yea, after seven cool yEars, the weak seven yeard dawned. or something.
yea, the sickness and prologned pain make you a wanker.
a wanker writing about how bad the life is because it fucking hurts.
a wanker getting that all the talk about the freedom, all the conceptions of being free have hidden assumption (not the best word, but the third that came to my whatever it is that i think by) sorry for that. painkillers, you know. so the hidden assumption in the meaning of freedom: or just one of the conditions of freedom: the basic freedom is having the option - to be free of pain. just it, the freedom to feel no pain. basic fuck.
this post is not going to be very zen.
i am having it. i mean viral infection of my leg has almost only psychological effect right now: it lasts for months, small doses of pain, perhaps this shit is impossible to beat. Carrion wins not. I.
while the main guest is an unidentified inflammation of my fucking jaw, the same sort of shit that led me to maxillofacial surgery two years ago. a week in our local medical academy, food directly to my veins, etc. surgery hurts. a lot. i had a sample of it on thursday. since thursday i feel the pain. is it sunday already? blah.
from time to time i’m getting wondering like about what is so special in my personal attitude towards life. what differs me from, i don’t know, let’s assume - most of people? - is that i actually have an attitude. what differs me more is that my attitude is pure lovehate relationship. the hate team plays obviously better. better players, better equipped, morfe fire, more balls. does it make me gay?
yea, despite of knowing many pleasures: gross and small, refined and locally universal, forbidden fruits and widely available resources of ananda, I cant help, I hate life.
Just because of pain.
Freedom from pain. Non existent.
When the pain comes, when i’m about to twist because of it - my trick is to go deep, find a mirror, touch teh mirror and put the other hand on my hot chin. see the mirror, see the I, him, we are touching teh surface. and suddenly i am gone, like a snake in the water, running away from the mirror guy still standing on the other side with his teeth sore. looking absent - minded. My mind tries to travel and does it pretty well.
I should be thankfull for this extraordinary opportunity to train my travelling skills and perhaps i am. lovehate shit.
last thursday, for the nth time in my life i made the promise to myself that i rather go saint than bring a baby to the world where is no freedom from pain. yea, i’ll go to fucking heaven for this. for not having kids. tell me, what’s teh deal when you see your child crawling like a worm because the life fucking hurts? WOULD IT BE RECOMPENSATED BY THE JOY OF SEEING YOUR CHILD… I DON’T KNOW, SAYING ‘FUCK OFF’ TO YOU WHEN IT’S nineteen? like I did? huh?
also, i didn’t forget to heavily and unsincerely curse my parents for making me. it was the n+1 time as well. i love them madly but the little hypocrite inside (or the hidden god, i’m always confused judging who is who inthere) cant forgive them all the pain. the life is pain. the byproduct of life and death is pain (and pleasure, but sorry, this is the dark side of the death star transmission going on today… the lack of freedom from pain. yes, this is fucking childish.
is that true, am i sincere writting all this? how much truth is there in this text?
my mind is open book.
my mind soares.
my mind is black box.
there is no truth in the letters, thsi shit is inthe eye of the beholder.
what else? i have bought clavia nord modular key. i have no money, my car burned, the house under siege of daRK forces, yet i’m borrowing money and buying myselves an expensive piece of equipment. somebody please explain it to me?
ann is with me all the time.
i’d die without her.
we love each other.
she asked me if i see any connection between my chaoperations and the state of my body? like if it’s the price i must pay for realization of my ‘majikal’ deeds - by certain doings - certain results follow. it keeps me wondering - what if, what if? is it so? are there any free dinners in the universe? am i really capable of doing? i just don’t know, better tio think that yes, there is a free dinner waiting for us - somewhere on 5-dimensional plate the 4-dimensional dinner grows. i’m drifting away on parasital strain of thoughts. that i don’t necessary have to pay in pain and fear for modelling our life in accordance with my whims.
last night we dropped acid. heh, it was perhaps not the best idea under my circumstanses. the temperature of my body rised, so the inflammation made one step forward and before the row of physical sensations.
what bothers me is that my state does not change since the tooth extraction. despite all teh antibiotics i’m on, a quarter of my snot fucking hurts. it is easy to let teh mind run amok and imagine this state forever. a wanker. weak sack of pain on its transition from bloody piece of animated meat that first appeared between the legs of tomented woman to twisted worm dying on one thousand infections, parasites, viruses and bad lucks.
yea, the hypersigil. the paths we trace during our lifetime make the map of yourself. the foremost points and the densest areas filled with uniform gradient of your heatmap. the waves you wave their aplitudes and frequencies add and differ, multiply and divide and they are the cloud of your boundaries. and the lifetrails of the people who met you, spiralling around your functions or zigzaging out, far from you and your influednces. the hypersilgil. and teh words you write, sincere with intention to clarify the view. to see all the battlefield, where generals sip baccardi while the privates feel the pain.
all the shit i wrote today is in some sense real solid, in other sense - fictional, is it my life? - i’m trying to go and figure myself.
i’m writing neither in search of understanding nor compassion. just for the record of shitty days. to separate myself
is there any point to this? i would say not. just rambling of a madman, wee sack of tears afraid of integral monsters.
your own drama queer.
sorry for all teh typos, this is note for future me, rather not for you, so go and fuck yourself, have the immediate pleasure, feel grateful, think of pain.
