Vomit No. 1
Friday April, 8 2016
I feel it welling up in me. A chaotic churning of a sour stomach. If I was a woman I bet my uterus would be sour (and my nickname would be sour puss). I’m bitter on the inside tender on the outside but texture and flavor have nothing in common yet we compare the two when describing the taste of things. I’m listening to jazz at 1.5x speed on youtube it sounds like a goddamn racket. It’s as messy as my current state of mind unable to exist without mashing my fingers against keys repeatedly. Expelling the black tar inside my body into tiny pixels on a screen. Black into blue red and green (as perceived).
People constantly describe themselves as writers. I wonder what that word means to them. Is it just a title and identifier a way into a clique and self-reassurance? I don’t really care for those things I don’t identify as a writer I just like to write. The same way I don’t identify as a photographer but when people ask about it I say I’m retired. I don’t shoot photos for fun nor for art. I simply want to catch this moment lf intense feeling. I want to capture the perception of the world I have in this exact moment. In some way I guess I want people to understand me. Which is nonsense a person will never completely understand another person. As with the current paradigm shift in the U.S. (god bless this country [if he exists]) we have a serious lack of empathy.
The way I’ve lived my life up to now has been directed with the principals of moral empathy or at least an attempt at trying. Sometimes I don’t want to care (but I do care). I lie to myself and say I don’t care (but I do care). I think I’m slowly guilting myself to death.
At this point my ears (actually my mind’s perception) have adjusted to the 1.5x speed jazz music. It sounds like normal music. If I slow it down to normal playback speed it would sound odd. Just like life when you’re living so fast and getting so much done. You forget about it. You conform into it. You say that’s just the rhythm of my life but you can always change the beat. We often forget that. Some of us get caught in the game of things. Running around like little squirrels hoarding and hoarding “resources” but no emotional or spiritual resources. Man is not made of iron and blood alone. We are after all emotional and social creatures. Even I a social recluse and quasi-depressed person need to connect to other people at times. (I still miss my ex [I love her to death]).
I’ve now changed the speed to 2x it sounds fucking retarded if I listen to it long enough it will sound normal. Maybe I can be retarded and slow the fuck down to appreciate the fact I have power over these things. To recall I too can change my destiny even though I conform complain and lie to myself because its easier to feel sorry for myself. It’s easy to be the victim and say no one saved me that’s why I am the way I am. But people can only essentially save themselves. God will only save you if you give yourself to Christ (in the Christian faith) but think about that you are giving yourself to him. YOU not anyone or anything else. God isn’t saving you. You are allowing god to save you by committing yourself to him.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about I should really just practice what I preach. What I really want to do is go home and play Black Desert Online with my guildmates. Instead I’m at work spilling the contents of my head. Mental vomit channeled through these tired fingers. My mind addicted to the escape of a semi-social video game where I just passively listen to people chatter while I play silently. I’ve grown so used to my loneliness. Maybe I should change the playback speed again?