Torn

I’m tempted, after a break from poverty, to turn to the amphetamine, for just a nifty staycation at home with sexual thoughts a-going on. I haven’t used it for one and a half years. So, with the lowered tolerance, it shud be good, shudn’t it? Bombed down nicely with a swig of fizzy pop.

I can’t believe it. Why is this crap all over me now? I know it spells the end of my current spree, and the end of my latter-day life. My present flow of consciousness will wind up abruptly, I’ll be back in the dirt with no heating for a shower to wash the grime away.

I saw a sexy rock chick going mental with a fender the other day; her face was splashed with combat colouring, she looked like a fire breather, singing about lust over love on her video…I don’t wanna end up like her. I’m clinging to a woolly teddy bear when all around wolves and dragons try and get me to enter the realm of the painted doll. No, I like cartoon characters and sweets and games of pool and reading maps and other decent imperial highborn noble affairs, not sweaty private parts banging against each other whilst soaring off somewhere on illicit chemicals, getting fat in its carnal pleasure over and over again all night long. Then lying on the mattress the next day, suffering, thinking, ‘What just happened there?’

The idea of polluting my brain with psychoactive poison both pads me out with foreboding and galvanises me with short-fused excitable fever. How can this be? How can I want something and not want something at the same time? Can’t I make a choice and get it over with? Because I get sick of wrestling with the dilemma, I usually opt for the quickest and most pleasurable outcome, without once pausing to contemplate the consequences. That’ll be taking the whizz again.

Presently I don’t know, it seems so attractive to be encased in pleasure, I regret not making more mistakes in life, that kind of thing. But I know it’s wrong. It’s unsustainable. It’s a cheap counterfeit copy of dedicated love. It lasts only hours then its over with no road back. Without it, on the narrow path, the way is pleasant and fair-weathered, there are no ugly bumps or stop checks, or comandeerings or hijacks or flats or blowouts, the coast is clear.

There’s loads more I want to say but I’m feeding the addiction by drooling over it. I’m gunna have to try and block it out of my head. I’m not really appreciating the success of this day, by thinking of dirty speed. I’m up, I’m dressed, I’m in public, I’m sharing my thoughts…these simple things are impossible on a comedown from that shish, when getting scuppered by negative energies, unable to think a single concise thought. I shud think myself lucky and do everything in my power to continue this streak of luckiness, rather than toss it away like a ripped garment. Any old hoo, wish me the best in my decision making, and don’t make me look like a liar on my own blog…