Fuck it, I'm through.
No more time will be spent wallowing in self pity and delusion. No more will I wait for the kindness and foresight of others to mend the broken shards of this shell I call home. No more.
I will say one thing in defense of frustration and depression: the creativity garnered from these undeniably kicks the ass of anything to come out of enthusiasm and merriment. The energy robbed though, is not worth the payout.
Easter weekend and all still is. In a sense I feel a kinship with this character called Christ. I look at it as a chance to be reborn. A spiritual resurection following the spiritual death of my mind. In the last two weeks I've written more songs, though not words for them, than any other time in memory. Though this purging of my head could be considered healthy, I worry that I need to be in some sort of distress in order to create. This can't be entirerly true though, as I still need words and melody for these snips of musical scitzophrenia. These will come, I'm sure, late one night after tossing and turning in a pale light, while foaming at the mouth and praying to the door knob of the great kingdom of Bath. Strictly a personal prayer, no time for others here, my madness dies with the sunrise, revealing in it's glorious light, the intricate path of word and metephore to complete said sonets.
Wish me luck, and don't block the bathroom door.
Fishbait
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Tales From a Cardboard Life
This madness must end. Sleeping late, not eating right, smoking too much, crying at comedies, all of these things need to stop. My brain is slowly melting into a chemical soup, drying my pores and sickening my innards. The cravings aren't as bad this week, and though there's not any light at the end yet, at least I'm aware that I'm in the tunnel. Tensing at the smallest provocation, grinning like a maniac, and cold shakes in a warm room. This is hell. Or at least a personal aproximation.
Would I revert back to the drugs and the drink to ease these symptoms? No. The person who did that no longer resides here. That part of me died last Friday along with another. It's lonely here. And cold. And dark. And damp. But it seems fitting that way.
The job should help. It will at least distract me from most everything else. Meet new people, try new things and hope that I don't screw it all up again as is my way. Maybe I'll even meet a grrl, but I'm hardly in a frame of mind to appreciate one. I'd end up showering her with shit and baggage or withdrawing so far inward that she'd resent me. Which of course would lead me to the drink, triggering a craving and three days later, after not sleeping and spending my rent on anphetamines, I'd be back at the start. Looking for a way to get more, going to get my final paycheque and mourning the death of my personality.
No thanks, I'm on an upswing.
I hope.
Fishbait
Would I revert back to the drugs and the drink to ease these symptoms? No. The person who did that no longer resides here. That part of me died last Friday along with another. It's lonely here. And cold. And dark. And damp. But it seems fitting that way.
The job should help. It will at least distract me from most everything else. Meet new people, try new things and hope that I don't screw it all up again as is my way. Maybe I'll even meet a grrl, but I'm hardly in a frame of mind to appreciate one. I'd end up showering her with shit and baggage or withdrawing so far inward that she'd resent me. Which of course would lead me to the drink, triggering a craving and three days later, after not sleeping and spending my rent on anphetamines, I'd be back at the start. Looking for a way to get more, going to get my final paycheque and mourning the death of my personality.
No thanks, I'm on an upswing.
I hope.
Fishbait
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Coffee Shop Worker O.D.s
Coffee, I love it. Almost as much as oxygen. But ours is a fickle relationship and regardless of attention paid to this mistress of mine, she won't leave me alone long enough to sleep. And now it seems I'm to be her helpless servant yet again.
If my own addiction weren't enough, I'll be feeding the monkey that sits on all coffee drinker's backs. That's what it looks like anyway, a large drooling simian, slowly licking it's recently severed apendages. Aparently, I'm over qualified to work in a coffee shop. How does that work exactly? Can you make a cappucino too well? Not that I've ever found, in fact some of the people pouring mine could use a little more practice. So it's to a low paying, bad hour job I go. At least until I find one that stimulates my mind and refuses to over exert my body. Seeing as that possiblity is unlikely, a coffee shop it is. Good people, mediochre food, and cups of luke warm drainings of filthy dish rags being sold as coffee.
It's a mindless, tedious, socially retarded way to spend my time and earn my money, but I'm going milk the communist manifesto it represents for all that it's worth.
Wish me luck.
Fishbait
If my own addiction weren't enough, I'll be feeding the monkey that sits on all coffee drinker's backs. That's what it looks like anyway, a large drooling simian, slowly licking it's recently severed apendages. Aparently, I'm over qualified to work in a coffee shop. How does that work exactly? Can you make a cappucino too well? Not that I've ever found, in fact some of the people pouring mine could use a little more practice. So it's to a low paying, bad hour job I go. At least until I find one that stimulates my mind and refuses to over exert my body. Seeing as that possiblity is unlikely, a coffee shop it is. Good people, mediochre food, and cups of luke warm drainings of filthy dish rags being sold as coffee.
It's a mindless, tedious, socially retarded way to spend my time and earn my money, but I'm going milk the communist manifesto it represents for all that it's worth.
Wish me luck.
Fishbait
Monday, March 21, 2005
The Love of a Parent
Insanity. That's the only excuse that I can figure to justify the actions of one Father O' Mine yesterday afternoon. And the night before, really, but yesterday was the kicker.
My dad, my 7 yr old sister and I arrived at my apartment around 3, and after being warned that it was messy, but not dirty, he proceeded to comment and critisize everything that happened to be in sight, like he expected me to clean up while he was there. While I was asking if he'd like something to drink, he looks at me and tells, not asks, me to turn the stereo off, because it's irritating. What I find interesting is, that after driving me home to satisfy some sort of irrational spurt of parenting energy, he would stand in MY apartment and tell ME what to do. That would be my own definition of irritating. When I offered to turn it down, he said that wasn't enough and said that if I didn't turn it off, he and my sister would leave. You can't have music on and enjoy a conversation apparently. What did I do? I turned it off. Less than three mins later, he says he's leaving anyway. FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!
Perhaps this is why I don't call him. Why would I subject myself to shit and abuse for appearences sake? Will he ever understand this? Probably not.
Fishbait
My dad, my 7 yr old sister and I arrived at my apartment around 3, and after being warned that it was messy, but not dirty, he proceeded to comment and critisize everything that happened to be in sight, like he expected me to clean up while he was there. While I was asking if he'd like something to drink, he looks at me and tells, not asks, me to turn the stereo off, because it's irritating. What I find interesting is, that after driving me home to satisfy some sort of irrational spurt of parenting energy, he would stand in MY apartment and tell ME what to do. That would be my own definition of irritating. When I offered to turn it down, he said that wasn't enough and said that if I didn't turn it off, he and my sister would leave. You can't have music on and enjoy a conversation apparently. What did I do? I turned it off. Less than three mins later, he says he's leaving anyway. FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!
Perhaps this is why I don't call him. Why would I subject myself to shit and abuse for appearences sake? Will he ever understand this? Probably not.
Fishbait
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Madness, Mayhem, Cigarettes and Taxes
So get this: Last year I filed my taxes and they held some money back to pay the government. This year when I did my taxes, I had to pay $90 to revenscrew Canada for something that should have been paid last year. What to do, what to do? Well, I head down to the place that handled my things(no, not those things, my taxes) last year only to find out that everything in their files is correct and so the problem lies with the government.(don't it always?) So now I'm out twice what I should be, and I'm so desperate for cash that I'm signing up for focus groups on smokers.
I attended one of these before and they paid me $30 and gave me four packs of smokes. My buddy Kerry, who came with me, didn't really smoke and gave me his cigarettes. (He just wanted the money) This time around they're offering $50-$100 for an hour or two. which mostly involves listening to propaganda and filling out a questionaire. Easy work, easier money. Hell, if I can get into a couple of these things a month, I might not need to get a real job. Wouldn't that be fucked?
The madness is simple. When you spend most of your time alone in an apartment, drinking coffee and smoking too many cigarettes, you tend to go a little shack happy. It probably wouldn't be so bad if I could watch t.v. to numb my mind, but I don't have cable.
Another way around this would be to go out and wreck havoc, but without any money, there is no mayhem, so I suppose that part of the title is false. Shit. Well, I can't be expected to be right all the time. I am going mad after all.
Fishbait
I attended one of these before and they paid me $30 and gave me four packs of smokes. My buddy Kerry, who came with me, didn't really smoke and gave me his cigarettes. (He just wanted the money) This time around they're offering $50-$100 for an hour or two. which mostly involves listening to propaganda and filling out a questionaire. Easy work, easier money. Hell, if I can get into a couple of these things a month, I might not need to get a real job. Wouldn't that be fucked?
The madness is simple. When you spend most of your time alone in an apartment, drinking coffee and smoking too many cigarettes, you tend to go a little shack happy. It probably wouldn't be so bad if I could watch t.v. to numb my mind, but I don't have cable.
Another way around this would be to go out and wreck havoc, but without any money, there is no mayhem, so I suppose that part of the title is false. Shit. Well, I can't be expected to be right all the time. I am going mad after all.
Fishbait
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Now What Bubba?
Sunday night. Just spent the last two hours watching Dogma with no sound other than the comentary. How bored am I?
Last night was another ill advised drunken rampage and sobbing phone call evening. Too bad really, I could probably work through a lot more if I didn't drink so much. Tonite then, I'll be goin' out with Ian and presumably getting into some sort of trouble involving alcohol. Lucky me. I don't really enjoy drinking to that point, or smoking for that matter, but it seems that once a glass is in front of me, I don't stop until I'm on the floor, passed out in a pool of spittle, usually some time before 10:00 pm. You'd think after so many years of drinking heavily, I'd have developed some sort of tolerance. No such luck.
Now it seems, I need to get laid. In a very bad way in fact. And of course, one of the frustrating things about being in this situation, is that every woman I run into can tell. You end up with a certain smell, something to do with pheromones I'm sure, and they stay away in droves. Of course, the second you end up with one, they all want you. Twisted injustice that. It makes sense to be sure, it's just the universe fucking with you.
Other than having no sex life and a very limited social life, I still need to get my things back from the gruesome twosome that I called my roommates for months. "What things"? you may well ask, well, my vaccuum cleaner for one, my cell phone for another, my pride, dignity and various cds. I swear: From this moment, I will never live with another roommate. Unless she's really cute and puts out on a regular basis.
Fishbait
Last night was another ill advised drunken rampage and sobbing phone call evening. Too bad really, I could probably work through a lot more if I didn't drink so much. Tonite then, I'll be goin' out with Ian and presumably getting into some sort of trouble involving alcohol. Lucky me. I don't really enjoy drinking to that point, or smoking for that matter, but it seems that once a glass is in front of me, I don't stop until I'm on the floor, passed out in a pool of spittle, usually some time before 10:00 pm. You'd think after so many years of drinking heavily, I'd have developed some sort of tolerance. No such luck.
Now it seems, I need to get laid. In a very bad way in fact. And of course, one of the frustrating things about being in this situation, is that every woman I run into can tell. You end up with a certain smell, something to do with pheromones I'm sure, and they stay away in droves. Of course, the second you end up with one, they all want you. Twisted injustice that. It makes sense to be sure, it's just the universe fucking with you.
Other than having no sex life and a very limited social life, I still need to get my things back from the gruesome twosome that I called my roommates for months. "What things"? you may well ask, well, my vaccuum cleaner for one, my cell phone for another, my pride, dignity and various cds. I swear: From this moment, I will never live with another roommate. Unless she's really cute and puts out on a regular basis.
Fishbait
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