29.Oct.2002

my reality

--

in the vanilla sky

I'm suffering a mental deficiency that allows me to see in great clarity at 3:47 in the morning for ten seconds before the thoughts die out.

I know people who are convinced they're eventually going to become Tijuanan drug lords, but they will never leave their couches. Or, people who are convinced their spirit animals are truly themselves, and they have wings to spread, although I think they take it more literally than figuratively.

In my head I see a world of human beings spread across a great chasm, but four-in-the-morning loneliness connects them. I see a world of the un-archetype. I long for so much sleep from the deepest portion of my cerebrum that discerning fantasy and reality becomes an encumbrance.

I become lost in the over-idealized, never-ending quest for romance, and this process blears the brain-dream against the waking hours.

In 2001, I stopped taking antidepressants due to lack of funds and insurance, and I wonder if I ever truly needed them in the first place, or if I fed into some psychiatric pipe dream and forgot who I was, like some kind of manufactured product.

I talk about working versus unemployment, talent versus potential, cynicism versus hope, pushing my personal stream-of-consciousness into a javascript box, assaulting the retinas of those who choose it.

I always wondered if I drank heavily because I enjoyed the entertainment values of it or if it really was an escape. I treat relationships the same way. Is it real or am I deluding myself, do people actually change for the better, does love have to come with a price, if I had a degree in business economics, would I still feel this way?

I see how easily one can become encapsulated by banal dramaticism, and if said banal dramaticism truly is reality.

I wanted my vacation for these purposes. Everyone goes through stages where they question their existences, but aren't stages meant to be temporary? Does my martyr complex interfere with the validity of others' presences? Are they real?

Is the point of life to truly enjoy it via some mass-marketed American dream, containing families, houses, SUVs, dogs, are we the alternative or is that the alternative?

I blocked Jay's home number and work number from my telephone. He begged me not to break up with him, to reconsider the decision I've reached and re-reached since February. I wonder if the remainder of the "relationship" was me humoring him, or did I sincerely feel like change occurred? Is he begging me because I'm a possession to him, or is his life seriously that incomplete without me?

I just know my life was incomplete with him, and thus I pushed for this and entangled myself in distractions I later fooled myself into thinking beheld substance. I stated I lived out a phase in life I opted to not take part in years prior, and this phase, was temporary.

So why isn't this stage of questioning existence?

Four-in-the-morning-loneliness, and I choose solitude over false connections, and that is my reality.

--

time & machine