Midday I watched a few snow figures move around me as I sat in my own cloud of smoke alienating myself from the world. Or was it the world alienating me? The smoke was dense, probably as dense as my self-esteem, which does not mean I lack respect for myself. It means that I acknowledge things as trivial and declare such. Some people would say that if you do not respect yourself you do not deserve the respect of others. If such is true, then what about Hitler? Outside of all the Jew killing, if he did not do such, would he really have been worthy of respect? It's not like people really give a shit about Poland anyhow, or France for that matter. Especially since the Russians also attacked Poland and killed a massive amount of Polish officers who were captured by the Russians. This fact was hidden for a long time, at least 2000 polish officers died at the hands of the then NKVD, later known as the KGB. Seriously how can one genuinely feel as if they deserve respect, if there is no love? Can you love someone to the point of disrespect? Can you respect without love, even a little bit? I do not think such is possible, lest it would not be call love.
Yet I digress. Can you dig it?
Yet I digress. Can you dig it?
And, I have yet to learn this "digging" term in Hebrew, as I know they're a bunch of diggers of information (and gold) in general.
Digging? Not as much as my cigar buzz. A pack a day? Doesn't matter. Beer'ing it up? Doesn't matter. Even if I had three in a hour.
I saw the snow figures stare at me. I also stared in my own haze. And the cold and callous snow avoided me.
Figures in white, against the grey. I wondered if they really needed clothing. Were they as cold inside as I assumed them to be? If so, why bother wearing clothing? Was my emotional smoke enough to melt them, or was it the foul nature of tobacco that drove them away? Would I genuinely know if I never shared my feelings on the issue or issues? What did I want? Does it matter? Did I really believe such? Would anyone care to ask me? Again, does it matter? It doesn't matter if I'm going to lose. Does it? The sickness of hunger was only enhanced now when I realized I may not be the only one who may lose. But yet again, I smile as I can always slow down these thoughts with a biblical flood of alcohol into my blood-stream, just slowing myself enough. Slowing myself enough to run only the primary tasks of the brain. Not to forget. Not to avoid, but to slow down. It's a shame I can't drive this way, at least legally that is.
A long time acquaintance in grey saw me in my desperation to resolve such feelings. We chatted as if it were a brisk jaunt, moving around the atmosphere of others ignoring them as we talked. With the exception of snow people, or was it just one? Thick leaves, fruit, what else could be made from such? Anyway my grey-friend and I are more or less familiar with my own dialog, as I ought to be with my own dialog anyhow. When we had a chance to sit down, and my desire, or emotional depression-driven disease for alcohol told me to sit down and drink, she told me that I am much less anxious before when we first met. I think I was 20 then. Has it really been that long? 6 years? A lot changes in 6? Is not love of life the same? Anyhow, let's call her Top-Coyote since her name has the name ring as a Native American, without the redskin or heritage.
I saw the snow figures stare at me. I also stared in my own haze. And the cold and callous snow avoided me.
Figures in white, against the grey. I wondered if they really needed clothing. Were they as cold inside as I assumed them to be? If so, why bother wearing clothing? Was my emotional smoke enough to melt them, or was it the foul nature of tobacco that drove them away? Would I genuinely know if I never shared my feelings on the issue or issues? What did I want? Does it matter? Did I really believe such? Would anyone care to ask me? Again, does it matter? It doesn't matter if I'm going to lose. Does it? The sickness of hunger was only enhanced now when I realized I may not be the only one who may lose. But yet again, I smile as I can always slow down these thoughts with a biblical flood of alcohol into my blood-stream, just slowing myself enough. Slowing myself enough to run only the primary tasks of the brain. Not to forget. Not to avoid, but to slow down. It's a shame I can't drive this way, at least legally that is.
A long time acquaintance in grey saw me in my desperation to resolve such feelings. We chatted as if it were a brisk jaunt, moving around the atmosphere of others ignoring them as we talked. With the exception of snow people, or was it just one? Thick leaves, fruit, what else could be made from such? Anyway my grey-friend and I are more or less familiar with my own dialog, as I ought to be with my own dialog anyhow. When we had a chance to sit down, and my desire, or emotional depression-driven disease for alcohol told me to sit down and drink, she told me that I am much less anxious before when we first met. I think I was 20 then. Has it really been that long? 6 years? A lot changes in 6? Is not love of life the same? Anyhow, let's call her Top-Coyote since her name has the name ring as a Native American, without the redskin or heritage.
Either she kicked me or was vying for some kind of physical reaction as I felt her shoe's tip hit the shin of my crossed legs, even after I had motioned them away. I couldn't tell. We exchanged numbers, and after we parted she texted me saying she was free on weekends. I don't mean exchanged in that way. I don't think she had any other means of contacting me.
I don't consider her in league with the hookers and pot I often wonder about, although that taste is far from my mouth, although IPA isn't. Yet I did wonder if our relationship of friendship would or could develop into mutual escapism, regardless of the degrees of enjoyment I had expressing dialog and receiving such. I do know however that she becomes "bored" with those she shares intimacy with, albeit I am not sure if that includes intellectual, as I know eventually such happens with boyfriends in TC's case.
I don't consider her in league with the hookers and pot I often wonder about, although that taste is far from my mouth, although IPA isn't. Yet I did wonder if our relationship of friendship would or could develop into mutual escapism, regardless of the degrees of enjoyment I had expressing dialog and receiving such. I do know however that she becomes "bored" with those she shares intimacy with, albeit I am not sure if that includes intellectual, as I know eventually such happens with boyfriends in TC's case.
A cigar buzz lingered, well after an hour. It's been that long since I've sat down I think. Maybe it's because of an empty stomach, which isn't entirely true, as I had beer earlier today. Cheap tasty beer. I wonder if my life is a 24 hour bender, that lasts several weeks? It's only a problem if there is admission of such. I imagine love is the same.
a bender:
I feel as if when I participate in life, since nothing can be done of significant spiritual value, the drunkenness or desire for such is less of a disease than that of life. Since life's prescription in itself is death, one could conclude that life IS a disease which causes death. And no, I do not think that is morbid, especially since at present I am writing this near a philosophy department.
Today has been eventful enough to merit more drinking and another pack, albeit the former may wait for me at home. It's all I can think about to avoid the snow people and trees. A tree, in a garden. The tree that affirms life and responsibility. Thick and lush. Does such protect me from my intellectual and emotional nakedness? It worked for Adam and Eve, I'm sure something could work for me, as it kept them warm, did it not? I hope God doesn't mind.
Snow people. Yes. Snow people. At 5:10 am, I arrived in the concrete jungle, away from the darkness. Oh you couldn't imagine the darkness even if I told you. It wasn't just something that lived with me at times, it is real. I've seen it chase me, even lord over my being at times. Once I drove into it, and retreated out of fear. Or was it because I would run out of gas? It is nothingness. Clouds as black as the firmament. No stars, no nothing. If I called out to God, I'm sure even He would say, "Do not venture this way, as I do not. So saith the Lord thine bitches." You wouldn't imagine the cold I felt this morning, in the isolated streets of orange reflective vests and grim unshaven faces. These weren't snow people. I don't know if they were people. But they were something.
You wouldn't want to be there, but I was. You wouldn't want to see what I saw, but you'd want to hear the stories. So why would you tell me you don't want to see how I feel? And as your emotions rear as a startled horse, why would you reject such if you weren't there? I can only wish these days that I could say what I want with such. It doesn't belong in the past. It is what it is.
And when that fails, the only ones who don't escape are the five remaining of six, waiting to be slaughtered tonight in a desperation without enthusiasm or emotion. A prison of bottle caps and glass. It's amazing that the objectives of prisoners, be it duress, anger, solitude, do their best to escape such. So what about prisoners of love, joy, and compassion? Ought they escape into solitude? Anguish? And malice? Are they not entitled to such, or are they?
And when that fails, the only ones who don't escape are the five remaining of six, waiting to be slaughtered tonight in a desperation without enthusiasm or emotion. A prison of bottle caps and glass. It's amazing that the objectives of prisoners, be it duress, anger, solitude, do their best to escape such. So what about prisoners of love, joy, and compassion? Ought they escape into solitude? Anguish? And malice? Are they not entitled to such, or are they?
Are they?
I don't know, I usually consult these issues with friends.
I know. Where are they?
Where are you?
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