Print Story The last thing I wanted to do was get out of bed
By blixco (Fri Jun 05, 2009 at 10:06:32 AM EST) (all tags)
but the very first thing I did was just that.

Then I went for a walk.  I do that, you know.  My crazy lifestyle: I walk.  Then I work.  Then oftentimes I go home, cook, and read something.  Outside of the mechanics of my day, the rest of it happens in my head.

When i first lost my sanity, I was pretty sure that the world was precisely what I'd been told it was.  The way I lost my mind, I was at a standstill for months attempting to sort out the finer points of what constituted me.  Sifting through the pop psychology, the pop society, the limitless bad data, the world can take on a meaning.  Something other than an infrastructure for organisms.  Something heavy and profane.  The World can appear to be this whole huge thing that requires rules, ways, notes, beliefs, mechanisms to support the dreaming-up-of-it-all.  It can be this totally complex chaotic biology, a nonlinear economy of transactions that requires the barest of bared teeth, the most concentrated concentration.

Turns out it's just a place to put your stuff.

The best part of losing your goddamn mind is, you stop feeling so damned concerned all the time.  You lose whole histories and cut off entire chunks of emotional existences, you set fire to skies filled with thought balloons, you become a surgical device of crazy clarity.  The things that mattered, stop mattering and start losing their magic.

Well, at least that's how it worked for me.  Some people, dogs start talking to them.  The skies fill with blood.  Eyes and whispers, bugs and protocols.  Some people are fucked.

But me, I was never as doomed as all that.  All my crazy was self-promoted, self-inflicted, self-induced and hormonally dependent.  With age comes wisdom, though actually with age comes age, which starts a process of thinning the tinctures that drive the body, and without those gauzy lenses of grief and love, sex and blood, without the vague sense that the world is still unseen....well, with that comes clarity. And that clarity, we call wisdom.

A dry application of learned histories.  A soft enforcement of myth.  We move from wet sweating bulging hyper punchy attention starved mongrels to the sleek, dry, brittle scarred and broken forms of survivors, with that bizarre deep survivor gleam in the eye, the one that would at one time have told a story. Would have tried to convince you that jumping off a bridge is a bad idea.  But instead just smiles quietly and says,

take care.

Be good to one another.

Try not to die screaming.

Love something.

And for the love of all that is, don't listen to me. I have no fucking clue what I'm talking about.  Never have, probably never will.
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