING BODY OF NEURONS AND TENDONS AND HAIR AND FLESH. AND NEXT TO ME.
>>>>>>>>IT'S ALL OUT OF REACH. I'VE BECOME ISOLATED. "frank, frank. frank. where have you been? what have you done? frank. it's been years, you're not a kid anymore, and what can you tell us? what have you seen? what are you sure of?"*
>>>>>>I FEEL LIKE WALTER SELBY FROM The King is Dead. IT'S LIKE I'VE BEEN LOCKED UP FOR THREE DECADES AND I CAN'T SEEM TO RELATE TO ANYONE OR ANYTHING. "he was like rip van winkle. he used to tell us: call waiting, contact lenses, price clubs, cell phone towers, said Donald. words like ms. on envelopes and motherfucker on cable television, all those wires and radio waves, all these plastic bags, men and women exercising, corporate parks, organic foods, signs in spanish, video everywhere, radar guns, no one acted their age, there were so many messages from everyone to everyone, all those things flying around in space while all the streets below were empty, reminders and alarms of nothing more important than the day ahead...it seemed to him that half the nation was high on something the other half had never heard of...he really didn't know anything about how to get along."*
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>where do i go from here?
mc
* from Jim Lewis' The King is Dead
11 November 2005
q u o t e
"If in everyday life, you are asked about continued existence after death by one of those people who would like to know everything but refuse to learn anything, the most appropriate and approximately correct answer is: 'After your death you will be what you were before your birth.' For this answer implies that it is preposterous to demand that a species of existence which had a beginning should not have an end; in addition, however, it contains a hint that there may be two kinds of existence and, correspondingly, two kinds of nothingness."
-Arthur Schopenhauer
answers
mc (as Mogwai's Rock Action plays on the hi-fi)
-Arthur Schopenhauer
answers
mc (as Mogwai's Rock Action plays on the hi-fi)
02 November 2005
this whiskey will help you forget
Forgot to call dad on his birthday. Fuck. God, I feel like a regretful nazi.
I've been out of it for the past few days. Extremely tired. Going through the motions.
This all started on Saturday.
Before going to AA's Halloween party that night, I stopped by hometown to see mom, dad and sister. I hadn't seen them for a few months so I decided to make the rounds. First stop was mom's place.
All in all it was a good visit. However, the stark realization of age and time hit me like a kick in the nuts.
Did mom look that old the last time I was here?
She told me her mom's cancer was testing her patience. She can't seem to understand why grandmother, at the age of 80, would want to put herself through chemotherapy. The treatments would cause grandmother to lose her hair, lose her energy and become very sick. Grandmother says she will do whatever it takes to prolong her life.
Mom wants to tell her, "Look, you're 80 years old. You've lived a full, long life. Why would you want to spend your remaining years in a chemo-induced agony?"
This frustration is shared by her brother (who is a deeply religious man, I might add).
I'm not afraid to die. However, most people are. Apparently this fear survives well into old age.
Grandmother has always been a faithful pentecostal believer. Fire and brimstone. Heaven. Hell. The rapture. All of that. So why would she fear death? If one is so sure of that kingdom in the sky then why fret? I don't know. I'm not here to criticize. These are simply observations.
After spending a few hours with mom I decided to see dad and sister. As soon as mom closed the door I pictured her retreating to her room, tears streaming down her cheeks. Why she would be crying I can't say for sure, but I got this feeling that that's what she did.
...
So I arrive at dad's place not knowing what to expect. Sister lives with dad and her boyfriend practically lives there as well so the whole situation is odd. I don't know what is running through sister's head, or her bloodstream for that matter.
Brad is her boyfriend's name and he seems like a nice guy. However, his t-shirt was a little interesting. It read "It's only illegal (if you get caught)." What? Are you fucking serious? I mean, you can't make this shit up. The dysfunctionality astounds me.
Everything changes when I see family dog. At 16 years old her end is near. Family dog represents the last connection to the innocence of my childhood. Before all the shit happened (the divorce), family dog was there. Stability, I guess you could call it. I don't want to imagine the despair that will fall upon sister when family dog passes. She loves (as do I) that little dog like nothing else.
So anyway, dad, dad's wife, sister, brad and I go out for supper. The waiter was a complete slag. I don't know if this guy was having a bad evening or what but he was a complete dunce. Rude...didn't give a shit...whatever. This simply added to the "Oh the hell with it" atmosphere of the entire evening.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoyed seeing my family. I always do. But the whole exercise was so draining and, to a certain extent, depressing, that I was relieved to leave. I wish it wasn't like that but it is what it is.
...
As I drove to AA's place for the Halloween gig, I wasn't sure how much fun I would have. The emotional totality of those previous hours just made me sad. I was hoping that with the combination of friends and whiskey I would be able to relax and have a good time.
I did.
Until the last hour or so.
Thanks to my neurotic mind I was able to find something from that night's festivities to be sad about. I thought about Quiz Kid Donnie Smith when, in a drunken stupor, he confesses his love and no one seems to care.
A sad, drunken bastard.
Like Bob Dylan says in "Buckets of Rain,"
"You do what you must do and you do it well..."
mc
I've been out of it for the past few days. Extremely tired. Going through the motions.
This all started on Saturday.
Before going to AA's Halloween party that night, I stopped by hometown to see mom, dad and sister. I hadn't seen them for a few months so I decided to make the rounds. First stop was mom's place.
All in all it was a good visit. However, the stark realization of age and time hit me like a kick in the nuts.
Did mom look that old the last time I was here?
She told me her mom's cancer was testing her patience. She can't seem to understand why grandmother, at the age of 80, would want to put herself through chemotherapy. The treatments would cause grandmother to lose her hair, lose her energy and become very sick. Grandmother says she will do whatever it takes to prolong her life.
Mom wants to tell her, "Look, you're 80 years old. You've lived a full, long life. Why would you want to spend your remaining years in a chemo-induced agony?"
This frustration is shared by her brother (who is a deeply religious man, I might add).
I'm not afraid to die. However, most people are. Apparently this fear survives well into old age.
Grandmother has always been a faithful pentecostal believer. Fire and brimstone. Heaven. Hell. The rapture. All of that. So why would she fear death? If one is so sure of that kingdom in the sky then why fret? I don't know. I'm not here to criticize. These are simply observations.
After spending a few hours with mom I decided to see dad and sister. As soon as mom closed the door I pictured her retreating to her room, tears streaming down her cheeks. Why she would be crying I can't say for sure, but I got this feeling that that's what she did.
...
So I arrive at dad's place not knowing what to expect. Sister lives with dad and her boyfriend practically lives there as well so the whole situation is odd. I don't know what is running through sister's head, or her bloodstream for that matter.
Brad is her boyfriend's name and he seems like a nice guy. However, his t-shirt was a little interesting. It read "It's only illegal (if you get caught)." What? Are you fucking serious? I mean, you can't make this shit up. The dysfunctionality astounds me.
Everything changes when I see family dog. At 16 years old her end is near. Family dog represents the last connection to the innocence of my childhood. Before all the shit happened (the divorce), family dog was there. Stability, I guess you could call it. I don't want to imagine the despair that will fall upon sister when family dog passes. She loves (as do I) that little dog like nothing else.
So anyway, dad, dad's wife, sister, brad and I go out for supper. The waiter was a complete slag. I don't know if this guy was having a bad evening or what but he was a complete dunce. Rude...didn't give a shit...whatever. This simply added to the "Oh the hell with it" atmosphere of the entire evening.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoyed seeing my family. I always do. But the whole exercise was so draining and, to a certain extent, depressing, that I was relieved to leave. I wish it wasn't like that but it is what it is.
...
As I drove to AA's place for the Halloween gig, I wasn't sure how much fun I would have. The emotional totality of those previous hours just made me sad. I was hoping that with the combination of friends and whiskey I would be able to relax and have a good time.
I did.
Until the last hour or so.
Thanks to my neurotic mind I was able to find something from that night's festivities to be sad about. I thought about Quiz Kid Donnie Smith when, in a drunken stupor, he confesses his love and no one seems to care.
A sad, drunken bastard.
Like Bob Dylan says in "Buckets of Rain,"
"You do what you must do and you do it well..."
mc
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