21.May.2001

missing piece

--

weirdness

It's dark and raining today. I was very tired at nine in the evening, only it began raining, and I opened the windows and listened and typed, and it was eerily quiet, and before I knew it, it was five in the morning. Much weirdness ensued, however.

In summary, I am concerned about a close friend of mine who's being psychotically stalked, in the sense that everything he does is mimicked and then berated from a cowardly distance, which is unsettling to me.

Secondly, Joe reprimanded me on my "addictive" personality, and I finally said: "If you didn't have my addictions, you wouldn't have my charming wit and over-all being." The examples he listed were unbelievable.

He did, however, manage to touch on my whole heroin addiction from years back, which struck a nerve in me, in the most dystopian of manners.

Thirdly, and perhaps the most juvenile, I realised how far my patience could be tested in dealing with long-distance and closeness and lack thereof, and how wildly, silently territorial I can become. Perhaps it touches back on the addictive personality. Perhaps my limit is being reached. How one's gloating is a constant reminder of where I failed, and where I recoil, and where I lock myself inside, and where I smoke only 1/3 of my cigarette before I notice the burning in my chest, and how it is viewed not as one thing, but a slew of many others where my inadequacies prevail.

I suppose we as a collective can understand the perverse satisfaction of being insular and melodramatic; I pen it here to rid it from myself and go on, thus defeating the "addictive" philosophy.

Silently addictive, perhaps.

Attention is nice; it is not when it fails, when one was accustomed, when one wanted.

And thus the world still beats, the rain still comes, and I still recoil.

The night dissolves, the dawn shoots through. The night dissolves, I'm split in two.

Any.

Second.

Now.

I'm listening.

--

time & machine