Opening Sublimation

I am looking to employ certain ineffable aspects of childhood as plot-points, barriers, objectives, arcs and occasional anecdotes in a stream of unconscious lassitude’s hopefully propelling what is an idea to move like toothpaste across the page.

Momentarily the need to avoid supersedes the need to explain perfunctorily. As device my arm carries my hand only when need develops security and scrutiny in abject failure with regards to disjointed narrative.

I am my own worst everything.

Besides belonging to no clan I can define I borrow cadence and rhythm from sources though credible ultimately beyond my comprehension.

I am very well starting the end of a symbolic return to chance.

My departures align with the tow trucks and garbage collectors making shabby vectors throughout our pleasant little community. The hard plastic barrels with hinged lids are always full until the lid is thrown open and left that way. It’s the hardest thing not to check a closed garbage can on the curb.

I am not kidding.

This is the mind numbing existence of inarticulate wanderings and the inability to shirk neurological inclinations towards abstraction and cyclical catharsis.

I am feeling better though.

Some friends fuel this deception with libation on weekends, way beyond the usual sidewalk zigzag, but a feint of brain stem desiccating misappropriations. We finish bottles quickly and with an authoritative violence that borders on biological.

I am one who spurns psychic conciliation.

Everyone I know has a therapist she/he loves. More than half of my friends are on meds meant to dull susceptibility to what I believe are normal human categories of living i.e. stress, heartbreak, boredom, pain, vascitudes, hate, self-loathing, narcissism, love, addiction, fear etc. (or in other words those higher brain functions that somehow separate us from cattle).

I am myself one of the herd.

I will never honestly be able to think of myself as somehow extracated from the cultural matrix of media, consumption, sound bytes, moral decay or moral piety, religion, runway models, movie stars, microwave dinners, shrink wrapped fruit, microwave breakfasts, extra-larged drive-thru meal combos, etc. (or in other words I know that Ashlee Simpson is purported to have had a nose job even though I promise I have no idea what she did to deserve my knowing this?)

I am practicing a new kind of ergonomics.

My mouse (computer thingy) is powered by a laser and has a wheel for my index finger to make my internet/computer usage easy and fun. If it were twenty years ago I am sure the fact that I was using a laser to navigate my computer would have me stricken with a sense of glee and awe but as it stands I just want a new computer that looks to be made of titanium and has a bigger wider more resolving screen. Somehow functions of adulthood have rendered my acceptance of glee and awe null.