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My free writing repository. It started out as my Nanowrimo site but since that got thoroughly derailed by circumstance and apathy, I'm converting this blog to one where I will post my short stories, scenes and whatever else doesn't quite fit on Intellectual Poison or any of my other blogs.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
An Addict's Life
It is kind of funny, looking back over these years, the decades of time that's passed since I became aware of myself and now. I guess you'd call it your earliest memory. My mind's not quite what it used to be but then neither's my body. And it wasn't just time wearing on it. Years of self abuse of prostrating myself at the altar of hedonism had ruined my eyes, put crippling arthritis into my hands and that stupid bum ankle. If it weren't for the blessed pills, I'd probably be screaming or, at least, moaning loudly.
Sad thing is, there comes a day when pills or medicine can't block the pain. It becomes so strong and powerful that nothing stands in its way, only death can stop it. But that's okay, I've felt the same grip before. Living ninety four years was beyond the scope of my imagination when I was 26. How could I imagine it? A body more dead than alive, a mind that alternates between complete lucidity and then, nothing makes any damned sense. Like thoughts are letters in alphabet soup and they drift apart, its kind of maddening but is its own sort of dreamstate too.
I should know a little something about dreamstates, deleriums, visions, hallucinations, whatever you want to term altered realities. There was a long period of time through my teens, my twenties and through my thirties and forties that I took pretty well all manner of reality altering substances. Why not? One go around and all that crap, ya know?
Now I know. The thing about hindsight is that is, at its deepest, wasted and stupid energy. If only I go back, if only I could have stopped my 14 year old self and shown him the paths he was faced with. Make him choose instead of taking the water's way, the least resistance. Going with the flow. Hey, we're going to a party, come on. Here, have some shots, let's get fucked up! Mornings like weeks where I woke up on someone's floor or in some random bed, sometimes in my car on the side of the road, miles from anywhere. Days lost in blacked out stupors, hours lost in opiated floating ethereality, months of nothing.
And for what? Fun, the pursuit of pleasure, use it all up before the whole shithouse goes up in flames. But there were years of unhappiness in all of that chemicalized happiness. Bad marriages, angry children and more evil actions
It is kind of funny, looking back over these years, the decades of time that's passed since I became aware of myself and now. I guess you'd call it your earliest memory. My mind's not quite what it used to be but then neither's my body. And it wasn't just time wearing on it. Years of self abuse of prostrating myself at the altar of hedonism had ruined my eyes, put crippling arthritis into my hands and that stupid bum ankle. If it weren't for the blessed pills, I'd probably be screaming or, at least, moaning loudly.
Sad thing is, there comes a day when pills or medicine can't block the pain. It becomes so strong and powerful that nothing stands in its way, only death can stop it. But that's okay, I've felt the same grip before. Living ninety four years was beyond the scope of my imagination when I was 26. How could I imagine it? A body more dead than alive, a mind that alternates between complete lucidity and then, nothing makes any damned sense. Like thoughts are letters in alphabet soup and they drift apart, its kind of maddening but is its own sort of dreamstate too.
I should know a little something about dreamstates, deleriums, visions, hallucinations, whatever you want to term altered realities. There was a long period of time through my teens, my twenties and through my thirties and forties that I took pretty well all manner of reality altering substances. Why not? One go around and all that crap, ya know?
Now I know. The thing about hindsight is that is, at its deepest, wasted and stupid energy. If only I go back, if only I could have stopped my 14 year old self and shown him the paths he was faced with. Make him choose instead of taking the water's way, the least resistance. Going with the flow. Hey, we're going to a party, come on. Here, have some shots, let's get fucked up! Mornings like weeks where I woke up on someone's floor or in some random bed, sometimes in my car on the side of the road, miles from anywhere. Days lost in blacked out stupors, hours lost in opiated floating ethereality, months of nothing.
And for what? Fun, the pursuit of pleasure, use it all up before the whole shithouse goes up in flames. But there were years of unhappiness in all of that chemicalized happiness. Bad marriages, angry children and more evil actions
