mad drunk genius

I used to have all sorts of problems. Now there's just the one.

Everything changes but nothing really does

For a while now, I’ve felt like an ersatz human.

I do the things people are supposed to do
& say what they’re supposed to say,
within limits

‘I don’t like to do things I don’t like to do’
but if it doesn’t hurt me, why shouldn’t I
do something to increase Others’ happiness?

So, I try to compliment pets, for their owners,
go out of my way
to be kind to them
even tho I really don’t care for small dogs
or cats

If you don’t love someone’s cat,
they hold it against you.
They expect their cat, above all others, to be different

So I try to behave like someone who enjoys cats.

I ask people at work about their lives
even tho I don’t care about it.
I maintain friendships
with people I don’t really miss

Soberly, I don’t really miss anyone.
Not family, not lovers, not co-workers, not friends.
Seeing someone again,
I might remember what was
but not in absence

‘Old age is a form of leprosy.’
The numbness is growing.
It didn’t used to feel
like such a strain to do the normal things,
but now it does

That’s no excuse to behave otherwise,
to make others unhappy,
but I expected it to get easier,
not harder.
I feel old & very tired. Every day is exhausting

I don’t know that living
genuinely would make me any happier.
It would just involve being rude & selfish,
externalizing waste products
that are my duty to keep siloed

It’s happened before,
this long-rising dissatisfaction.
It peaks
or maybe plateaus
and suddenly, consistently, I don’t want to do anything anymore.

Everything changes but nothing really does

I need to start seeing a therapist regular
I don’t know what that will help.
It is the healthier thing to do than not,
Or so I’m told

Externalizing my consistent desire to self-terminate,
how everything I do is just a way to be productive
& good rather than die
has not yet helped.

Reading what I’ve written in the past, I was never happy

I used to be terrified of dying.
I thought I’d go to Heaven & live forever and ever.
Couldn’t sleep at nite as a kid.

But oblivion,
no longer having to exist
to endure consciousness,
is damn comforting

Right now
what keeps me alive is not owning a gun
(the best self defense)
and that solving my own problems
would not solve anyone else’s,
just make more

I would really hate to leave a mess

Nothing is as bad experienced as you imagined, even when it’s worse than you imagined

I can’t stop dreaming of dead people. Other than some residual grief, I don’t have faith it means anything.

I may get back to work soon. I don’t want to. Mostly, I have to. The money will run out soon otherwise. Poverty is when there’s too much month left at the end of the money, or many too many years. We all have in us the capacity to be wealthy someday, for one day.

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I can’t tell if it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy or just a good policy

I know I’m too old now to give a shit about what exes think of me, but the truth is none of them like me and most of them despise me.

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You share your bed with all the ghosts of dead relationships

It’s summer, and the forest is burning. It’s summer, and the coast is flooding.
——The recent widower moved everything out & put his house up for sale. But
——the Yorkies went up for sale first.
I never get to remember my dreams, except the bad ones. Maybe all I ever have
are the bad ones. The ones I recognize for what they are while I have them are
good for me but no one else in with me. Maybe they get back at me for it. Maybe
I deserve it.
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This is 36 hours awake, and I feel amazing

I didn’t have any reason not to sleep last night. No reason to stay up till now and passed. But here I am! Awake, vibrant, manic.

What a run I’ve had! and for the first time in I’m not sure how many years.

I ought to have used it better, but I used it so well! I wrote, I wrote. And now I’m exhausted. My brain is quitting on me. Words get dream-typed instead of actually typed. Objects melt and breathe if I look at them too long. Flashes go by at eyes’ edge but not when you look at it. Every sound is new and unfamiliar till I rub my face and really give it a slow think over.

Till now I felt smart! Clever. I solved a problem interacting with a dysfunctional family: mother and father arguing loudly in the neighborhood streets with threats of violence, the woman apparently drunk being kicked out of a car by the man who’s ready to drive off and leave her and her two children, girls. He was willing to take his own progeny with him though. I don’t know if he did.

I left before the situation resolved. I was probably being annoying as fuck, but I wanted to make sure no one was in imminent danger and try to get calmed down to a point where the cops wouldn’t come.  Not too long ago, they swarmed this block. Being a nosey, awkward guy inserting himself in your self-medicated couple’s therapy is still preferable to a drunk woman getting gunned down in front of her children.

It was good. They gave me things for later, what your mind and ears can drink in and refashion with imagination. I think I’ve got something solved.

But I didn’t write that down ever. And now my mind is losing all coherence, so I physically can’t tonight. And tonight I die! Because tomorrow someone new wakes up, slower, less confident, less joyful and energetic in everything.

It’s like eating a great meal and having to choose between forcing it all into your mouth hole till you’re almost sick to taking it home to warm it up and it being straight up garbage or at least some pale imitation.

But my mind can’t eat any more day or night right now. I hope tomorrow’s leftovers aren’t all bad.

The tiniest and best form of small talk is not having any

The other day I went to get a hamburger and ran into a friend I used to work with.

Except we aren’t really friends anymore, and I did my best not to have to interact with him while we waited in line to order.

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This too shall pass, but it’ll take longer if you write it down

I used to think the older I got, the fewer bad decisions I would make. But really, I just know when I’m making a bad decision sooner.

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Don’t pass out with your sandals on

According to tradition, Noah was the first one to discover you could take the blood of grapes fermented and get yourself stone naked drunk.

This is yet another reason we know not to take the Bible literally. Antediluvian humans may well have lived for hundreds of years, but they could not have endured all of those years sober.

Age accrues like barnacles, weighing down the flesh and mutilating it with all manner of horrors. The Lord said the upper bound for a lifespan would be six score, but He only deemed it necessary to provide youth for one-and-a-half of them, only designed a spine to handle walking upright for 40 years. After that, just pain. Joints that scream, eyes that retreat into darkness, ears that fail to hear high or low till you’re in a muffling fog.

Or maybe that’s why 500-plus-year-old Noah was in such a bad mood and willing to curse one his three sons, progenitor of a third of the future human race, after he was the one to get piss drunk and pass out in a stupor. Maybe he woke up still drunk and was slurring the whole time.

Then again, if Ham saw Noah didn’t have his shoes on, house rules say it’s a dick move to fuck with them, even if they’re passed out and especially if they’re in their own vineyard.

She knew what she’d said & meant it

She was right, and now she’s gone, and the whole wide world is full of nothing but other people.

Hell is all the people that are what she wasnt. Hell is that she’ll never be again.

It shouldnt be so but is the case that the more unhappy I get, the less I care to have people spend time around me. I resent them for no good reason except their proximity. I feel an urge to become physically abusive to anyone who starts being physically affectionate with me. I feel trapped any time I can’t go away the moment I want to, and I hate having company when it means I cant get rid of someone the moment I want them gone.
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Pavlov’s dog can’t wake the dead

Next to the power station,
in the middle of a perfect summer afternoon,
six police SUVs show up whirring, one after another
with compounding portent.
They unload half a dozen officers near all at once,
some with assault rifles shouldered,
all with guns drawn,
stepping briskly for the house two houses down.

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