The Days of Will

Days like today are frustrating. Mostly because I get to wake up and go to a room in a building seven minutes away, every couple hours, for an hour, all day today. Unfortunately I will be doing this for days and days, however I'm lucky in that I'm going to get to avoid it by going home for a couple of them.

I have never missed home more. I have never missed home for such a specific reason either.

Every single day I contemplate abandoning what I am doing here to leave and return to the life I had before. I know how I can do it, but it would be the end of the plan I have set out to follow and accomplish. I would be cast adrift. I would have no prospects, no future, except an endlessness that I cant really believe I would be able to stomach.

No, I can never truly go back.

I'm worried right now though, weather or not I will be able to reach beyond the tasks that I have set for myself. Whether I will have the will to continue when everything that I am is telling me I belong somewhere else, doing something else. Do I have the strength of character? Do I have what it takes to spend the next five and one half years doing something fucking terrible?

There is something else too, that complicates things. Someone back home, who misses me. Who I miss unlike any other. What would I say to her?

I can not fail.

Auto-Annihilation

I find myself full of regret and frustration and utter entropy. I've never been in such a dark place and the redundancy and utter emasculation of my current sitch are cutting pretty deep.

The only thing keeping me going right now is absolute self love and this amazing dream I have for the future. A golden and beautiful future with gunmetal rails and floating caravans above them.

I'm into self destruction right now. Not physical I want to hurt self destruction, but the kill my mind type of black funk that hits me sometimes. The idea of it is very sexy at the moment. The only thing keeping me back is that gilded reality I want to superimpose on my future.

I love myself too much and that is the one good thing I really have left. My zealotry notwithstanding. I am a jaded mutherfucker. Hope is a lot less interesting than pragmatism.

Being such a materialist is disheartening. Though this is where I am and this is where I will stay. I love my things, my things are me and this is just plain where I fuckin am right now. The scary thing is I'm totally disconnected from all that I am here. I don't have any of my things. My dining room table is gone, my plates and Knives and Silverwear, my awesome couches and my 1300 dollar bed, my 1200 thread count pima cotton sheets, my luxuries remain in the place I have left behind.

I may change and grow, I wouldn't discount that possibility. In fact as base and ludicrous as this heinous speech is I know for a fact I'm going to continue growing. The pattern and outcome so far guarantees this.

In summary though, I hate the south. At least Goose Creek South Carolina. I really wanted to like it here, I really really did. But South Carolina is the armpit of the country. Hands down. I thought Alabama was bad, but this place? Lord have mercy.

Money sucks right now. I never realized why people hated money, now I know why: they don't have any. Taking an 80% pay cut is horrendous idea. Don't do it.

So the conclusion is that I'm going to just do my job and get out of here. I'm going to be the best sailor I can be, and then I'm going to get lost. I hate this job, much much more than I thought I would going in. I have a sense of honor so even so, I will finish the job, then I'm going to burn my bridges and skedadle.

Ommission-Readmission En Carmine

So, it's been a while. Truth is I just didn't really like where things were going , so I stopped those intricate circuits and overall oddities that exist between the spaces of those blood red unconscious moments. I just did.

All in all things are back on the bodacious path. The wicked skin living path, that squirms with every footfall. The skin soft awakened path. The forward biased monster that keeps us off the statical grass.

I again have faked down all lines, and cast myself adrift. I know where this current carries me.

I know if I am not holding deep I will end up circling around and around.

But I will hold to. I will restrain; my subconscious allows not solid ties. This is just another stop on a long road. The bodacious path of excess and amalgamation and integration. The bodacious path I abode upon, worth it for the destination. Walked not because its the high road but the path of least resistance.


Recommended Listening: Lucero - California

These Murky Depths

Sometimes when you can see just how far the road goes on for, you just want to stop. Find a warm place to rest and remain.

We don't though. Why I'll never know. We don't stop we continue trudging down the way.

We spend our lives trudging, trudging.

I'm so sick of people: Bitching about making those more disciplined than them more money. Bitching about where they are but doing nothing about it. Not realizing that when they complain about their own stupidity they just look stupid.
Never realizing the limits of their own power. Assuming everyone was created to make their day.

Apathy sinks into me.

I drown.

My Hatred of All-Consuming Lies

I hate lies.

On oh so many levels.

I hate the things that they cause and the causes they are meant to cover.

As a practiced liar, as we all most certainly are, I sometimes get this vibe that I am being lied to. Usually come to figure it out I'm right. Not usually dead on, but pretty close. I at least have this sinking feeling that I am being deceived.

I hate that feeling. That vibration in the bottom of your throat. It sits there and festers and creeps into everything. It's a mold. Who likes mold?

Think about it. Just a little bit of mold can ruin the entire thing. A loaf of bread, a tent, your snowboard boots. All these things when properly cared for, or stored properly, or used as directed will fulfill it's respective end of the bargain. When molded? Gracias de nada.

When we are lied to effectively and we don't notice, it's still there. It doesn't go away. It remains and becomes stronger and stranger. Until we are carried away in it. It becomes a separate entity. It grows and then forces us to feed it with more lie. Eventually the little thing has us completely under it's thumb. We become our lie's slave.

Pathetic I know but it doesn't end there. It also stains the deceiver. The lie colors this sorry individual with ocher and oil aplenty. When we know for sure or even only suspect, we watch as every time we see this person they have taken on more and more of this rotten hue.

We watch till we can bear it no longer.

And then we leave.


Lucky that there is always redemption.