Facing The Day (Again)

 I allowed a spirit of amphetamine back into my life the other evening, after 18 months of abstinence. I didn’t have as much as I once did, I was rather temperate with the dose, but amphetamine is amphetamine, and there are hardly any good glowing recommendations to be made about the thing. I followed it up with a small (yet expensive) dash of cocaine. When this ran out, I considered burgling my neighbour’s premises for property and goods amounting to the value of = MORE DRUGS. I tell the truth, I was after unstitching my consciousness, and all the memories in its history, into nothing but burning dust. I wanted oblivion. Come the reign of the conclusive night, when the dealers had hung up their phones, I resorted to settling for mild forgetfulness.

I sat up on my own, facing the psychotic comedown the same way I usually face it these days, with a sedate calmness and absence of fear. This is possible when you are with the Lord. Even if evil shape shifters are up your jacksie with flashlights.

I was mad for morishness, though. More more more. To delay the pain of waking up to reality.

In saying that, I’ve decided that I’m taking a break now. It’s not right advocating narcotics here. I advocate freedom of thought.

I blocked my mind out anyway, which I now don’t mind doing whatsoever, but which used to make me feel disabled. I know a woman who was heavily into the opiates, she lived on a diet of them to drown her thoughts away. She related to me the bliss of ‘not thinking’. I now understand where she was coming from. In a trauma-riddled brain, each piercing thought can be like the ricochet of a gunshot, aimed at the bull’s eye of your inner core. I know the feeling. Our experiences can be upsetting and frustrating, what better way than to skip ahead of them with a morphine-based sledge and slumber?

A guy on my old Facebook account had a pottery business named Face The Day studio. I see this term as a philosophy. If the mind is the scariest landscape in the known universe, ‘the day’ is a close second. It’s so vital to be able to face the day. It can be a long one. Some people are morning people, some aren’t. From the perspective of the morning, the day can seem to lie there unravelled ahead of time like a long and winding road. To reach the pillow at night (12 hours clean!_clap-clap) can be a tremendous accomplishment.

I hope his venture is paying off. It looked like novelty product.

I dipped my foot into the ceramic world for several years, before I came across how to test the true worth of a sculpture. It’s dead simple: You toss it down a hill. If it’s intact at the bottom it means it’s survived the test and it’s a good sculpture. I did this with all of my sculptures and only a handful survived. This is because I like a fragile build in clay, like a clot of leaves. Someone in class made a gorilla’s hand once, complete with fur. Making fur, out of clay, I know! Take a bow son. I wouldn’t dream of attempting that. Did he use a fine-tooth comb for effect?